Dual Creation Myths – Novel World-Building

The following creation myths were a bit of world-building for the novel I am currently working on. If you are interested, a description of which can be found on my Instagram page. When I am further along, an updated description of the novel will also be posted here, on the main page of my website.

In the novel, the kingdom is divided into two groups with distinct cultures thanks to a massive dividing river separating the east from the west. And with these myths, I was hoping to develop their differences by telling the same myth from either perspective.

There is no guarantee these myths will make it into the final manuscript. And, if they do, they may take on different forms in the final product. But for now, these are the first peaks into my current novel with the working title, Long Live the Kings.

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Fulgent Myth of Creation – The Life-Giving Forge:

SJ Shoemaker
Word Count: 1,292
12/10/2022

Before the world, there was only Gadall. No one knows where this god came from. Many say he always was. Others question: Who created the god of creation?

Gadall was a true artisan. A being filled with the insatiable urge to build that which was not yet. To shape the formless void. He would fashion entire planets, stars, and heavenly bodies just to satisfy his need to create. Then, after each world was heated in the Life-Giving Forge and hammered into shape on the Great Anvil, Gadall would toss it away to float through the heavens evermore, taking a path not even the god of creation could know or predict. And he would think on it no longer.

Like all artists, he strived for perfection. And like all artists, he failed at every turn to meet his own expectations. With every planet hammered away at the Great Anvil, Gadall increased his skills and approached perfection. But there was always something amiss. A blade of grass that curved in the wrong direction. A cloud slightly too big for the aesthetic of the area. Each planet proved incomplete and imperfect. And the great god of creation became increasingly frustrated. Never were they good enough for Gadall. And always were they tossed away in the infinite void of space, never to be looked upon again. For it would only serve as a reminder that Gadall still was not perfect. 

There was one day when his work approached perfection. One planet the likes of which the universe had never seen and may never see again. After a thousand attempts with slight variations, Gadall removed this planet from the Life-Giving Forge at just the right moment. Too soon, and it would have hardened too quickly. Too late, and it would not have held its shape as intended. But this planet, heated to perfection, formed precisely as he envisioned. It was perfect, and he was heartened.

He then hammered the planet into shape. Each mountain and valley, each ocean and cloud, obeyed his every command as if they, too, sought to form the perfect vision of Gadall, god of creation. Every tree, every grain of sand or blade of grass, conformed to his whims as if destined to be. And he sprinkled magic overtop the land, infusing its every surface with eternal enchantment.  And it heartened him even more.

Then he shaped the four gods to rule over his creation. Four perfect beings that were fair and just. That would watch over his planet when he could not. Rohin the Roe, Seteus the Squirrel, Hehna the Hedgehog, and Firus the Fox. And he filled the lands with animals in the form of the four gods to serve as a reminder to any who looked upon his immaculate creation who ruled over his paradise. And he also filled the sea with fish, the air with birds, and the vapor with geist. Each to their place. Each enhancing the others. Exactly as he had envisioned. And it heartened him still more. His eternal struggle for perfection was within reach. But there was something more yet that his faultless sphere needed to be everything he dreamed.

Then, at last, he crafted humans. Mortal beings to tend to his lands. To care for his animals. To pray to his gods. And it heartened him again. Truly this was perfection.

But then he rested. And while he slept, humanity did what humanity does. They argued amongst themselves. They destroyed the lands. They slaughtered the animals. They warred with each other.

And when Gadall awoke, he saw what humanity had done to his once perfect creation. And he was disheartened. His flawless creation was ruined. And, in his anger, he was not content to toss it aside to an unknown corner of the heavens. No, this planet, as long as it existed, would serve as a testament to his greatest failure. So he placed the planet back on the Great Anvil and raised his hammer to smash it completely.

But the gods–Rohin, Seteus, Hehna, and Firus–saw the wonder in the world, the good that remained despite the humans. They did not wish to see the world destroyed and wept for the sake of all that would be lost. Then Firus, the most clever of the gods and lord of all that dwells below the ground, had an idea that he shared with the others.

“Let us increase our size until we tower over the lands. And with our increased size and strength, we shall repel the blow from Gadall’s hammer.”

And the others feared what Gadall would do to them for standing against him. But Firus spoke reason again.

“He will destroy us and all that we love if we do nothing. What could he do that would be worse than that?”

And the others agreed to his plan. So they took in the magic that was abundant in the land around them until they were as tall as trees.

And Seteus, lord of the woodlands, shouted, “We must use more magic.”

So they took in even more, growing larger and larger until they were each as tall as a mountain.

And Rohin, lord of the snowy peaks, shouted, “That is not enough. We must take in even more magic.”

And so they took in even more magic until there was none left to take. And the land around them began to die for lack of magic. But they daren’t let a droplet fall from their lips until their task was complete.

When Gadall brought down his mighty hammer upon the planet, the four gods held its heavy surface aloft, preventing it from ever touching the ground. The magic of the earth was just enough to stop Gadall from annihilating his flawed but beautiful creation. Then with a mighty and collective heave, they shoved their beloved planet away from Gadall and his hammer, sending it spinning off into an unknown corner of the heavens. And there it remains, spinning to this day, obscured from Gadall’s godly sight. A blessing. For if Gadall were to ever look upon his creation again, so besieged by humans, who taint its otherwise perfect surface, we would face the hammer once more.

Freed at last from Gadall’s influence forevermore, the four gods rested. They each fell backward to the ground in their own corner of Rheicona, the kingdom that was formed in their very footprints. And there they stayed for a century, too exhausted to move. The sweat of pure magic dripped from their brows and back to the earth, bringing life once more to its surface. But not evenly at first.

It was Hehna, lord of the grasslands and meadows, who awoke first from her godly slumber. And it was she who skittered from corner to corner, collecting the magical droplets and distributing them across the whole earth’s surface as evenly as she could. But even so, with their hundred-year rest, Rheicona was left with a double helping of magic that could not be undone. This is why our histories are so filled with men of magic. Like Brishan the Bastard, who would one day re-enter the tale of the four gods and bring it swiftly to its conclusion. But they could not see so far into the future as we see into the past.

For a great time, they received their wish. And ruled over the earth apart from Gadall. They saw it through ages of darkness. And intervened when they thought it necessary. All the while marveling at the beauty that could always be found between the imperfections. But those are stories recorded by others and awaiting a chance to be found and told once more at another time.

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Serein Myth of Creation – The Four False Gods:

SJ Shoemaker
Word Count: 1,074
12/10/2022

When time was naught, Gadall was. He is the shapeless void whence we all came. The storm of relentless fury that castes out entire universes in a timeless age formed into a moment. At the heart of this storm are a man and his workbench. And It is his duty, his being, his purpose to create.  He would use his hammer to shape each and every heavenly body. Then, with his chisel, he would craft the surfaces with details as fine as individual grains of sand. One strike upon another, our cosmos was crafted. To what end? None can say.  Who can understand the Great Gadall, fashioner of creation, perfection incarnate?

He crafts each heavenly body and star and sun and moon precisely according to his consummate plan. Then, when he deems his creation nothing less than immaculate, he carefully and meticulously hangs them in the heavens. No two closer or farther than intended. Their spin, neither fast nor slow. Their orbital dance, finely tuned with each step preordained. Perfect harmony from the greatest artisan the universe has ever known.

All save one. A heavenly body that eternally vexed him so. No matter how often he would take it back up and reshape it again, the result never pleased him. This piece sat in his workshop for millennia. For it looked wrong somehow, incomplete. Something was out of place. But he could never put name to the flaw.

One day, this problem bothered him ceaselessly. Until he took up the heavenly body once more and inspected it under a scrutinizing lens. And there, he saw it. An infestation had taken root on its surface. Born out of the dust from his chisel as he carved its stoney surface. A mistake. An accident of spontaneous life. And they called themselves humans. They were not a part of the design he had for the world, nor were their houses which clashed with the natural landscapes. But they were so plentiful and bred ceaselessly, spreading to every inch of his creation’s surface. 

For four days, Gadall did nothing. He inspected the earth repeatedly and considered his options, but he dared not touch it until he held a plan in his mind.

Then, on the fifth day, Gadall began to work. He was slow and methodical, careful to avoid the human infestation. With hammer and chisel, Gadall scraped and sculpted the snowy mountains into perfect peaks. But out of their dust, Reiher the Roe was unexpectedly formed. And they claimed the mountains for themself and called themself a god. This caused Gadall to despair, but he determined to try again for perfection.

On the sixth day, Gadall cut deep below the earth until each tunnel curved impeccably. But out of the soil, Fehnia the Fox was unexpectedly formed. And he claimed the underground burrows and tunnels for himself and, too, called himself a god. Gadall cried out in anguish, but he determined to try yet again for perfection.

On the seventh day, Gadall cut away the thick branches of the forest trees until their canopies took their ideal shape. But, out of their bark chips, Sconir the Squirrel was formed unexpectedly. And they claimed the forest lands for themself and called themself a god as well. Gadall wept, despondent, but he determined to try once more for perfection.

Then, finally, on the eighth day, Gadall cut smooth and flat the meadows between mountain and forest, their gentle curves unblemished. But out of the dust, Himis the Hedgehog was unexpectedly formed. And she claimed the fields and grasslands for her own and called herself yet another god. This caused Gadall the greatest of sorrow, and he could work on his creation no longer.

His every plan was thwarted by the unforeseen. His every attempt at perfection made the planet that much worse. Beyond humans, there were now four arrogant and haughty gods. They had no control over their domains, no say in their formation, yet each god was proud of them all the same. And they each multiplied, filling the lands they claimed with thousands of copies of themselves. Then, unsatiated still, they went to the humans who spread farther across the lands with each new day, and they demanded worship and tribute. The people did not question the gods and took them at their word. So they bowed before the four false gods and praised them for work they did not do.

Gadall saw all of this and knew it had been a mistake. Those who covered the surface of his creation were abominations and corruptions of the natural order. Some even used magic to upset nature further still. So, with a heavy heart, Gadall set to destroy his creation once and for all. He could alter a fault with the surface or placement of a forest with a swift motion, but he could never alter its heart. Like a fruit with a rotten core, there was nothing to be done but toss it to the side and begin again.

But his creation defied him once more. As he took to setting his hammer against its surface once more, the four false gods rose up. They took in the magic of the lands below them and strengthened themselves against his strike. Time and time again, they repelled his strikes. With each impact, their feet would dig into the ground and stretch the surface beneath them, forming the mountains which encompass Rheicona to this day. And they bled against the onslaught. Their bones broke, but they relied upon each other and refused to let in. No matter how hard Gadall would strike, they stood firm and repelled each blow.

At this, Gadall marveled. Never had he seen or crafted such resiliency in all his creations. They could not have been more resourceful, courageous, or steadfast had he designed them himself, settling for nothing less than perfection, as was his want. There was perfection there, under the many flaws. And they fought so incredibly hard to keep their place in the universe, flaws and all. So, Gadall, at last, relented. And he tucked the planet away in a distant corner, hidden away from his sight by a moon and a sun. And there it stayed, hanging in the skies alongside all of Gadall’s perfect creations, counted as one of them in its own way–so long as it is not scrutinized too closely.