"Stories from the World Below: Part 01, The Ritual" by Karen-Birgitte "Ellemerr" Borud

Stories from the World Below

Part 01: The Ritual

“A long, long time ago, when the true Gods walked upon the Earth, our ancestors were banished from the kingdom of men. They were banished either for misusing the newly founded magic, or for being a treat simply because they were too strong. But Melanie felt pity for them, and she made the earth shiver and open, and it swallowed our people.

For a long time they lived in darkness in the world below, and it was a hard life.

In this era there lived a magician in the southern part of our world, a young woman of the Jugglers, and she was the best of all the Jugglers. And one day in the endless night of the world below she juggled, and her balls were off all colours of the rainbow, all the colours our people had forgotten. But the largest of her balls shone like the sun itself, and as she juggled it reached higher and higher and it grew. And if this was some unknown juggler magic or if maybe it was some God that was touched by the juggling and wanted to reward the woman, none knows. But soon the ball hung by the ceiling of the World Below and shone upon all the southern land. And the Juggler woman was called Sun.

In the northern parts of the lands, though, the people still lived in the darkness, and among them was a young man of the Animages, and he was the best of all the Animages. And one day in the endless night of the World Below he hunted, and on a high mountain by a frozen water he slew a great, white stag. And the man was in the shape of a black wolf, and the wolf was hungry, but he didn’t eat, as he had seen in a glimpse of light when the stag died how perfect and tender and awfully beautiful it was. And the man-wolf started howling, singing, high, clear, wonderful tunes, and the frozen water on which he stood begun to shiver and vibrate and it lifted from the ground. And if this was some sort of unknown Animage magic or if maybe it was some God that was touched by the song and wanted to reward the wolf-man, none knows. But as the curved ice rose the stag started glowing with a magical glow and the light burned the man’s eyes so he couldn’t see and he slipped off the ice.

But the tunes kept coming from his throat and the ice kept rising, and soon it hung by the ceiling of the world below and shone upon all the northern lands. And the man was called Moon.”

The children keep looking at the storyteller, though they know the story is over, they’ve heard it before. At the sign of the singing given from the now silent storyteller they all get up and start singing, chanting or humming the tune of the new year. After they’ve sung the first part of the tune, the storyteller rises and starts dancing, bare feet tap-tap-tap against the rocky floor. The tune grow wilder and the dance more energic, and at the climax she flings herself high up in the air, and then falls to the ground as dead. At the moment she touches the ground a man, an Animage that all this time has crouched in the shadows in a spiders shape, emerges from the corner. He is the History-keeper.

“Alas, the lands between North and South was yet not lighted, but trapped in eternal dusk and dawn, and this is the Gray Zone. But life in Grey is hard, and soon the people born in Grey leave to live in Black or White or both… And thus, on the day of the New Year, the people that know their heart choose between Sun and Moon…”

And as he say the names of the founders of the Lands Below he reaches out a hand to each of their pictures and the pictures starts glowing with a inner glow, the glow of Sun and Moon.

The Storyteller and the History-keeper are standing face to face, hands held up to each other. They smile as the children rice as well, hands outstretched.

“We are the Memory of Grey; we tell the tales of old, we keep the history within our heads. We have now done our duty, and are ready to walk the roads our hearts choose. Let the New Year begin!”

The light of Sun and moon grows and embraces the man and woman, and soon also all of the children; and it pulses into their hands and then fades, leaving glowing marks on some hands at its passing. The Storyteller looks quite surprised at the black marking of Moon on her hand, then on the Historykeeper’s hand and the white mark of Sun that shines there. Lastly she looks on the man’s face, and he smiles to her, and her mask of surprise breaks and she smiles back.

Then they both walk slowly to the wall-picture equal to their marking, and turn around to the children. Seven of them are marked, three of the Sun and four of the Moon. The two of them opens their arms to the children, who come to them silently as they say the final words: “It is ended. Go the way of the Heart.”

And each departs trough the doors; the grey, the white or the black. The Storyteller is the last trough her door. None but the silent wall-pictures can see her unsure look as she gazes back…