“At first, there was the sky. That’s where all things began. And the spirits lived in the sky, and feasted and lazed about. There was nothing to do, so the spirits feasted and celebrated their sameness and the repetitiveness of their existence.The spirits all looked very similar; dark, vague forms with brilliant eyes of swirling hues.
Then one day, Fanthis, the spirit of boldness, grew weary of the sky and its stillness. Fanthis was not content to remain complacent in the sky realm; it had to know what was beneath the clouds. So, donning the belt of thick brushes that was its totem, it descended to the realm below. In what seemed an eternity to the rest of the spirits, Fanthis remained below, until one day it returned in the middle of a feast.
“There is a blackness down there,” Fanthis said, “a solid, round blackness. I am going back down there.” And then Fanthis was gone.
Some time later, the spirits began to feel something outside of their complacency. They were curious about what had become of Fanthis, and so Shaka, the spirit of the waters, was sent down to investigate. It found Fanthis, sitting quietly on the blackness, meditating.
“Welcome, kin,” said Fanthis, “to the blackness.”
Shaka looked around and stared at Fanthis. “You might be first of us down here, kin,” it said, “but you have done nothing with the first new thing.” And Shaka touched the blackness and covered it with water. “At least now, something has been done.
And Shaka remained with Fanthis. It did not return to the spirits in the sky-realm, and so they began to feel a new feeling: worry. They were worried about Shaka and Fanthis, for they were kin, and so Gamai, the spirit of the land, was sent to discover what had happened
Then Gamai, spirit of the land, was sent to discover what had become of the spirits of boldness and water. It found them sitting on the water-covered blackness, meditating.
“Kin!” Gamai shouted, for Gamai did not believe in subtlety. "Has it been here that you've been this whole time?"
Angered that its own kin would cause it to worry, Gamai scooped up a shadowy hand full of the blackness beneath the water and hurled it at Shaka and Fanthis. It fell in spots and clusters, creating the first isles. Gamai forgot its anger and tended to the isles, pleased at this creation.
When their third kin did not come back, the spirits began to feel fear, real fear, for the first time, and so they descended all together to determine what had occurred. When they arrived, they saw Gamai, Shaka, and Fanthis sitting on the largest isle, meditating. There was much shouting and much rejoicing at the reunification, and together, the spirits set out to change this new world.
Herna, spirit of the forests, covered Gamai’s isles with plants of all kinds. Temba, spirit of strength, pounded its mighty fists on the ground and created the mountains. Kadir, spirit of the air, created a breeze that pushed back the clouds and let the sun nurture the plants. Zinda, spirit of magic, imbued the very ground with sparks. Temarc, the spirit of cunning, created clearings and caverns; places to hide and places to discover. Lungha, the spirit of mirth, gave the flowers colors and touched the world with beauty. Mirab, the spirit of fire, gave the molten magma to the mountains to create the volcanoes and warmed the earth to create hot springs. Rai, whose tenacious nature made the heavens endure, gave the world its lasting power. And as they marveled over this new world, they soon became aware that they were not alone.
A new spirit, one none of them had yet met, stood in the middle of them. One by one they fell quiet until Fanthis, boldest of them all, stepped forth. “And what are you the spirit of?”
“Um,” the new spirit said, for it did not yet know its true self. “Life, I suppose.” And as it stepped forward, a new shape followed it. Gray and featureless, it resembled the spirits and yet looked nothing like them. Several more followed it, matching the spirits in number.
“But how will we tell them apart? They are alike,” put forth Zinda.
“I think we are meant to change them,” replied the spirit of life, “and bless them so that they may thrive.”
“I will go first!” cried Fanthis, but no creature stepped towards him. Instead, the first creature to come forth chose Gamai.
“Let’s see now,” Gamai rumbled in its genial, methodical way. “A strong back and strong legs for travel. Four hooves to carry you true. A thick hide to protect you. And to distinguish you,” Gamai said, thinking, “I will give you a whisk, so that you will not be bothered by the sweat of your back or the flies of the air.” And so Gamai took the long whisk of grasses it carried as a totem and stuck it on the creature’s rump. Whinnying, the first centaur reared on its hind legs, a powerful creature indeed.
“Now it is my turn!” cried Fanthis, but once again, no creature stepped forth. Instead, one sidled up to Zinda, the spirit of magic, who cried in delight at the possibilities.
“A velvet coat for silence at night; sharp claws on clever paws for those who might slight you; daring ears, so that none might sneak up on you… and my headband as a tail, for balance and swiftness.” The first cattaur padded delicately behind Zinda as the spirit of magic whispered into its ears and taught it the secrets of the spirits.
Fanthis opened its mouth to cry out again, but one of the creatures raced up to the spirit, knocking it flat. The spirit’s kin laughed in mirth at seeing Fanthis bested, but Fanthis did not care. “Sharper claws on stronger paws for you, so that none may take you in battle! Pointed ears to tell you all that happens on the land! A thick coat so that no spears might mar your hide! The drive to defend and the strength for war! And one of my war-plumes to wave in the air, so that I might spot my children and fly to your aid!” Fanthis and the wolftaur sat with each other and talked of slings and arrows.
The next creature to come forth approached Kadir, the spirit of the air. The spirit circled the creature for a time, looking it over. “I will give to you the gift of flight and cover you with my feather-totems,” said the spirit, “but I will need to reshape you to do this. Instead of four legs, you will have but two. I need the others to shape into wings.” The first harpy squawked and soared, hovering over its creator and reveling in the cool breezes.
Mirab, the spirit of fire, was next. “My creatures thick scales to protect them from my moments of wrath. And I would like to give them flight, but I have not the material with which to do it.”
Lungha stepped forth. “My creatures need but two legs. Here, take what is extra from mine, for they say that the fire laughs and crackles just as merrily as myself.
Mirab looked at Lungha with gratitude in its eyes, and gave the first dracotaur its wings.
“As for my creatures,” said Lungha, twinkling, “They shall have thick coats and cloven hooves, and be nimble and agile and vastly intelligent. They are, after all, myfavorite,” and Lungha laughed at its own joke. “They shall have my drinking horns as a totem, but I shall upend them and place them on their heads!” The first satyr laughed at the joke as well, but the other spirits did not understand.
Herna, spirit of the forests, was next to be approached. “My creatures will have cloven hooves as well, to better navigate the thickness of the tanglebranches. And they will bear my standard of branches upon their heads, to mark them as my own.” The first cervitaur bounded into the forest, its creator watching and smiling.
Shaka, spirit of the water, was approached next. But Shaka could not decide what, other than a tail of its standard- the palm frond- its creature should look like. So taking the first half-formed syrin, Shaka disappeared into the water. Eventually, Shaka formed a multitude of creatures out of the first, none looking quite alike but all looking somewhat similar. It was just Shaka’s way.
After Shaka’s exit to the sea, Temarc formed its creature. The spirit of cunning knew the value of trickery and deception, and thus formed its creature largely the same way that Fanthis had. However, instead of a thin war-plume tail, it took the puff of smoke which was its totem, stretched it out, and gave the first foxtaur its fluffy tail.
Temba, the spirit of strength was the next to be approached by a creature. “Strength I give you, and a thick coat to protect you from the cold. Long claws, not just for battle, but for digging. These are my totem, and they shall be yours. You have no use of a tail, so you shall have but a stub.” The first ursataur growled and stood with its creator.
Then it was Rai’s turn. The spirit of tenacity and perseverance set out to create a durable creature. “Two legs; stand tall. Two horns; signs of leadership. Take them; wear them. A rope; my symbol. Take it; think of me.” The first minotaur was not a creature of many words, but it did not need them.
As the spirits bonded with their creations, their happiness increased. They were no longer content to be complacent in the sky; they had much to teach their new charges. But one spirit was not happy. It had no role in the creation of this new world, and it could see no reason in the shaping of beasts. “If we all live down here now, what then is my purpose?” cried Ssiruk, spirit of spirits. “We never should have left the sky. These creatures are useless to me!” Ssiruk skulked and shrieked and could not be placated. “I shall become the spirit of death, and I shall be in opposition to all of you as repayment for what you have done to me!” And off Ssiruk stormed, leaving its creature unfinished. Its body was long and its lower limbs were still flush against its body. Confused, it slithered off after the spirt of spirits until neither could be seen.
Frightened and puzzled by this outburst, the other spirits and their creatures dispersed, until the spirit of life stood alone. There was only one creature left, smaller than the others. Gently, it nuzzled the spirit of life, and the spirit smiled. “It is good that you are left, little one. You will always be weak, but you will be the strongest of all. The spirit gave the creature elegance and grace; a shiny white coat the color of the sky; cloven hooves with which to run; and a long, strong horn through which to channel the essence of the spirit-”
“And that was the first unitaur, right?” The little unitaur filly practically bounced up and down, finally interrupting her caretaker. The older unicorn, face smudged with soot, smiled down at the little girl pressed against her side.
“Yes. That was the first of our kind. Guided by the spirit of life, the unitaur flourished for ages and ages.”
“And then what happened?” The girl was eager, though she’d heard this story a dozen times before.
“And then the spirit left us, to travel the world. Some say that this is why we must run; we must run to catch up with the spirit to be guided again.”
The girl nodded, eyes wide. Her nod stretched into a yawn, and as the older female stroked her head, she buried her face in her guardian’s dappled flank and drifted off into sleep. Exhaustedly, the older unitaur threw a handful of ashes onto the fire, extinguishing their meager flame for the night.
The two were thin and gaunt, weary of being on the run. What either would have given for a good night’s sleep in a real bed. But that was a luxury neither could afford. They were, after all, being hunted. The elder of the two was barely an adolescent herself. They were the last two remaining of their tribe, a little girl and the infant forced into her care. Their assailants had weapons; sharpened spears and cunning bows. All she had was her magic and her inner strength. She knew that she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t give in and surrender. After all, she’d told the story of the spirit of life so many times, she was almost starting to believe it. The two of them might have been the weakest, but they were also the strongest. Now all that was left to do was run.
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