The Covenant and the Creation Myth

Staring with her mouth agape, Jianna followed the trajectory of his pointing finger before a laugh escaped her. Flitterwing was holding court for a rapt group of Fey women, making his unsubtle overtures to each in turn. It was his attire, however, that had truly astonished her. A glittering cascade of hair, the exact shade of the opulent green brocade of his ceremonial kilt, tumbled loosely down his back. He wore the kilt not as a warrior, but in a fashion that could only be described as a floor-length gown. The garment was embellished with delicate crimson embroidery that swirled up its length like plumes of rising smoke. A scarlet scarf cinched the kilt at his waist, its trailing ends dangling halfway to his shins. Leaning closer, Jianna verified that his fingernails were indeed painted green to match the artful shading on his eyes and lips. The Feyan women encircling him were attired in comparable fashion, their wings and skirts matching the color of their hair, all set off by a complementary accent hue.

“Yes,” Jianna said, a smile touching her lips. “It seems he’s found his calling.”

For a time, Jianna and Blynn huddled together in a corner of the throne room, two outsiders finding solace in their shared company, neither wishing to be abandoned to the unfamiliar festivities. When the heat and closeness of the room grew oppressive, Jianna finally murmured to Blynn that she needed some fresh air. She navigated the marble floor toward a balcony, its entrance half-concealed by thick velvet draperies.

She slid the glass doors open and parted the heavy fabric, surprised to discover that night had already enveloped the city. Resting her hands on the cool stone of the railing, she gazed out upon the glittering expanse of the city below and the snow-dusted mountains beyond, which were rendered as faint silhouettes against the starlight. She found herself trying to gauge how much time had passed while she slept.

A voice spoke from directly behind her, and she jumped so violently she felt her feet leave the floor.

“Oh, it’s just you. Girl, you nearly stopped my heart.”

Spinning on her heel, her own heart hammering against her ribs, she reacted before her mind could even register the speaker’s identity. In a moment of pure panic, she scrambled with surprising swiftness back from the edge, putting the railing between her and the perceived threat.

It was only then, as she caught her breath, that she recognized Malakor. “What do you mean, ‘nearly stopped your heart’?” she yelled. “You’re the one who nearly gave me one!”

Malakor merely gave a dismissive scoff and rolled his eyes before moving to the railing beside her, leaning his two upper arms on the stone.

A prolonged silence stretched between them before she finally broke it. “So, Malakor, what are you doing out here? And where’s your costume? I thought we were all invited.” She was right; Malakor was dressed in the same pair of frayed denim jeans he’d had on when they first met, though they were considerably cleaner now.

“Not permitted,” came the curt, clipped reply.

“What? Why not?” Jianna asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

In response, he offered only a noncommittal shrug. With his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, Malakor provided no further explanation.

“What are you looking at?” Jianna inquired after another extended silence. His brow was creased in concentration as he stared intently at something far away.

Malakor flinched slightly at her unexpected question but then shrugged once more. He gestured with a nod toward the jagged peaks on the horizon. “See those mountains?” When Jianna nodded, he continued. “Well, beyond them is where I was born and raised. My homeland.”

“Really?” Jianna voiced, her tone hushed. She saw the mountains in a new light, as if she could now peer past their stony facades to the home Malakor spoke of.

“Yes. But a Feyan tribe lives in those mountains, and they don’t take kindly to us demons passing through their lands to get to Kaur-Koram.” A shadow fell across his face, his expression turning pensive. “Or, there was a clan of Fey. Queen Dawnstrider said they were all killed.”

Suddenly, Jianna became aware of a distinct hush falling over the celebration behind them. She turned to see that the lively din had ceased. In the center of the throne room, a single figure commanded the absolute attention of every guest. As Jianna drew nearer to the glass doors, she could hear a deep, rich voice speaking an unfamiliar tongue of flowing vowels and sharp consonants. She recognized the steady, rhythmic cadence as Aria’s; she was reciting a saga.

“What’s going on?” Jianna asked, speaking to no one in particular.

Still, Malakor answered her in a low tone. “There’s always a story before the meal,” the demon said. “But this is one everyone here already knows. It’s likely being recounted for your benefit.”

Jianna offered a faint smile at the irony. “Done for my benefit, but I can’t understand a single word she’s saying.”

Malakor heaved a deep sigh. “How about this? I’ll tell you the story. Just don’t interrupt me. Okay?”

Jianna couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”

Malakor took a deep breath and began, his voice a deep rumble. “All right. This tale is about the world’s dawn, the creation of all things. Essentially, the Goddess opened her eyes one day, and there was nothing. No one, not even a goddess, likes to be alone, so she made the sun, the stars, the moon, the In-Realm, and the Out-Realm. I don’t know what she did for the Out-Realm, but when she looked upon the In-Realm, she saw it was just a massive rock, and she knew a lifeless rock was no cure for loneliness. Besides, the In-Realm was an aching void of desolation. So, she created wind to stir the seas and filled the deep pockets with water. The world was still all rock, but it was getting a little less ugly. She made plants to turn the rock to soil. The plants began proliferating uncontrollably, so she created animals to eat the plants, and other animals to eat those animals. For a long while, she was content, looking down upon the world she had made.”

“But one day, she looked down and saw that for all her plants and animals, none of them possessed any true intellect. So, she used her magic to create the First Races. She started with the plants, creating the Dryads. After the results were a chaotic failure, she figured it was better to start with the animals. And from them, she brought forth the Drakes.”

Despite his gruff tone and direct phrasing, Jianna could see that Malakor was now becoming lost in the telling, his face and hands animating the saga. She listened, utterly captivated, as he went on.

“The Drakes were fine, but she felt she wanted more variety. So she made more races from the animals, like us Demons. But then she started creating the Races from scratch, using less of the animals and more of Her own magic. The Fey, as you know, were the last of Her creations, which is why there are so few of them. But as all the races spread out and formed their own clans and tribes, she knew she needed something to unify them, to give them leaders. So she gave them their own gods and goddesses, to guide them and grant them magic. Her own power was diminishing, so after anointing one hero from each race as the god or goddess of their people, she had to create the Covenant.”

“The Covenant decreed that any mortal could challenge a god or goddess for their place. If the mortal wins, they become the new god of their race. It was a way, you see, to keep the deities on their toes. Keep them from growing complacent and lazy in their immortality. If the god or goddess lost the challenge, they would be stripped of their divinity and forced to live as mortals again. They returned to the mortal realm, so they were called The Returned.”

He stopped short, his eyes falling away as the weight of his own words struck him.

Jianna stared at him, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with chilling clarity.

“The Returned?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. Malakor’s eyes widened at his blunder, and he turned sharply away from her, fixing his stare on the distant mountains once more. “The Council… they called you one of The Returned.” The implication was too vast for her to finish the sentence.

Malakor gave a single, bitter nod, his gaze locked on the horizon.

“Gods,” she breathed.

At that, Malakor let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound utterly devoid of mirth. “No more, girl. No more.”