The Second Storm (Ingraham Rhodes translation)

The Seven Storms define the history of Myriad. At this time, three have occurred; four are yet to come. Please see “prophecies” (page 1236) for information on the latter storms. The following is Ingraham Rhodes’ translation of the ancient literature, originally written in Irvish by Modungo, the first Great Rhetor of Marcador.

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In the beginning, Men were young and mindless, no different from the creatures that crawled, swam, slithered, and flew. There was but one realm at that time, for it was Ildiago: the time before the separation. Versitas was the only reality, and Myriad did not yet exist.

Then the High Cadant, Fëanáro, conjured the First Storm, which gave birth to the world of Myriad and bestowed upon mankind the gift of hope. He set the Andasi the task of crafting dreams for Men, and these dreams fostered the hope that raised Men above the creatures of the earth.

Fëanáro made his dwelling place atop the Mount of Acharia, the mysterious kingdom of the air, which was shrouded to all but those whom the High Cadant wished to see it. He ruled all from the clock room at the pinnacle of a glass castle atop the Acharian mountain – for at that time, Versitas and Myriad were as one and all passed freely between them. Andasi communed with Men. Hope held fast, for despair was, as yet, unknown, nor had Death shown her face. Peace reigned supreme for many centuries.

But the equilibrium between man and muse displeased one of the Andasi. The rogue, Jamus, looked down upon Men and their reliance upon the dreams they borrowed from the Andasi. He saw them as inferior, weak, and altogether undeserving of inspiration.

And so Jamus severed ties with the other Andasi. He dreamt up the first nightmares and set them loose to punish unwary dreamers. For the first time, Men came to understand fear. For the first time, hope and happiness had to be sought rather than merely enjoyed. If they were not found, Men sank to great depths and committed evil crimes against one another and against the muses.

Fëanáro called a council of the Andasi. The seven monarchs and some of their underlings were all present, most notably: Asa of Séasia, kingdom of the sea; Tamoura of Fairbeam, kingdom of the sun; Haligh of Jadessa, kingdom of the earth; Modungo of Marcador, kingdom of the word; Femar of Nomaçao, kingdom of the heart; Alassea of Lokkenshire, kingdom of the clock; Adayla of Acharia, Fëanáro’s daughter and princess of the kingdom of the air; and of course, Fëanáro himself, High Cadant and king of all Myriad. The rogue was present as well, and Caukkor, the great goldsmith from Versitas. They all gathered in the clock room, kings and queens and lesser Andasi united for the last time. Grandfather clocks stood against the glass walls of the round room at twelve, nine, six and three o’clock. The High Cadant’s throne was stationed in front of the clock at twelve, and the others’ seats were arrayed about him in a circle.

Said Fëanáro unto the rogue, “Why have you done this?”

“My lord, whatever you say, I do not see what I am doing as wrong,” entreated the rogue. “Andasi of the council, hear me now, so that you will not be persuaded against me by muses who would choose to gild the reality.

“Men are weak and stupid. They have become utterly dependent upon us. They suck us dry like leeches, leaving no dreams for the very creators of dreams! What have they done that they should be considered worthy of our service and sacrifice? Naught! For they are animals, no different from the birds that fly and the fish that swim. Therefore join me! Together we shall restore the realms to their proper order!”

“Proper order indeed!” exclaimed the Empress Haligh, and the Andasi voiced their agreement.

The High Cadant rose from his throne and strode around the clock room, anti-clockwise as was the custom. “Jamus,” said he as he passed the ninth mark. “Thrice have I given you my warning. This is your last chance to retract what you’ve said and turn from your wicked ways.”

“Your Majesty, I do not retract what I’ve said, nor do I repent.”

Heavily Fëanáro lifted his hand. The clocks around the room fell still and silent, and the only council members moving were the High Cadant himself, his daughter the Princess Adayla, the rogue, and the Versitan goldsmith.

“You know the destiny that awaits you if you do not change your ways,” said Fëanáro. “It has been written since time began.”
“The prophecies are not unalterable,” said Jamus. “If the people about whom they were made choose to act differently than we foresaw, they become irrelevant.”

Said Fëanáro, “I cannot choose other than I have. My son, I hoped it would not come to this. I do not wish your destruction.” He sighed, fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose while he thought.

“Jamus,” said he at length. “Though I change not the prophecy, this promise I give you: I will delay its fulfillment, that you may have time to see the error of your ways. But if you do not, you know what I must do. Do you agree?”

“I do,” said Jamus at once.

“Caukkor, Adayla,” said the king. “Seal the contract.”

The man shuffled forward. He was bearded, bespectacled, and short, even by the standards of Men. Though by all appearances he had been around since time began, he was yet quick of body and wit; for at that time, the bodies of Andasi and Men did not slow down or pass away.

He approached Fëanáro and drew a small, golden dagger. The king held out his hand, and the Man slit the palm, collecting some of the blood on his knife.

Adayla then drew her own golden dagger and faced Jamus. The rogue hesitated, glancing at the king: surely this girl was not to take part in a sacred ritual of blood?

Fëanáro nodded, and Jamus offered his hand to the princess, who cut it without flinching and gathered the blood on her blade.
While the other two watched, the girl and the goldsmith conjured a white flame and used it to distill the droplets of blood, muttering fragments of magic as they did so. Then they stood, each with a smoldering crimson gem suspended magically above an outstretched hand, and faced the others.

“With this forging, thee I bind: each to the other for all of time,” said they in unison.

Then Jamus, in defiance of the contract, interfered.

“I have made my choice,” said he, “and time shall change it not. I will take Myriad for myself, and then there will be no more Men leeching our dreams from us.”

The white flame created by the goldsmith lashed out to reclaim the bloodstones. Lithe Adayla of the Kingdom of Air sprang up and hovered out of the fire’s range, clutching the stone to her breast, her spirit fighting to hold the magic in place until it settled and sealed the contract.

But Caukkor suddenly felt the weight of his years and fell to his knees. The fire quickly engulfed him – a whirl of hot ash – and presently he was gone. This was the first death.

“Aha! See what I have made!” crowed Jamus. “How do you like it, Fëanáro? I call it death. When a Man has lived out his span of years, then he shall be taken from life, to spend the rest of time in the Kingdom of the Dead.”

Adayla drifted slowly to the ground. “There is no kingdom of the dead,” said she.

Jamus laughed again. “Oh! But there is! What was once the Kingdom of the Clock shall henceforth be the dwelling place of the dead. So have I said, so shall it be. The people of Lokkenshire will serve me from now on.”

“Alassea won’t allow it,” said Adayla.

Jamus paused, as though considering this. Then he swept across the floor, disregarding the anti-clockwise tradition of the Clock Room, and faced the Queen of Time. He then reached out and, by all appearances, drew her spirit from her body. “She shall be queen of the Kiragati,” said he. “Not living, yet never dying; for I have fractured her spirit and she can be neither alive nor dead.”

“What a monstrous thing to do!” cried Adayla, brandishing her dagger at him.

“Peace, my daughter,” said Fëanáro. “Jamus, you have done quite enough for today, I think. Just remember that, although you may disregard our agreement, you were too late: the magic did take. You have time, as I promised, but I will not forget what else I promised.”

With that, the council was revived from its sleep – all, that is, except Alassea; what spirit remained in her shadow of a body had been magicked away to Lokkenshire. The council’s eyes were on the rogue, however, and her absence at first went unnoticed.

Fëanáro opened the door of the grandfather clock at six. To the council’s surprise, it did not merely open on a pendulum and weights, but on a faraway vista. The Andasi saw dunes of blood-red sand undulating under a relentless blue sky. It was through this portal that the king drove Jamus.

“Andasi of the council! Lend me your magic!” he implored. The Andasi gathered around the clock.

But something was taking place.

From the rogue’s skin emerged a creature none of the council had dreamed of. Like a lion, it was, but blacker than the darkest night or the deepest sea; so black was he that the red sand at his feet became washed out and dull; all the light of the bright blue sky behind him was dimmed as if he had absorbed it into himself and grown none the brighter for it. His mane was made of fire that burned white around his snarling face and fiery white eyes. He dwarfed the very desert he stood upon, straining ever higher til his face scraped the dome of sky and rent it.

Then, with a sound like thunder, the realm of Man was ripped away from the realm of Muse. The realm of Versitas healed at once, filling in the space where the realm of dreams had been. Around the Andasi’s world, which came to be called Myriad, there was nothing but a vast empty space where Men had once lived.

The council was thunderstruck. Said King Asa of Séasia, “What is this trickery?”

“There’s no trickery, boy,” growled the lion. “Now you see what power we have – and we’ve wasted so much of it on Men! No more, dear muses. Dream the dreams you would have for yourselves, and leave the animals to die as animals must.”

Immediately, Fëanáro sealed the door on Jamus. Brightness returned to the room.

“Andasi of the council,” said he before anyone could speak. “It grieves me that one of our number has turned on us in this way. Indeed, until it happened, I am sure many thought it impossible.

“A new order of things has come upon us. When Men dwelt among us, they dreamt with the entirety of their minds, bodies and spirits. Now only their spirits shall commune with us. I cannot say what else may come of this.

“Jamus has been confined to the Sangrine Desert in the wastelands of Nomaçao. For the time being, he cannot leave. However, be advised that dreaming Men should not be allowed anywhere near there henceforth.”

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This concludes Modungo’s account of the Second Storm.

***In case you didn't notice, this is an excerpt from my work-in-progress, Before the Empty Moon. If you want more, check out my other excerpts (though most of them have already undergone revision since these posts).

An early draft of the prologue
A fragment of Chapter One
S'more Chapter One
In which our heroes find themselves in an alternate reality

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Peace, love, and Hurricane Danny,
Miss Rex