Sea God of the Sands: Book One of the Firebird’s Daughter Series (Firebird's Daughter 1)

by Kyrja

  In the past three weeks, his body had regained the strength he’d lost while tethered to the stone tablet these past twenty or more years. His stomach was filled, his mind was clear, and he had a new purpose. It had taken a few days for him to remember how to actually live. He’d been so far gone for so long, it was hard to even recognize his own hands when he held them in front of his face. How strange that the body must continue to function in order to continue to live. He’d forgotten that part, truly. Nor had his body aged at all in the time he’d been contemplating the wrongs he’d done in helping to aid his sister. He’d made many mistakes that night. Far too many, he knew. But he had yet to regret having helped her. What the High Priest had done was wrong. He’d known the truth of the matter then, and still knew it today. He’d listened to his own ego and his own desires instead of doing as he’d been commanded.

  Chared wondered, yet again, if his own fate would be the same for what he was about to do today. Since waking up, he’d stood in the ocean seeking guidance from Amphidea, but had not heard her voice. He’d knelt upon the floor of the ocean, the waves slapping his face as he bowed his head into the surf, asking for her forgiveness. He’d long ago offered his life and his soul to her, and still he had no idea what she wanted from him. He’d had no dream nor vision, and no word at all. He’d even entertained the idea of drowning himself again in a sincere demonstration of his devotion to her, but knew such an act would not truly gain her favor. He’d already committed himself to her once; doing so again would only earn her scorn.

  When he’d returned to the Temple of Life, he was treated with kindness and respect, but was offered no place to stay, and no robes to replace those which had fallen to pieces when his mother had roused him from his long sleep. The new High Priest had told him frankly – privately – that he simply didn’t know what to do with him. He’d promised to seek guidance from the Great Goddess in mindful meditation and would find him if and when Amphidea told him to do so. Chared knew he couldn’t really blame the man for his confusion, as he longed for word or sign from the same source.

  Since he was still alive, and still sincerely served her with all his heart, he took a step forward, determined to play the role his mother assured him was his to play. Pushing aside the doubts casting shadows in his heart he walked forward exuding confidence, despite his lack of proper attire and the curiosity of whether any of these people here would even remember who he was. Slowing the speed of his stride to a purposeful stroll, he headed towards the set of steps near the center of the western side of the square. For some reason, he’d always liked those steps. If pressed, he would never be able to explain the preference, but since that was where he’d always felt most comfortable, he went there now, on this most-auspicious of occasions. There were six stone stairs. The second was where he always liked to put his left foot when he began. Scenes of many of his previous lectures, lessons, and performances played through his head, filling him with confidence. He’d done this very thing dozens of times before. Today – no matter how different it may be in truth – was no different after all. Not in the least.

  Arriving at his destination, Chared took one more clean, deep breath, spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. He almost felt like a spectator himself, instead of the performer, as he heard himself begin speaking, his voice rising in measured tones to ensure everyone within the square would hear him.

  “In the beginning, as all good people know, the world was ice. The gods, in a rare moment of harmony, had sought to create something new together. But their bitter rivalries and separate natures brought forth only folly – for what good was a ball of ice, spinning in the darkness of the heavens?” He always felt as though he could see the planets, moon, and stars in their eternal dance when he told that part of the lore. He felt as though he, himself, was somehow suspended outside of time and space, able to witness the event with his own eyes.

  “While they argued over their creation, the ice cracked and melted. And life began to flourish. And oh – how they were amazed! For in that moment of rare harmony where each had spent a fraction of their power in a joint effort, none had withheld their best effort. After all, who among these powerful deities wanted to be to blamed for failure? And so did they look upon the world and marvel.” He paused for a count of five, his eyes still closed, seeing the world through the eyes of those ancient deities. Then he opened his eyes and continued. “Ah,” he said, “but the gods and goddesses, ever may they be merciful – were never meant to agree, or so it would seem. Each was intent on claiming a portion of the new world as their own, and so did chaos reign for a long, long time.”

  “Sov, though,” he said, pointing an admonishing finger at several of those who were closest to him, “the mighty Sun God, played his own game. While the others were busy squabbling over the flora, fauna, land, water, and weather, he placed himself in the center of the heavens and grew large. In time, he grew larger than the stars and his heat could be felt even upon the new world. He became enraged that none of the others were paying attention, for Sov has ever been a jealous and vengeful god. He had created order in the heavens, while the others squabbled over a single world! Thus did he reach out with a mighty comet to gain their attention.”

  Chared could see the nods and the wide eyes as he spoke. He heard the whispers as people put their heads together, wondering to one another who he was. He smiled to himself and went on with great flourish, using his hands to describe the events his words conveyed.

  “In a world already rife with chaos, Sov’s comet scattered the others when it slammed into the surface of their new world. Volcanoes vomited ash into the sky, oceans heaved violently, moving great masses of land away from each other, huge sheets of ice still covering much of the world melted, mountains of rocks rose from beneath the surface of the earth, and the other gods and goddesses withdrew into the heavens.”

  Now he held still, sobered into stillness as he felt true sadness steal into his own heart. “For a very long time, Sov was alone in the skies above the little world the others had abandoned, and so came to understand loneliness. He’d thought many times of removing himself from the heavens, to rejoin his brothers and sisters as they raced through the cosmos, in and out of time, playing the games of mystery to which only they are privy. But he was stubborn, was Sov. He’d claimed this little gem of a world as his own and was loathe to abandon it. So too, could he see that life had begun anew, rising from the carnage of his rage. Animals roamed the plains and mountains, fish and other creatures stirred in the depths of the seas, trees and grasses and even flowers were spread out in abundance.” Here he paused, drawing himself up as he closed his eyes to imagine the scene, inviting those who listened to do the same.

  “And so it came to pass, as all good people know, that one day the Goddess of Beauty came to look upon the world Sov called his own. And the Sun God was smitten. He wanted this rare jewel as his own. Ahhh… “ he breathed out a long breath of that spoke of delight, “but she was not only radiant and mysterious, this goddess, she was also very, very smart. She lured him in a chase around the little world, ever out of reach. ‘Lumas!’ he cried, ‘Come stay with me forever!’” He heard a few quiet giggles from some of the children gathered nearby.

  “For her part, Lumas was also taken with the Sun God, but knew his fickle, changeable ways, so refused to accede to his demands. Instead, as they circled ever around the world, casting their radiance and shadows upon the lands and waters and skies, she reached down a part of herself, casting loveliness and color in her wake. Too, she changed her shape and face as she wound her way around the world, taunting the god with her beauty. First she wore the face of a maiden, innocent and fresh, then shown with the radiance of her full beauty, and finally as a wizened crone, her wisdom and cunning clear in the lines of her silvery face. And so did Sov come to love her, this lovely creature of light.” He could almost hear the contented sighs those in his audience wore in their hearts at this part of the tale. Everyone always enjoyed hea
ring the part when Lumas came to their world. Her having done so brought bright gladness to all who loved her.

  “Ah,” Chared said, holding up a single finger of caution, “but Lumas wasn’t finished with the Sun God, oh no. For in Sov’s loving, did she learn love too. And so, as he had done, she, too, grew in strength and size, seeming even more beautiful to him as she basked in the warmth of his love. Because she loved him, this fiery god of strength and passion, Lumas split herself in two, investing herself in the tiny little world Sov had claimed as his own. She sent forth her spirit into the land and seas, burying herself within the very core of the deep, deep rock and soil. Thus did she become Giya, the Earth Mother, promising she would always stay within the warmth of Sov’s embrace.” He paused again, letting everyone enjoy their feelings of belonging and acceptance.

  “But as is true of many of the gods and goddesses,” Chard went on, “Lumas has a mysterious, secret nature and she is strong in her own right. And so did she also stay within the heavens, claiming the night skies as her own. Lumas and Giya will always be connected through the tides of the oceans, for it is within the watery depths cradled by the loving embrace of Giya’s arms where Lumas shines most brightly. Lumas is, and always been, of course, the Goddess of Beauty, and so sees beauty in all things, including her own reflection. Some say she is vain,” Chared told them, frowning, “But I counsel you to ever say such things softly, for if she should hear you say such unkind words – true or not – your own beauty may be a thing of the past!” He let the chuckles die before continuing.

  “You may wonder if Sov, in his chase, ever caught the Goddess Lumas. To that I say you have only to watch the skies. When the goddess shows her face as the slim crescent of maiden, she comes to us in the middle of the night, when all are sleeping, to fill our dreams with beauty. As she waxes to the fullness of mother, she seems to be following Sov as he blazes in all his glory across the midday skies, as if following an errant child and reminding us that no matter the heat of the Sun God’s fury, she is bringing the coolness of the evening in her wake. And then, as Lumas wanes into the wizened crone, her silvery trek across the plains of the heavens seems to slow. She rises a little later each night, looking for all the world as if she is waiting for her lover to catch her.

  ‘Her lover?’ you ask? Why do you suppose they call it the Dark of the Moon? Few, they are, who have ever seen, or may ever be blessed with the knowledge of the mysteries of the Goddess Lumas and the God Sov as they meet in the secret spaces between night and day. But know this – it is from their union that all peoples are born. And it is within the bosom of Giya that their offspring are nurtured.” Chared was pleased with himself. He knew he always told the story well, and this audience was captivated. Perhaps it had been a long time since anyone last stood in the square to share the story. What a shame he had to return from death’s grip to rekindle the importance of the lore. Perhaps Amphidea had forbidden it, or maybe the lack of true leadership among the Merlarns had brought about changes which weren’t so very wise.

  “Ah,” he told them, noticing the number of people listening had grown more than twice the size as when he’d first started, “but lest we forget the other gods and goddesses with whom we began our tale – rest assured there are many who are aware of the price of procreation. For what mother or father among us has kept their watchful eyes on their offspring at every moment, heh? Do you suppose that once our world was populated with those who might worship and adore the gods, we might be left in peace to honor Sov and Lumas alone? And who among us hasn’t offered Giya sincere thanks for her bounty and blessings? And should we not? Is it not she who shelters us from starvation and provides all we need at our very fingertips? Why, then, even acknowledge our celestial parents who are so far away and out of reach, when each of us may touch our Mother Earth simply by kneeling down to grasp a handful of dirt within our own palms?

  “So, too, did many of the other gods think – and how not? If you and I can think these thoughts, do you think the gods and goddesses would fail to do so? Of course not. And so they have walked among us for many centuries, seeking those who would worship them instead of our Father Sun and Mother Moon. Among these others was one of the mightiest of all the known goddesses – Amphidea. How she came to wrest the seas from Giya’s control is a story for another day, for it is a tale both long and gruesome in the telling. Know only this, that Amphidea is the sister of mighty Sov and ever – through all time – have they hated one another.” Chared could sense the restlessness of the crowd now. It was easy to speak of Lumas, Giya, and even Sov, for they were well-loved and had no reputation for ruthlessness.

  “Long ago, as all good people know, the desert was but a small part of our world. It was entirely empty of human life. Trackless. Giya, in her loving wisdom, allowed few beasts to develop who were suited to the arid climate, since the desert was the very heart of her; the realm of Sov upon the earth. It was a place where he might shine his loving adoration on her without regard to other life which might be withered and destroyed by the fierce regard of his embrace.

  “For a time, our father, Sov, enjoyed the unrivaled worship of his children. But, alas, even the most attentive of fathers may become distracted. And so it came to pass the adulation of his people made him reckless. In all things, we must remember,” he told them, “there must be balance. In the giving of homage and worship, his people made the Sun God stronger. He, in turn, gave more of himself. But mighty god that he is, Sov understood little the price his children must pay for his close regard.” Now he allowed his voice to rise, reminding them all of the price they paid over the centuries for having failed to heed nature’s balance.

  “In time, the desert grew larger and more vast; Sov’s power burning away large swaths of fertile land. The temperature everywhere rose as our Father poured himself upon the world. Small lakes and ponds began to disappear and livestock died of thirst. Still, the people prayed to the Sun God, thanking him for his protection, and asking for his mercy. The more of his children who cried out to him, the worse the destruction of the land became. The first desert people, those who call themselves the Tuq’deb today were once those who lived along the shores of the lakes and seas.”

  “Oh yes, it’s true!” Chared told them and saw heads nodding in agreement. “Deny it all you like, turn your back on the truth, but the Tuq’deb who pride themselves on desert lore were once the Puj’hom. Every last one of them. Remember, I told you, there were no people in the desert. Not for centuries. Nor were they anxious to set foot in the sands when they were forced to abandon their homes. Not only was the desert considered a burning wasteland, but it was sacred; the holiest of places. It was there that Sov shone with his brightest blessings. It was upon the sea of sand where his touch was felt the fiercest, and where all good people knew the God and Goddess embraced. Who but the most foolish would come between Sov and Giya? Or,” he drew the moment out,” the most desperate, heh?”

  “And so they were. The first Tuq’deb meant only to cross the merest strip of the desert in search of water and food and grass. Instead, they became hopelessly lost, the winds rising up to obscure their vision, scouring their flesh raw with pelting sand, blasting the very clothes from their bodies with the force of the storm. It’s been said it was other gods, or goddesses, perhaps, that caused the winds to rise in the desert, driving those who dared to broach the dunes further into the unforgiving maw of the desert’s furnace. Perhaps it was Sov himself, in a desperate attempt to reduce the population so as to save the rest of his children. Or maybe the Sun God was angered that mere humans would trod upon the sacred space he’d reserved for himself. Whatever the case or the cause, Giya rose up to save her children when others would have let them parish.” Nobody, he knew, liked that part of the lore. Nobody wanted to be reminded just how terrible it might have been, let alone how awful it truly had been. Not one man, woman, or child gathered in the square wanted to be reminded that everything they knew and cherished today could have turned ou
t very, very differently so long ago.

  “And so did the entire landscape of the world change. The first Tuq’deb took their name in homage to Giya, although what the word may have once meant has long been lost, as surely as time and the unforgiving winds pick clean the skeletons of those who die upon the sands. Legend has it Giya erected a shelter of protection around those first bloodied, storm-chafed wanderers, saving them from the solid wall of the sandstorm as it fell upon them, its deadly tentacles of lightening reaching out ahead of the leading edge, as if hungry for a taste of their lifeblood. From such miraculous beginnings did the sand people emerge.” The emotion surging through the crowd now was sincere gratitude for not having to live through such terror. Chared doubted anyone living today had been through such a terrible, terrible storm. Now for the part they weren’t expecting.

  “Nor did the Earth Mother act alone, it seems. For it was the Storm Goddess Amphidea who reached out her hand in salvation alongside Giya.” He smiled at the faces surrounding him, disbelief and scorn etched into every feature. For some, there was even anger. “Ah … you don’t know that part of the story do you? Always thought the lore ended with praising Giya for the salvation she afforded her children, did you? Ah, well then, perhaps you’d best snuggle in for a little longer tale.” Here, Chared knew he was taking a chance. What story teller in his right mind would allow his audience the opportunity to get up and leave? He knew he was taking a risk, so waited an extra beat, making sure nobody was moving before asking, “Are you in need of refreshment or would you like to stretch your legs?” Another pause. “No? What’s that you say? You want to know the rest of the story? I thought you might.” He was well-pleased that nobody had moved. Not one person was ready to abandon their seat in search of refreshment or better comfort. Everyone wanted to know what he had to say. And so he told them.