"In the beginning the Heavens were

In the Heavens the Fathers dwelled

On thrones three sat they clothed in white

Spoke the Father of Creation

Let chaos be and Götterland was

Let dreams be and Träumenland was

Let beauty be and Erdeland was

Spoke the Father of Time

Slow he said and Götterland stagnated

Fast he said and the Earth's Axel moved

Mystery he said and the Dreamworld drifted

Spoke the Father of Life

I give infinity and Götterland forever was

I give life and dreams reality were

I give death and mortal Erdeland was"

~ The Book of Beginnings, Chapter One.

Erdil

Sheyå danced in the sand. The sand danced too. She wiggled her toes, and the sand wiggled too. The sand was her friend. 'Don't worry, sand,' she thought, 'I will never eat you again.' She drew her face as close to the sand as she could, sheer focus in her intense gaze, and she whispered, 'I didn't mean to.'

    The sand was smiling. It made her want to smile too. 'You're my friend, sand,' she thought. She looked conspiratorially at Färin's back.

    'Come on sand,' she spoke inside her heart to her friend, 'let's play. Be quiiieeeeet.' Sheyå snuck closer to the friendly man. 'Follow my hand and dance with my fingers. You are my best friend.'

    She raised both hands up high into the air. The sand followed her. They were both happy. She sent the sand into Färin's back with a giggle. When it hit his back, he fell hard on his face, straight into the sand. Sheyå giggled again. The sand laughed too. When Färin lifted himself up from the sand, he didn't look like a nice man anymore. She didn't like it.

    'Don't do that Sheyå, it hurts! We still have a long way to go, and we only have a little water left.' Sheyå cringed. She didn't want water. It was wet. It made her feel heavy and sticky. The sand didn't want water either. She folded her arms. The sand hid under her toes.

    Färin looked at her funny, then he wiped his face with his hands. 'Sorry for shouting Sheyå. I'm just...Not, uhh...used to this sorcery of yours.' The sand clung to him and he shook it off with a disgusted grimace on his face as he stood up. 'Let's just get to the Gruwoud, ok? There's a man there who can help you.'

    Sheyå didn't want help from the Gruwoud man. She wanted to play with the sand. She wanted to hit Färin in the back again, so she nodded at him and waited for him to turn and keep walking. He didn't. He lifted her into his arms and gave her a big hug. Maybe she could shoot him a bit later. Sheyå put her hand on his cheek and said, 'Ok Färin.'

    He looked happy. Sheyå wanted Färin to be happy. She walked behind him after that, and she told the sand to follow her instead of shooting him. She smiled. They were all happy now.

#

    North. No, North West. That meant the sun should be...On his right? No left. Färin fervently wished he'd paid more attention to his father's tutoring. The sordid desert was so hot and dry. It was disorienting. He shook his head. It felt as though a cloud had floated into his brain. His tongue felt swollen and raw, and he knew his lips were cracked and bleeding. Damn sensitive northern skin.

    The foreigner's strange coat proved to be invaluable, saving his shoulders and arms from being scorched in the sun. He'd considered wrapping his head in it as the savages did, but gave the idea up as soon as it came to him. He did not want to be mistaken for the enemy, should his father's camp be just over the next sand dune.

    Färin's feet dragged through the sand and he lifted his heavy boots with a keen lack of ardour. The girl behind him had a spring in her step. She did not seem to be affected by the heat as much as he was. Only Sheyå's bright blue little eyes peeked through the motley of material Färin had wrapped her in earlier. Strips of various coloured and textured materials covered her from head to toe. Odd pieces and corners stuck out here and there. Her pale skin was bound to burn more than his, her being so young and delicate. It had been foolish to think such a pale child would need as little covering as the large top he'd originally dressed her in.

    Färin turned, bending down to sit on his haunches. He removed the water sac from around his neck and held it out to her. She scowled at it like it was poison.

    'Drink, Sheyå. All people need water to live.' He raised his one eyebrow, sloshing the water about in the sac. The manner of it was strikingly similar to the disapproving gaze of his father, he realised and scolded himself.

    It helped though, and Sheyå held the water sac with both hands, taking one big gulp of the precious liquid. His lips ached with a deep yearning for it, but he allowed himself only one small swallow. It trickled down his throat like cold honey, burning and soothing, but not even close to satisfying his thirst. Färin glanced around at the sunny sky, guessing it to be late afternoon.

    'Let's stop here and rest. We can use a shard of the tent material as shelter.' He looked at Sheyå, and realised her eyes seemed a bit downcast.

    'Once we have a shade up, you can play if you like? Just don't knock me down again.' Her little face lit up, just like Bölla's always did, making his heart warm.

    'I won't Färin. I'll play nice.'

    Färin nodded, satisfied. 'We need some sort of stick or support for our tent shard,' he said. 'Can you see anything?'

    They were on the south-east side of a large sand dune. Soon the sun would sink behind it in an early dusk. It sounded tantalising. Färin scanned the horizon.

    Sand, sand, sand, a bushel? A trace of some little creature's movement in the sand, aaand more sand. When he turned back his eyes went wide, he took a step back, flabbergasted. Sheyå stood smugly between two glass rods that were a half-length higher than her head, arms folded and little lips smirking.

    Färin walked over to the crystal clear pillars and noted how thick they were. He could barely wrap his hands around them. He touched their surface with awe. Smooth. With his mouth hanging open, he inspected them at greater length. Sorcery! She was a demon child. She had to be. How else?

    Did demons even exist? Färin snapped out of his reverie and went to grab the tent material, still dumbfounded and a little awestruck. Was there a drool streak on his cheek? He wiped his face before he shook out the scrap of tent they'd salvaged at the destroyed Skävian camp. The two most obvious corners he hung over the rods. They held, to his amazement.

    Their small pack and water sac he used to anchor the back ends of their makeshift tent. Sheyå immediately climbed in and sat down, wriggling and squirming like a little kitten settling into its favourite spot. She wore a satisfied grin and folded her legs under her with her eyes narrowed by her gleeful smile.

    A strip of loose material fluttered beside her neck in the hot breeze, one of Färin's ingenious wrappings that were coming undone. Färin couldn't help but smile. He crawled in through the two glass pillars with some reverence and sat beside her.

    'Sheyå? I'm uhh, going to lie down for a bit.' Her blue eyes were trained on him as though his words were her lifeline. Little kids tended to do that. 'Promise me you'll stay in the tent?'

    'Okay,' she said.

    He breathed a sigh of relief. Relief from the sweltering heat and the burden of Sheyå's safety, and lay back, putting his hands behind his head. He'd only close his eyes for a few minutes, just until the sweltering burn on his face had cooled a tad. Travelling at night was a better idea, come to think of it. They would miss the horrible heat. So then he'd close his eyes until night fell and then they'd be on their way. With lidded eyes, he thought of Asrya and her sweet sensuality until sleep once more overwhelmed him.

Träumenil

    The road had blossoms beside it. Small white ones. Why had he never noticed them before?

    A sweet, sugary aroma floated in the air before him. Färin could not help but follow its scent which floated down the dusty trail and soon led him to a vast green grassland. It was exceptionally beautiful, the long grasses swishing and swaying in the sugary breeze, little flowers all over. Fathers, it was dazzling! The little white flowers scattered all over the pasture reflected the light of the sun.

    He felt relieved. Färin laughed when he realised why: the desert. He was not in the desert anymore. But there were no signs of water either, dammit. Something in the distance to his left caught his eye.

    Fathers, please let it be Asrya, he missed her insatiably. Through the luscious grass, Färin strolled and took off his boots to feel the blades tickle his toes. He tried not to walk on the little flowers at first, but soon gave up. They were everywhere.

    Someone was walking next to him. His hope soared in his chest at the idea of seeing Asrya, but it wasn't her. A peek sideways showed him it was a really old Wise Man. He looked like any Wise Man might, except that his robes were not as dirty or as tattered. The Wise Man's substantial moustache moved, almost as though it had a mind of its own. Färin continued to walk silently, unsure of what to say.

    'Färin.' The man's voice rang through the open meadow.

    It hit him like a brick wall, a sound his being had longed to hear. He felt that his whole life had been preparation for that moment, that one word from this stranger whose voice struck chords in his heart. Färin's knees felt like jelly, and his palms were sweating. 'Yes. Sir.' Calling the man sir felt like the right thing to do. 'Uh...here I am.' His own voice sounded pathetic and puny in the wake of the man's melodious word.

    The man turned towards him, and Färin felt compelled to look him in the eye. His eyes were bright, friendly, and slightly cold. His brown hair was wavy, and joined his thick side burns to frame his strong-jawed face. Handsome, for an old man.

    'I am the Father of time.'

    Färin once again felt the man's voice deep in his heart. This time though, he also felt a strong desire to bow in obeisance at its sound. His body started to bow without his permission and he found himself bent almost in half without the faintest idea how it had happened.

    The man laughed a deep burly laugh. 'That's quite alright son, no need to bow.'

    Färin was hungry for the Father's voice, eager to satisfy. He sprang up straight, almost unnaturally straight, peering at the Father with one eye near bulging out. The Father placed his hand on Färin's shoulder in a fatherly gesture, and Färin felt himself relax, like wax slowly melting near the flame.

    'I came here to give you a message.' Färin nodded, entranced by his voice and his touch. 'The girl is my daughter. Born from the storm. You Northerners call them elementals. I've always thought that term to be quite inaccurate for they are not bound to one element as you suppose.'

    In some other part of his mind, Färin recognised that what the Father was saying should shock him, but all he felt was a warm fuzzy feeling, and awe. Yes. He was awestruck. That was the word.

    He managed a minute nod and the Father continued. 'She is entrusted into your care for a time. You must guide her to a Mage who can teach her about her kind, and you must beware of the dark one.'

    All that Färin could do was nod. Deep down he knew he had questions, but they seemed so insignificant in the glorious presence of this man who exuded such power and majesty.

    'The dark one can bring an end to the Erdil with the power my Sheyå has.' The Father suddenly looked stern and a thrill of terror shot through Färin's extremities. He had to stop himself from cringing away. 'You must not allow the dark one to find her, Färin!'

    The Father frowned as he spoke, and terror built in Färin until his hands shook. He grabbed them behind his back, trying to calm his heart, and he bowed to the Father of time with fearful awe. 'Yes, Father.' He could not completely conceal the tremor in his voice.

    The Father nodded sternly, gazing ahead with purpose. 'I know you will not fail me, son of Shehëk.' Once more, Färin's heart warmed and he beamed with joy at the Father's praise. He was being completely ridiculous, he knew, and yet could not control it. Like a moth to the flame.

    The Father grabbed Färin on his shoulder with affection before drawing him into an embrace. He patted Färin on the back in a manly fashion, and a tear rolled down Färin's cheek. He could not stop it and was not sure he wanted to. The overwhelming feeling of love had saturated him like a warm river, drenching his body and heart. Färin smiled at the Father as their embrace broke apart, with true adoration. 'Thank you. Father.'

    The Father merely inclined his head briefly, before turning towards the horizon and vanishing.

    Färin awoke to the sound of laughter and the feel of sand between his toes.

© Joy Cronjé 2015