The Parting of the Three Makers

The Parting of the Three Makers by Shyriath Farstrider

In the first of times and the first of places, there arose the Makers.

It is said that there were many Makers. It was their gift that they could alter the nature of things through the power of their song, but they were not alike in the disposition of this gift. Some could alter certain types of things, and not others; and some could make certain types of alterations, and not others; and some were more or less powerful than others.

Of the exploits of most, none are now remembered. But there were some among the Makers that were greater than all others; they numbered three, and alone among the Makers these took the form of dragons.

One, a dragon of silver and crystal, of sweet and musical voice; hers was the power to call forth dreams and illusions, and in her mind she saw the visions her Song could conjure.

One, a dragon of onyx and shadows, of quiet and sibilant voice; his was the power to see and understand, and in his mind he saw the paths his Song could open.

One, a dragon of bronze and crimson, of clear and triumphant voice; his was the power to summon into existence that which he chose, and in his mind he saw the wonders his Song could create.

Each alone, they were of little note. The Dreamer and the Seer could create only small things; the Dreamer and the Summoner could perceive little more than the ordinary senses allowed; the Seer and the Summoner could not imagine all that the Dreamer saw in even the mildest of daydreams. It was when they were united that they were strong, and little was beyond them.

It is said that they made many things, many worlds, and their creations studded the wide universe like gems. But never were the Three Makers satisfied with them, and they turned away from them, not seeing in them the potential that they sought.

So it was that one day the Summoner sat down and declared to the others, “I see all that we have made, and to any other Maker it would have been more than enough. But for such as we, who together can do so much, they are uncouth and mundane. The visions of Dreamer manifest as far less than they started, narrow in scope and restrained in their courses. Why is this?”

And the Dreamer added, “I too have seen this. Our works are forced to act in some ways and not in others. Mountains cannot float, but must sit upon the ground, things cannot change their innate color unless their very nature is changed with it, water washes away landscapes whose beauty should stand eternal, living things are dull, simple, and short-lived. Unless we see constantly to them so that they behave as we wish, all that we do crumbles away. Can nothing be done?”

The Seer, lost as he often was in drowsy thought, whispered his reply. “We live in a universe of rules which all things obey, even the works of the Makers. Our Song may alter the rules for a time, but only for a time, before they return to what they were; and so do our works come under their sway. This will be the fate of all things we do here.”

“We have no alternative?” pleaded the Summoner.

The Seer’s endless gaze stared into the distance for a long while, and the others, knowing his ways, stood silent. And finally, the Seer spoke again. “We will require a new place; a place outside places, and a time outside time, where the laws are different.”

“Is there such a place?” asked the Dreamer.

“Yes. It is raw and primal, but it might be tamed, if only we can reach it; and all that we do there will be as it ought to be. But we must find the way.”

So the Three sat in a circle, and twined their tails together, and lifted their voices in Song. The Dreamer sang a vision of a new world, malleable and of infinite potential; and the Seer sang of the path by which it could be reached; and the Summoner sang the gate that would bring them there. And so they passed out of the old world, and never saw it again.

The place that they came to was vast and dark, as an empty hall waiting to be filled. The Three joined their voices once more in simple harmony: and behold, a bright sun burst into light above them, and all about them a wide sea stretched on into infinity, and they stood upon a small rock that was all that broke the surface.

Their Song grew richer and more complex, and the rock began to rise, and the mountain beneath it revealed itself, and the fringes of the sea retreated before it. And at last the Three looked down upon a vast Isle, studded with mountains and crossed by deep valleys, watered by lakes and rivers, its skies strewn with an archipelago of floating islets. They saw that it was beautiful, though yet lifeless, and were pleased with the beginning they had made, knowing that from it would spring many more wondrous things.

They made for themselves a smaller island at a short distance to be their home. Vast caverns lay beneath its surface, and these they filled with quiet streams and glowing crystals, and shaped and sculpted great halls and winding tunnels, where the slightest sound made itself heard for miles. Here they rested and discussed the shape of things to come, and the deep places rang with their words.

Each day they went to the top of the mountain that overlooked their islands, and continued their work. They hung the moon and stars in the sky to brighten the night; they made clouds and rain to keep the rivers filled. They coaxed grasses and flowers and trees to sprout up from the lifeless ground, and they placed fish in the lakes and rivers and seas, and animals upon the land.

In all this the Dreamer saw how things should be, and the Summoner made them so; but it was the Seer who saw how to order things just so, so that they would work once created. He it was who directed which animals should eat plants, and which should eat animals, and what kinds they should eat, and the placement of the seasons and the weather so that things should grow and thrive.

The other two came to look to him for guidance, and he, who had been quiet and reserved, grew proud of his role in the Creation of this world, and everywhere he looked he saw the results of his designs.

In time, the Three began to make new lands beyond the islands, and the life they had sung into being spread to them and scattered into the world; but the Three felt that their work had not been fulfilled.

One night the Dreamer saw in her sleep that which should come next, and the morning after spoke to the others of her visions, saying, “This world will be a place of life, that we have seen to; but we are the only ones to know it and care for it. The plants and animals we have made live in the world, but they cannot see the world other than it is, nor understand it, nor change it, as we can. How much richer a world this would be if there were more such as ourselves!”

The Three considered in amazement, for the Makers had been created immortal, and had never before felt the need or desire to create more of their own kind. The Dreamer was caught up by her vision, and the Summoner delighted at the chance to fashion such beings. But the Seer paused long in thought, and the others waited.

At last, the Seer whispered, “The company of other beings who thought and spoke as we do would be an enrichment indeed. But consider: we have Sung this world in a certain way, and caused it to work according to the plans I have made, and it is a good world. New Makers, though our kin, would be great in power, but small in understanding, even as we were in the beginning; and they could change the world such that it would no longer work as it was designed. Should we risk our greatest work so? For a Maker, bent on carrying out its will, cannot be stopped, nor destroyed, but only fought; and though we fought a thousand eons, neither we nor a hostile Maker would achieve anything other than the destruction of the world.”

The others were shocked at the pronouncement, for they had all seen the example of infant animals being nurtured; though they had seen Makers fight in ages past, they had not thought that a child of theirs would turn its hand against its parents if it was loved and taught. The Dreamer and the Summoner said this to the Seer, but he replied, in a voice louder than he was known to use, “Love and teaching we may give; but that is no guarantee that they will be honored. There is no place in this world for other Makers.” And the others were hurt and saddened by the Seer’s vehemence.

But in his hearts of hearts, the Seer, though he believed his words, thought also things he would not admit to any, not even himself. He saw himself as the keeper of knowledge and understanding of this world, and the one whose designs governed it, and it stirred up great fear in him to consider that a new Maker might come who might share in that role, and come to supplant him.

But he saw how the Dreamer and the Summoner sorrowed, and he was ashamed to hurt them so, for he loved them. And he said to them, “Perhaps not Makers, but we may yet have other minds to share this world with us. Let us make new beings, similar to ourselves but of lesser kind, so that we can restrain them should they become fractious.” To this the Dreamer and the Summoner readily agreed, though they were disappointed at the Seer’s advice.

After many months, the Three brought forth a large clutch of eggs, and placed them in a nest. When at last they hatched, these, the first Children of the Makers, were at first indistinct, as a fog, as though undecided upon a physical form; but one by one, each found an appearance that matched its nature. Each took on its own appearance, some similar, some different, and only one, a daughter, had the form of a dragon after the manner of her parents. But all were alike in having power that, while less than that of the Three, was far greater than that of any mortal creature.

The Children of the Three gathered each day at the feet of their parents in their echoing cave, and learned the secrets of creation from them. The Dreamer delighted at the new visions they saw; the Summoner smiled upon the created things they proudly showed to him. But although the Seer saw to it that the Children also learned understanding and far sight, he remained troubled at their quickness of thought and temper, and discouraged them from learning too much. He told them, “I will tell you much about my plans, so that you do not cross them and know what is needful to remain in harmony with them. But there are things which are for the Three alone, and these I will not teach you.”

As the long ages rolled past, the Children learned all that their parents would teach them, and they altered the world in such ways as they were permitted. But many of them were discontented, for the Seer had withheld from them that which they needed to do the greatest tasks, so that the aid of the Three was required.

And the Three themselves were, for the first time, disunited; for the Dreamer and the Summoner desired their Children to do all they were capable of, but the Seer would not bend, and talk of disclosing his beloved secrets made him angry. For although he loved them, and their Children, he saw them now as playing mere parts in grander things: necessary and welcome, but not equal. But in his mind, the knowing of things was his, and he would not give it up.

By and by there came a night when the Three rested and the Children were gathered together, and they complained among themselves of the restrictions upon them. And in the midst of the conversation, one of the Children stood up; and she was of the form of an elf.

And she said to the others, “The Seer is grown jealous of those who would investigate his plans; but he has blinded his own sight by not listening to our other parents. Can plans not be changed? Can new ways not be found? We could make the plan better, if only we were taught all we needed!”

And another Child, who was of human form, stood up in agreement with his sister. “Our talents are wasted while we do not know how best to use them! We should together show our parents how much we are capable of, so that they, even the Seer, will be proud of us and restrain us no longer.”

The dragon-Child then stood, and said, “What shall we do that we have not already done? With what we have learned, we have already left our mark on this world. For this, we must find a new thing, which we have not done before.”

“Then let us do as the Three did, and make beings that think and speak,” said the elf-Child. “That will display our abilities clearly.” The human-Child said, “But it is not in our power to make more of our own.”

The elf-Child said, “But we can make and change mortal creatures. Though they shall die, they will multiply in the way of other creatures, and pass on their learning to their children. This will be a living lesson to the Seer of what should be done.”

The human-Child exulted. “And they will be beyond the reach of his plans! Though they be weak compared to us, they shall number so many that they will alter the world as they please, and he will not be able to restrain them.”

And the dragon-Child was troubled, for she knew what anger the Seer would bear; but she knew also that it was not right that he should forbid them this, and so did not argue. Instead she asked the Children, “What form shall we give them?” But each of them desired to make the mortals in their own image, and it was clear that they would not agree on one, so she told them, “Then let us each make our own people, in our own image. Though our children will quarrel with one another, as we have, their many forms will beautify Creation.”

The many Children went forth to make their people. The human-Children went by the banks of a river, and sculpted men and women from the clay there, and those were the first humans; and the Children became the Gods of humanity.

And the elven-Children went into the forests at night, and drew down the shining souls of stars into green young trees, and formed them into the first elves; and the Children became the Gods of Elvenkind. And the other Children each made mortal people in their own image, and became Gods and Goddesses.

But the dragon-Child waited, and thought, and then flew to the top of the mountain where the Three gathered each day for their work. When the day broke, they came to the peak to see their daughter waiting for them, and they alighted around her. She greeted them, and said to them, “I ask you not to take up your labors this day; behold, your Children have done a great work of their own. Look about you!”

And the Three looked down upon the landscape, and saw the mortal peoples for the first time, and were awed at all that had come unbidden. The dragon-Child said, “See what we have done, just as you did for us. Are we not truly your Children?”

And they were all Three moved, and there were tears in their eyes. The Dreamer said, “Truly you are. And these mortals, too, are our children, for all of you sprang from us in the beginning.” And the Summoner said, “They shall make this world a brighter place by their presence.”

But the Seer blinked away his tears, and said to the Dreamer and the Summoner, “Wondrous they may be, but what of my plans? What shall we now do that will not be sent awry by these new creatures? This should not have happened!” And when the others asked him what he would have done with them, he shivered and said, “They must not be. They must be unmade, for the paths I have charted anchor the very world!” And they all recoiled from him.

In anger the Summoner rose up, and declared, “I would hesitate at such a request even if I saw dire need in it; but there is no need for this. There is more to this world than your plans. These new ones have been given the gifts of life, and speech, and thought, and it is not our place to take their lives. That is not how our gifts were meant to be used!”

And the Dreamer said, “The mortals will make a world a vision more beautiful yet than any I have seen. To destroy them would be to destroy all that might come of them!” The Seer replied, “But it is wrong! It should not be! They cannot be set loose!”

But the quick-tempered Summoner bellowed his rage, and the power in his voice raised the fires within the mountain, and the peak crumbled inward and belched forth flame and smoke. “Together we made this world, and together we must change it; you do not rule us, nor shall you ever! With my aid must you destroy; and I shall not lend it to you!”

And the Dreamer said in a quiet voice, “Once you showed us the way to my dreams; but now your way brushes the dreams aside. I cannot cast away what could be for the sake of what has been.”

The Seer looked on in shock at them, and could not find words; and the Dreamer and the Summoner, seeing him to be unrepentant, turned away from him, striding down the mountainside. They traveled to the shores of the island, and they departed across the Great Ocean, and never did they come back. And the Seer, all thought gone from his mind, fell uncaring into the fire of the mountain.

But the dragon-Child who had brought the fateful news, seeing her father fall, brought him out of the flame and carried him; for though he could not die, his pain was terrible, and he was insensible to the world. With sorrow she bore him to the caves where the Three had lived, and tended to him as best as she could; but although his wounds healed, and his eyes were open, he would not move.

At last, knowing him to be safe, the dragon-Child went forth, and from her sprang the many breeds of the dragons, and she became their Goddess.

For some time the Seer lay in darkness, and his far sight brought him tidings of the world. He saw the movements of the young Gods, and the comings and goings of mortals. Above all else he saw the Dreamer and the Summoner traveling further and further away, until at last they were too far for even he to discern; and he stared silently after them. The Dragon Goddess came to visit him and try to have him speak, for she still held love for her father.

One day she brought with her several young dragons, and others of the mortal kinds who had heard of the Three and were curious to behold the Seer. The Goddess brought them into the chamber where he rested, and they went to him; and as he turned his gaze to glance at them, he saw in them the new things which his lost peers had also seen, and knew how great a wrong it would have been to destroy them. Weeping, he said to them, “Late though it is, I accept you; and I beg your forgiveness that before now I did not see you for what you are.”

The Seer called the Gods together and begged forgiveness from them as well, and told them everything that he had held from them in the past. He said unto them, “Now that we are no longer Three, we are no longer the shapers of events in this world. You, and your children, may have that task. But I charge you to learn what I have learned at such a cost, and hold it dear: you have dreams in your hearts, and knowledge in your heads, and power in your bodies, but they will none of them avail you if you choose one over the others.”

And so the Gods and the various peoples went forth into the world and made it their own. But the Seer, his work finished, crept back into the caves that he had shared with his peers, and mourned their absence with quiet song, and called into the darkness with pleas for their return.

It is said among some that the way to that place is now hidden, but that once in a while some brave soul finds the Place of Echoing Lament far beneath the ground, and remain there, where their descendants have built an underground city of incomparable beauty; and there they share their company with the Seer to ease the pain of his loss.

And it is said that the Dreamer and the Summoner still walk the world together, watching over their descendants and delighting in all their works, but that they remain sorely wounded, for like the Seer it causes pain in their very souls to be separate from another of the Three.

But the tale says that, although they yearn to return home, and rest, and speak to him again, they are loath to forgive him, not knowing of his repentance; and that the Seer will not leave his lair, for they are beyond his sight and he does not know how to find them. But those who know the tale say that perhaps, one day, the two wanderers shall finally turn in their course and make their way home; and that, at long last, three shapes shall ascend to the peak of the shattered mountain and meet, and speak words among themselves that have remained too long unspoken. And on that day, perhaps, three voices shall be lifted up in Song, and that which was broken will be made whole again.