In those days, in those very first days, in those nights, in those very first nights. In those days before the ages of immortals, heroes, or men. In those nights before caves became the dark queen’s burrows, before demons rose, and devils fell to sin. There was a sapling that drifted gently down a great river. A great river that was fed from the wound of a great father. A wound that is known to some as the White Spring, and unbeknownst to others as a Well of Urðr.

Bobbing up and down, drifting here to there; the sapling moved at the mercy of the river's flow. On and on the sapling traveled down the endless river, but strangely it never washed ashore. It was never sunk by any wave or current, nor did it smash upon any stone or debris. The sapling traveled without any sense of meaning or direction, but its voyage seemed to have a purpose. As if a guiding hand was bringing it to where it must be. The length of the voyage was unknown, the path unclear, and the destination a mystery. But perhaps, all those things were meaningless. Perhaps, only the journey itself held any meaning at all. Time flowed on like a river and the river flowed endlessly.  Until a day, a fateful day, when the sapling’s journey finally came to an end, or rather a beginning. That day, that fateful day when a man, weathered and weary, sailed a tiny raft of vine and timber down the great river. When a man, weathered and weary, braved wind and rain as he sailed a tiny raft of vine and timber down the great river.

He sailed, the Father sailed, it seemed impossible that so rickety a raft could sail, but alas he did indeed sail tirelessly down the endless river. Navigating the waters with experience and ease, he sailed with purpose and direction. These were not unfamiliar waters to the sailor. In fact, some might say they were all too familiar to him, and others might say that it was from these very waters that he came to be. So, imagine the sailor’s surprise when the oh-so-familiar waters seemed less and less familiar. Imagine the Father’s surprise when he happened upon something that did not belong. Something he’d never seen in all his years navigating the waters’ turbulent waves and flows that devoured the bow of his boat like wolves and struck the stern of his boat like lions. What the sailor, no, what the Father saw was vibrant and green, supple and full of vitality. What the Father saw was a sapling drifting endlessly at the mercy of the ceaseless currents and waves. A tiny speck of life in a sea of death.

With a sweep of an oar a bit too long and heavy for one so frail and thin, and a pluck of fingers a bit too deft and dexterous for one so old and weary. The Father brought an extra passenger upon his ramshackle raft. With a swish and a flick, he tested the young sapling. With a yelp and a giggle, the sapling answered in turn. And that gave the Father reason for pause. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Father brought the sapling level to his eyes. He stared at the sapling in his hand with endless questions. In all his years, in all his time, he had never doubted his own wisdom. But today, the sapling gave him cause for doubt. Did his ears deceive him? Surely not. Did his mind deceive him? Perish the thought. So, with an untrusting, yet curious glare he inquired, “What manner of thing are you? If you do not answer I promise that you will find yourself once again at the mercy of these wretched waters.”

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A childlike voice replied, “Sir, you ask questions I cannot possibly answer. What am I? Who is to say? What are you? What are those waters? Why do you threaten me? Who is to say?”

The Father’s brow furrowed, and his beard gave an almost imperceptible twinge. With a graver tone than he may have intended the Father replied, “You dare play a game of words with me? Do you doubt my wisdom? Do you doubt my convictions? Do you doubt that I will toss you back into these forsaken waters?”

The sapling gave an almost imperceptible shudder. With a more sorrowful tone than they may have intended the sapling responded, “You wound me, sir, I do not doubt your wisdom or convictions. I do not dare play a game of words with you. I simply have no answer to your question. I am what I am. I am me. Does that satisfy your curiosity? Does that grant me passage, safety, and surety?”

The light of day flowed down past the horizon, washing the anger from the Father’s withered face. The tempestuous river grew dark and still, and the pale moon’s light gave the waters’ surface an otherworldly shimmer. Somehow, the Father felt older. Gently, he placed the sapling down across from him as he sat down to meditate. “Indeed, it grants you passage, but it does not grant you, my favor.”

“Who wants your favor? Who are you to act so mighty? Sailing upon this wretched river, and what are those damnable waters anyway? You demand answers but give none yourself. How troublesome, how unfortunate, how… annoying,” the childlike voice huffed.

“I am known to few, and I am known to many. Some call me betrayer and others call me savior. Some will call me killer and others will call me Father. However, you, little one, may call me Enki, bringer of wisdom and murderer of truth. And that river is but a part of what remains of my first kill, a man that I once called Father, a man known to all as Abzu, the primeval sea. Now stay silent until dawn, or we will see what remains of you after I make you my second kill.” With that said Enki once again shut his eyes drifting off into a deep meditation.

'Stay silent until dawn or we will see what remains of you after I make my second kill,' the sapling mimicked Enki, it appears I’ve been rescued by a man who likes to tell tales. 'That river is but a part of what remains of my first kill, a man that I once called Father, a man known to all as Abzu, the primeval sea,’ the sapling mocked. Who would believe such a blatant lie? What being could possibly create such a great river after it was killed? Who is this Abzu, how is he known to all if I do not know him? And even if such a being existed, how exactly would such a frail old man kill him? He sure seemed serious though… perhaps I’m being too judgmental, after all, what manner of being am I? Who would believe something like I exist? Regardless, it’s best to keep these thoughts to myself. Even if he’s weaving a tale, he’s still my benefactor, and while the stories are most assuredly false, if they happen to be true… the sapling trembled. He saved me from that river of death and promised me safe passage. There’s no harm in him having a few delusions. I’d rather have this man as a friend than an enemy, at least until I understand what’s going on.