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And the Greater Gods continued: “We have ordained that all man hear of our love and know it, and further, that they know our power. And what we decree will come to pass, for no word of ours can be thwarted. But it is through thee that we desire the world to know our love. The power to declare it lies within thee already. This, Gelnarost, is how thou may be assured that our love will be implanted in the hearts of your hearers.”
Rulisce clasped one hand over the other in excitement. “This is good news, O holy ones! The peoples will surely rejoice to know that their Creators regard and favor them. And how honored are we that you have chosen us for such a task!”
“Yea, highly honored,” Argelas agreed, taking a step forward. “We have long looked upon the lands and marveled at your power. Now man will know it for himself. How privileged is he!”
“It is a mark of true love to rejoice in the matters in which we rejoice,” remarked the Three. “And yet we know thee, Argelas. What is thy inquiry?”
He took another step forward as his siblings looked at him expectantly. “O spotless ones, you are Three. In your great wisdom and authority, you also created three jewels, in which are the power of creation and destruction. It was your sovereign decision to set the jewels in three lands. There are three lands below, Creators, and yet there are four of us. How will this task be evenly divided? Logic fails me.”
The Gods were slow to respond. “Argelas, our child, we did not create three lands. We created one land, called Emlenor. It is across this united land that we charge thee to share our love. Why create divisions where there are none?”
Argelas knelt before them and bowed his head. “Pray do not be displeased, O Greater Gods, but does not foresight reveal that it is around these jewels that your creatures will build their worlds? I am not omniscient, but in this respect the future lies open to me clear as the sea; great men shall find these jewels, and know their name, and so call each world to divide it from the others. Those in Prevelas, and Armenor, and Marnon shall possess profound pride in the land from which they hail.”
“Man’s mind is not designed to comprehend the deepest matters of the Gods,” spoke the Three, “but only those matters which we permit them to know. ‘tis true that they know division according to their races, for we ordained that each race procreate within itself; but they know not border nor animosity. For we, Argelas, and thou, estimate both light and darkness—but man understands no distinction between the two, and perceives all things as ‘good.’ Do not see Emlenor as a land divided, but as one beauteously knit together in diversity.”
Argelas rose to his feet, and upon his face there rested a trace of something that his siblings had never viewed in that room. Indeed, they could not name it, for it had theretofore been non-existent. We know it as doubt. “Gods,” said Argelas, bearer of light, “logic fails me anew. Man knows not the deepest matters, as you have said. How can he then comprehend your love? Would such knowledge not be wasted on a mind limited?”
The response came back resolute: “It is not thy place to question the plan of thy Creators, Argelas. Thou must trust our wisdom. Again we charge thee: spread our love to the leaders of this united world. We have thus given our word; now go, our children, and proclaim our message with joy! Return to us when one earthly month has passed, that thou may share thy progress and edify thy siblings to our glory.”
Gelnarost and Rulisce burst from the temple, singing praises to their Gods and marveling at the goodwill that was soon to be shown mankind. Crel lingered, for he knew the light better than his own siblings—and observed where that light was growing dim. There was a falter in the steps of Argelas as together they made for the stairs.
“Do you not rejoice in this great task, mine brother?” asked Crel, peering at him through studious eyes. “That those of the flesh—who can see not heavenly places nor plumb the depths of the seas—may know the love and power of our Fathers. What a kindness!”
“It is quite kind,” agreed Argelas, “kinder than any kindness one would expect man to receive. Does he not scarcely surpass the beasts that roam the earth or the birds that scale the sky?”
“Yea, he does,” Crel admitted, “save that he possesses the Wind of the Gods, which is called a soul. In this way he is favored above even the grandest beasts of the earth.” With a smile as bright as the sun, Crel placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Rejoice! We have a joyous work ahead of us.”
Argelas took a step back. “‘Joyous’ is your apt description, my brother. You may be the most joyous being in the universe, exempting the Greater Gods themselves.” He moved down the stairs as Crel followed; then they stopped at the edge of the burnished marble floor that surrounded the temple. Beyond this there was nothing but flecks of cloud, and far below, the deep blue fullness of Emlenor unraveled before them. The stars above were innumerable and pulsating with unfiltered brightness. “And rightly are you so elated, brother, when so treasured beyond the rest of creation.”
Crel was contemplative, but the radiance of his countenance did not cease. “Surely you were gifted with great imagination, Argelas, to think that our Fathers would treasure us unequally.” This time he placed both hands on his brother’s shoulders, hardly able to contain his excitement. “May our banter continue no longer. Go to your work, holy son of the Gods, and may we return hither ere long to celebrate the proclamation of their message. Wind uphold and guide you!”
“And you, Crel.” He watched the exuberant being fly from the temple grounds as a streak of white light. Then he turned his attention to the land and oceans that extended into the blurred horizon. In the dark blotches of forest, already the elves had discovered fire and were draping the trees with grand lanterns that were visible from the temple; even now the aquins were constructing castles beneath the waves, and these structures scintillated under the moon’s glow; the humans, gnomes, petreins, giluzions, giants, scaldrons, and dwarves scattered abroad in huts, hovels, or within the earth itself. Were such creatures, fated to scurry across the lands like directionless ants, and never permitted to view the distant and more beautiful reaches of creation, truly worthy of knowing the love of the Three as the lesser gods knew it? Why would the affection of the Greater Gods be set upon figures of clay? Did not they have four children to obey their every command?
Frowning, he gazed upon the land that would later be known as Armenor. In that moment he beheld a great mountain, bare save a lake on its peak; then, as if suddenly cast into his mind by the Greater Gods themselves, several images flashed before him. There was a young man, tan-skinned but emanating power; there was a sword whose blade may as well have been formed out of light; there was a tower overlooking a raging sea; then there was darkness. He shrieked, stumbled back, and collapsed onto the ground.
The night seemed to grow darker. The stars mottling the firmament were of little comfort. He suddenly felt alone, so he looked back into the open throne room to remind himself of the presence of his Creators. Their orb remained, an unbroken light hovering above the seat of gold. They said nothing, but the very glimpse of them brought to mind their omnipotence and goodness. It was not long ago that his meditation on these attributes caused his heart to soar. It was not the case, now.
“As you have commanded,” he muttered, rising to his feet, “so shall I do.” With that, he sprang into the clouds and made toward the north.
When a month had passed, the lesser gods returned to the foot of the throne and knelt before the luminescent sphere. Each carried a broad smile, and while all seemed overjoyed, Rulisce was noticeably bristling with excitement. Golden light of late morning bathed the room, but the orb shone all the brighter.
“Thou hast done well to return to us according to the time what we provided,” said the Voice, as light and rich as a trickling stream. “We have watched thy work, for we see and know all things. But thou may now share thy reports to the edification of thy siblings. And rejoice well at all that is worth rejoicing over, for this very morn there shall pass an event that thou, in all thy wisdom, art unable to see.”
“The leaders receive the news gladly!” Rulisce blurted out, leaping to her feet. “From sea to hills, shore to wood, every tribe and tongue exults in your love. You are good, O Gods, and kind, and right in all that you say and do. Without your love, none may know joy. How blessed are we to carry such good news to Emlenor! All heard me happily, but those of the southern lands seemed most ready to accept your message. I love them more than I can express, and I wish to proclaim all the more your glorious dictum.”
“Thou hast succeeded in thy mission,” said the Gods, “and shall be rewarded in due time. For now, enter into the joy of thy Creators.”
“O Gods,” spoke Gelnarost, his eyes ablaze as he stood, “every word, every desire of yours I have obeyed with the greatest passion! Joyful is he who walks in the way of his Fathers and does not turn to the right or to the left. Elves and men and dwarves I have spoken to oft, though not a single race in Emlenor was bereaved of your perfect message. In the central lands, where the seas are scarce, did I spend much of my time; and indeed I love those of that land, and pray to continue this work.”
“Thou hast succeeded in thy mission,” said the Gods, “and shall be rewarded in due time. For now, enter into the joy of thy Creators.”
“My most holy Fathers,” whispered Crel, continuing to kneel, “who am I, that you should choose me for such a blessed task? Who am I, that you should consider me worthy of declaring your unfathomable love to so many beautiful creatures? Your goodness is too great for me! I cannot comprehend it! And yet you have extended such grace to your servant according to your good pleasure. O Gods, you love him, as you love all who contain the Wind on the earth below. It is by your power that I was able to travel hence and thence, speaking forth your wondrous truth; all who heard me responded with much singing and dancing. As I reflect on my journey, I must announce this with an overflowing heart: I love you, my Fathers. I love you with everything that you have given me. And my love also reaches to these beings you have created. I treasure every soul. Thank you for choosing me for this task.”
“Thou hast succeeded in thy mission,” said the Gods, “and shall be greatly rewarded in due time, Crel. For now, enter into the joy of thy Creators.”
Argelas rose to his feet and felt the expectant eyes of Rulisce and Gelnarost burning into him. “O Gods,” he began quietly, “you gave us the task to spread the message of your love to the leaders across the lands. You informed us that the peoples will then know your power, and call it magic. My siblings have found joy and purpose in obeying you. But alas, I did not find such joy and purpose. Truthfully, I shared not your message with a single soul.”
Rulisce furrowed her brow and took a step back. “You refused to share the message? Why, brother? How can this be?”
He turned away from the light and faced her. “Does this astonish you, sister? While you were spreading the words of our Fathers across the land that will soon be called Marnon, I was availing a precious faculty granted to us: the faculty of reason. To the moon I flew, and there sat to consider the command of the Three—as well as their creation. And it came to me that man is naught but pitiful dust; yet the Gods have seen fit to grant him the Wind, and the mysterious union between man and wife, and the blessing of family. Then they send us to proclaim their love to mankind, which results in his access to power and magic. Indeed, man has everything that we possess and more. It has become clear to me that our Fathers love the specks of dust more than they love us.”
“The Gods will do as they please, brother,” declared Gelnarost. “They will love all equally if it is according to their will, or they will hold one facet of their creation special if it is according to their will. It is our part to rejoice in the love that they extend to all and obey everything that they command. Pray do not forget that their love and power extends to us, as well.”
Argelas stepped toward him, his face awash with annoyance. “You are so intelligent, brother, and yet you do not perceive your own blind obedience. Yea, you surpass us all in that you cleave to the law of our Fathers as a duckling to its mother, but in ignorance you become subservient to glorified animals by enabling them to know love and power. Already the world overflows with men and women who tap into magic—something that once only belonged to the Gods and us. Man might as well be known as ‘lesser gods.’”
Crel rose for the first time. “The light within you is not light at all, Argelas. I sensed it ere we began our mission, as we looked together upon Emlenor—but I denied it, thinking it could not be possible. Alas! for perhaps I could have admonished and corrected you. And yet...are you not still here? Yea, are you not still a son of the Gods? Argelas! O Argelas, will you not come with me? Will you not take my hand and permit me to show you the loveliness of man? Who knows, but that our Fathers may return their light to your spirit?”
“Man is undeserving of love,” demanded Argelas, swinging a clenched fist through the air. Something welled within him, seeming to rise in his chest and into his fingertips. “Nor does he deserve Emlenor. A weak, pathetic creature he is. Especially compared to you, Crel, my dear brother. You are the splendor of the heavens, the Shining One. O yes, I have heard the chanting even from above. ‘Crel the Benevolent,’ many label you, among a host of other titles. We were meant to be set apart, greater than man; but he has surpassed us in favor. He is loved in the manner that we should be. It is a grave error, I say to you all.”
“A grave error?” Rulisce’s faced darkened. “Error? Who are you to judge the Creators? You would know not the meaning of the word error if it were not their sovereign will to grant you such understanding. Recant your hate-filled speech, brother. Your view is contorted. Repent of this evil!”
“I will repent of nothing!” cried Argelas, opening his fist. There in his palm sat a small black cloud, spinning cyclically. “It is the Gods themselves who must repent. It would have been better for the cosmos to remain void; how I long to return to that time when naught but us and the jewels existed, and we were the joy of our Fathers. But this shall never be again, for we know that the Three change not their minds. They have created man, and loved him, and use us as nothing more than pawns to share love and power undeserved.”
“You bear darkness in your hand, brother,” said Gelnarost, approaching him slowly. “You are no bearer of light; you are no Argelas. Henceforth shall you be known as ‘Argetheil,’ bearer of darkness. And darkness is not permitted here.”
Argetheil scoffed. “‘Not permitted here.’ What do you propose to do, Gelnarost? Will you use magic to destroy me?”
“I have not that power, brother, but—Rulisce!”
The goddess abruptly dashed toward Argetheil and raised a luminous hand in the air. None among her brothers could discern what she was doing, and perhaps she did not understand it herself. A tongue of light rose from her fingers but flickered in an instant and died. It was then that Crel and Gelnarost noticed Argetheil moving his hand ponderously from left to right, the dark cloud trickling from his fingers to her body. She fell to one knee as the darkness enveloped her while her brothers stood in paralyzed astonishment. It was Gelnarost who first broke free of this state, and he leapt to his sister’s side to wrest her from the malignant fog; but before he could seize her, he found himself under the very same spell.
“Argetheil, end this now!” roared Crel, opening his hand to reveal a pillar of light. “You still have a chance to alter your fate; do not cast yourself off from the light of the Gods forever!”
The bearer of darkness ignored that. “Rulisce and Gelnarost, servants of the Gods, I decree that you will be their servants no longer. To the earth I send you, Rulisce to southern lands and Gelnarost to the central according to your affections, and thence you shall do my bidding. Await my commands. Now go!”
Rulisce vanished in an instant, while Gelnarost attempted to clamber to his feet. Rise he did, and then took several steps toward his wicked brother; but then he collapsed and gave up his struggle, and was no longer seen. The moment he was gone, Argetheil released a mighty flash of darkness toward Crel, but the god answered it with an even more powerful flash of light. Indeed, the light overcame the darkness and sent Argetheil sliding across the floor. He was stunned, and seemed somewhat weary after attacking his three siblings. Nonetheless, he pushed up to his feet and lobbed a shadow toward his brother; Crel waved it aside with a simple motion. Another shadow soared across the temple, and Crel dodged to the side. Between both of his hands there grew an orb, very similar to that which stood for the presence of the Greater Gods. It appeared that he would soon vanquish Argetheil when the Voice spoke and stayed him.
“Thou art needed in Emlenor,” said they, “and for this reason thou must give the illusion of defeat. When thy feet have touched the soil, make for the peak on Azrabock and we shall instruct thee there. Thou may sense despair, but recollect that we are with thee eternally. Our love and power are with thee wheresoever thou dost sojourn. Fear not! For all shall pass as we have planned from the beginning, unto our glory.”
Crel’s undying love for his Creators bid him do as they asked, and he bowed his head as his hands fell to his sides. Argetheil cast both palms forward and surrounded his brother with the darkest cloud he could summon. His hate for man, the world, and the Gods birthed this dark magic, the antithesis of all that was good and pure. He released a long and enraged cry as his spell blasted from his fingers. Not at any time since has there been such a display of disdain, but it was not enough to remove Crel from that room. The pure lesser god remained there for some time, changing appearance gradually but not disappearing. Thus, he took on the form of an old man, his brow heavy and his skin tanned and wrinkled. The black fog lifted him into the air and slowly moved him out of the throne room. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Argetheil cast him into the northern horizon.
Finally, he whirled toward the throne and prepared to use his remaining strength to attack the orb, but there was a brilliant flash of light—and then nothing but darkness. He was unable to see his own hands, feet, or surroundings. At first, he believed that perhaps the Gods had withdrawn their presence from the temple like frightened beasts; but he realized that even if they had fled, the light of the sun outside the temple would be visible.
The darkness was all-encompassing and seemingly endless, weighing on his corporeal form as would a physical burden. He called out and felt a moment’s relief to hear his own voice—but no one answered his call. He paced back and forth, then ran here and there, then took flight; no distance of movement brought him nearer to light or wind or fellowship. He summoned spells, but there was nothing he could do to project himself beyond this plane, or to transform it into something more desirable. The darkness knew no bounds.
Argetheil collapsed to his knees in temporary resignation. If he could feel aught but hate and jealousy, he would have wept. Three times he pounded his fist against what felt like a marble floor, and three times he roared in defiance of his Creators. No one answered. The Voice was silent. Save for his own breathing and frustrated grunts, the environment was void of all sound; nor was he granted any greater visual clarity. But then something took shape in the middle of the plane, unfolding before his eyes with its own luster. He rose to his feet and stepped toward it, wondering if the Gods would use it to seal his doom. As he approached it, the object grew brighter and more visible. He also realized that it was rotating ever so slowly, and that its shape was a sphere.
By the time he stood before it, he recognized it as a miniature globe of Emlenor. The lands and seas extended before him; tides crashed against the shores; trees waved in the breeze; the peoples moved freely about the world, conversing and laughing and singing. All went about their business without a care as to what had transpired in the heavens just moments prior. He was given the sense that perhaps his actions did not have as much an effect on the world as he had hoped, especially since the pitiful creatures now knew the love of the Gods. Their bright faces were a taunt to him. Their joy-filled voices were a mockery. That they beheld the world in freedom, while he remained imprisoned for daring to challenge the unjust, instilled him with ever-increasing rage.
He assaulted the globe with spells, curses, and his own fists, but it was impenetrable. The Gods had placed before him a world beyond his grasp as an eternal punishment. There was nothing he could do to cause harm to the world he hated—or so he thought in the early days of his confinement. Alas, that things have since changed….
