Around the fire pit, many children impatiently thronged together. Their elongated shadows came to life against the edge of the pine forest that surrounded the mountain village Vaqinidar. Some of them uttered merry cries and raised their arms to appear even taller, something that elicited loud laughter from their parents who were watching from a distance. Nilan chuckled as well at the sight of their grimaces and, despite the cold, became warm inside for a moment. The sheer happiness of a child could make a man forget all his worries, a joy that would soon be his.

High above the clearing clouds gathered, and when a gust of wind made the fire hiss, dozens of sparks rose from the flames. From the darkness, his back slightly arched, appeared Liyandir Ivaran, Nilan's father, who was the chief of the mountain village. His hair moved softly in the evening breeze and for a moment Nilan caught his gaze. Liyandir smiled, almost imperceptibly, were it not for the fine wrinkles that appeared around his eyes. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders and walked toward the fire pit.

'In the beginning, there was only darkness,' Liyandir said softly. 'At least, so it would seem to the human eye. In reality, after an eternity of stillness, the Ether was stirring.'

The children held their breath and looked up at him expectantly upon hearing the mysterious words. It was the beginning of the tale of creation, told by the village chief every winter solstice offering.

‘It is said that an enormous bang sounded, like a blow to the largest gongs of the Gulins, the race of Giants from the far west. But no living soul yet existed to hear it,’ Liyandir continued. ‘A bright shimmer appeared in the heavens. A gleam that spread out and covered the earth in a warm morning twilight. It was the morning of the awakening. Seven deities awoke. Seven pure spirits with the power to form the earth, to fill it with all sorts of living creatures, and to bestow these creatures with spirits of their own.’

Liyandir looked around the circle where some of the young listeners shuddered under his piercing gaze. A smirk appeared on his face as he exchanged glances with the clan chief of the Anakra clan, Noman Anakra, who approvingly bowed his head to him. It was unusual that clan members from the Northern Lands made the journey all the way to Vaqinidar, let alone one of their chiefs, but Noman insisted on taking part in the yearly winter solstice offering. As a young man, Liyandir was sent to the Northern Lands by the village healer to provide the Anakra clan with several medicinal powders made from herbs and fungi from deep within the mountains. These powders had saved the life of several clan members who were suffering from a disease unknown to the clans, including Noman’s first born daughter.

‘Teriyas, God of Creation, was first to open his eyes,’ Liyandir continued. Bewondered, but immediately filled with greed, he watched the barren plains of the earth. He would use his power to shape the lands into mighty mountains, valleys, oceans and rivers. To create a harsh but magnificent realm worthy of the Gods. But not all of the seven deities were pleased with their awakening.’

Liyandir, sunk in thought for a moment, stared at one of the pine trees at the edge of the clearing, where a small birdcage was hung from one of the tree’s branches. According to tradition, it was a little summer bird, kept alive by hand feeding it all through the winter.

‘When Evira, Goddess of Beauty, opened her eyes, her tears soon touched the barren earth,’ Liyandir continued. ‘She swore that she would use her power to fill the empty world with beauty and love. However, it was lust that brought the Gods the desire to procreate. When the Goddesses gave birth to their first devine children, they were repulsed by the creatures they had brought into existence. They were pale and hairless monstrosities whose black veins formed coiling webs clearly visible through their transparent skin. They were nothing like the deities themselves and possessed only a fraction of their divine power.’

From the corner of his eye, Nilan caught his friend Andorin's gaze. He sat with his two older brothers listening across the fire pit and approvingly raised a jug of wine to Nilan. They had grown up together and shared their memories of the tale of creation.

‘Teriyas was the first who voiced his desire for a race, worthy and resourceful enough, to possess the sole right over the earth,’ Liyandir continued. From the sacred waters of the Eyonan spring, Teriyas creates two human species: the Da-Mano and our own people, the Da-Inya.'

Andorin got up, walked unsteadily towards Nilan and sat down next to him. He brought his mouth to Nilan’s ear. 'I have heard the story many times,' he whispered. 'But no one tells it better than your father, Nilan.' He handed him the jug.

Nilan took a sip of the wine and thought back to his childhood with Andorin. Andorin had lost his father at the age of two and had come to Vaqinidar with his mother and two brothers to start a new life. But not much later, his mother had also died. His brothers had taken care of him, but in the years that followed, his need for a parent figure grew. It was during this time that they got to know each other, and Nilan was happy that Andorin found such joy in conversations with his parents, especially with his father Liyandir.

‘The Da-Mano were created to resemble the deities in their physical form,’ Liyandir said. ‘Strong men and women with a slightly bronzed skin tone, clear eyes and hair with the color of tree bark. They quickly learned how to create fire, to hunt and gather for food and to speak the language of the Gods. Too quickly, we Da-Inya would say. But due to their pragmatic nature, the Da-Mano were able to form a thriving settlement within just a few generations.’ Liyandir smiled and continued proudly. ‘Our own ancestors were created slightly taller and more slender, with pale hair color and skin tone. They moved in more gracious ways compared to the Da-Mano and intuitively felt the urge to perfect any craft, even so simpel, into a series of fluent movements. They spoke the language of the Gods with a more musical rhythm, and the Da-Inya were the ones to write the first songs. Songs for their beloved Goddess Evira, who they revered more deeply than the other Gods, including Teriyas, their creator.’

Through an opening in the clouds, the moon became visible and shrouded the clearing in a pale glow. The little summer bird screeched loudly from the birdcage.

‘Teriyas found the Da-Inya ungrateful and disrespectful for revering Evira but ignoring him, their true creator. He was content to see the Da-Mano share his annoyance. They started to mock the Da-Inya and called them arrogant and condescending. A clear divide arose between the two human races. Yet, as the Da-Inya society evolved, the Da-Mano men started seeking the companionship of the Da-Inya women. Teriyas was disgusted by this interbreeding.’ Liyandir paused for a second. ‘It wasn't long before disaster struck.’ He then said aloud. 'Anho 1236, in the dead of night, a Da-Manoon man raped one of the Da-Inya women. Her struggles alarmed her companion who killed her assailant. And it was this murder that led the Da-Mano to raise arms against the Da-Inya. Thus our ancestors were driven away from their native lands. They settled at the foot of the Teyalus ring in the area we now call the Northern Lands, but soon broke apart into many clans that fought each other for territory and food.’

Liyandir paused for a second. He walked towards the pine tree with the bird case and carefully took out the bird, cupping it with both his hands. ‘We, the Mountain Folk, have long withdrawn from this struggle, and the reverence of Evira, Goddess of Beauty, hoping for a better and more peaceful life in the highlands.’ He walked back to the fire pit. ‘For a few generations the Mountain Folk prospered. Yet, it seems that fate has now caught up with us.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Who were we to deny the Goddess’ love and beauty? Perhaps we have angered her and brought upon ourselves the continuing scarcity and Monarch's mischievous regime?’ He straightened his back. ‘I say, may her vengeance be merciful.’ He gestured to Noman Anakra and his company. ‘And let the friendship between Vaqinidar and the Anakra clan be a herald to a better future!’

With a swift movement Liyandir snapped the bird's little neck, held it’s carcass up to the sky and then threw it in the flames of the fire pit. The fire sizzled for a moment, as the crowd watched grey smoke plumes rise to the heavens.

After a brief silence, a loud cheer erupted. The children dashed back to their parents.

'Tell me,' Andorin said as the cheering died down. 'Do you have a name for the little one yet?' He chuckled at his own awkward drunken tongue. 'How about Andor or Andore, after your best and also most drunken friend?'

Nilan looked at him grinning. 'Does that mean that tomorrow you will have forgotten again what promise I made?'

'Few things are certain in life. But this could well be one of those.'

'Then,' Nilan declared, 'my child will bear your name, my drunken friend. Although I really would have to discuss that with Nuraya first.'

'How is she doing?’

'She's resting, but she's doing well. Actually, she is more beautiful than ever. In the morning her cheeks turn pink from the cold. And in the evening...' Nilan brought his head to his friend's ear. 'Goodness, you should see her breasts now that she's heavily pregnant.'

Andorin laughed. ‘She is white as snow, like no other woman I’ve ever seen! Yes, she is beautiful my friend! You are a lucky man.’

Nilan gestured for him to lower his voice. 'You know Kiyan Valiron is still looking for her, right? He has never been able to stomach the fact that his promised bride has fled her life with him. He could cause us a lot of hardship now that he has been appointed cavalry master of the Monarch.'

Andorin looked Nilan straight in the eye. 'In my dreams I see them all die. Night after night,' he said softly. 'It is winter. The snow is drenched with their blood. And Kiyan Valiron, carrying a red banner, dies by your hand.'

Nilan stared at him, not knowing whether to be angry or not. Andorin had gotten a strange look in his eyes, a look of remorse and belligerence that Nilan had seen more often lately. 'They're just dreams,' Nilan said.

Andorin shook his head. 'I foresaw it,' he explained simply. 'As I have foreseen many things. The blood of the Lineage of Prophets flows through my veins.'

'You're drunk,' Nilan said. 'The time to raise arms has not yet come. The winter will be harsher than it has been in years. We are dependent on the food rations and favors of the Monarch. Never will I needlessly risk the lives of my loved ones.'

'Then they are doomed to begin with.' Andorin uttered the words carelessly, but then realized what he had said. 'Forgive me, Nilan.' He handed him the jug of wine. 'I have had enough.'

'How can you say such a thing?’

Andorin heaved a deep sigh. 'I'm sorry, Nilan, really. But a shadow haunts my dreams. I am becoming more and more afraid to close my eyes. I too, need a woman to comfort me, just like you and my brothers have.’

Nilan shook his head. 'I am going to bed,' he declared.

'I am sorry, Nilan,' Andorin said again. 'But I also foresee great things. I see the Mountain Folk, united once more. A covenant of arms with the Anakra clan. Wealth and abundance. A blessed future for our children.' He smiled, but there was no light in his eyes. 'But who can tell us what the future will bring us?'

To be continued...