The Advent of Tides
by Tom Howard
Timor the Adventurer flicked the reins and drove his
steeds westward toward the fiery sky. When he’d left
his home in the Diamond Mountains, his six stallions had
been white and noble. As they neared the broken and
tumultuous area near the sea, the team pulling his
chariot had become jet-black and quarrelsome. He had to
keep firm control to prevent them from nipping at each
other and pulling him off course.
His silver and gold chariot leapt over deep chasms that
appeared as the earth shook. The planet’s blood
throbbed hot and molten far below. Cinders and smoke
hid the view of the tortured sea in front of him, but
Timor followed his troubled heart. He thought to remove
the lion skin he wore across his shoulders, but his
followers always pictured him wearing the lion head and
golden pelt so he complied with their beliefs. His
attire wasn’t his concern. He had to reach Kenok before
his brother’s anger and sadness destroyed them all.
Timor left the chariot on a plateau near the sea and
hobbled his unruly steeds. Kenok’s battle with the sea
had left the surrounding ground scoured to the bedrock.
The sea screamed as Kenok froze it into giant tidal
waves overhanging the land. The wall of water,
constrained and experiencing Kenok’s wrath, threatened
every shoreline on the planet.
“Kenok!” shouted Timor, his lion skin cape fluttering
behind him as he bounded from boulder to boulder.
“Stop!”
Kenok was a colossus, his ant-like head bellowing in
agony and anger at the ocean, his giant claws and black
leather wings pounding the thin strip of sand that
remained.
Timor, in his human form, shouted at his brother.
“Stop!”
As he approached Kenok, the surges of pain his brother
radiated made Timor stumble. How long had he been like
this?
Kenok gesticulated at the wave trembling before him.
The water ripped apart and reformed. The ocean
shrieked, and water on the entire planet cried out in
pain.
Kenok sat on the blackened sand and placed his head in
his clawed hands. Nearby, bones of ships and sailors
littered the exposed floor of the ocean. Kenok’s anger
had driven him mad. In his grief, he didn’t realize how
much damage he’d done to the shore and its people. If
he did, he didn’t care.
“It killed my son,” said Kenok, shaking his claw at the
quivering wave overhead. “I want revenge, my brother.
I want it to suffer as I do.”
Timor sat on a boulder and removed his lion helm. The
other gods, frightened at Kenok’s madness and power, had
sent Timor to reason with him before they were forced to
take more drastic action. This world must not be
destroyed. The song must continue.
Kenok slowly shrank in size, taking on his normal human
appearance -- except for the claws with which he
continued to beat the sand. Back were Kenok’s blond
curls and beard, his wide shoulders, his white toga
trimmed with gold. Gone were the sparkling blue eyes
and the quick smile.
Timor moved closer and put his arm around his brother,
trying not to let Kenok’s sadness overtake him. “Why do
you wage war against the peaceful sea?” The nighttime
shoreline indeed resembled a battlefield with beached
boats and drowned corpses. Nearby, Kenok’s temple lay
in ruins, and the surrounding village had been washed
away.
“Mavon’s tiny body was so pale,” said Kenok. “He was
only a year old. His song ended before it began.”
Timor patted Kenok’s shoulder. “How did it happen?”
“He was playing at the edge of the water with his mother
and his caretakers. They looked away but for a moment.
When they discovered him missing, it was too late.”
Kenok stood and shook his claws at the wall of water,
and it howled in pain as he strangled it with his mighty
will.
“What happened to his mother and the others?” Timor
asked, trying to ignore the dead bodies lying scattered
on the black beach.
“I killed them,” Kenok said, his voice cold. “They let
my only son die.”
For a moment, the Adventurer was overcome by the dark
waves of his brother’s wrath. “Please, Kenok. Think of
what you are doing. Bellina didn’t sacrifice herself to
populate the world, so you could destroy it in a fit of
rage. I’m sorry about Mavon, but you’ll have more
children.”
Back in his monstrous form, Kenok roared. The ends of
his black wings gouged craters in the stony beach. “How
do you know? Your children, the four winds, are healthy
demi-gods. They are alive and part of the cosmic song.
Don’t tell me I can have more children. I want Mavon.”
He stopped and shrank, his human face growing hopeful.
“Timor, we can go together to death’s gate and retrieve
his song! I have Mavon’s mortal remains here.” He
waved one of his claws, and a nearby stone parted to
reveal his son’s small body. “Come with me. What good
is being a god if we cannot save one small child?”
Timor shook his head. “You know it cannot be, Kenok.
Once the song is ended, it cannot be sung again. If we
tried to interfere with death’s gate, we risk casting
ourselves into oblivion.”
Kenok didn’t reply but returned to crying. His tears,
instead of being water, ran down his cheeks in streams
of acid. Where they landed on the sand, puddles of
glass formed.
“Remember how we first shaped this world?” asked Timor,
trying to calm himself and his brother. “It was just a
little pocket of space where songs from many worlds came
together. We came here to listen.”
“We only needed a place to rest and listen to the
song.” Kenok stared at the wall of writhing water
before them. “Why did we have to create a deadly ocean
when we formed this world?”
“We made the ocean for the humans,” said Timor. “What
few of them remain after you forced the sea to stampede
over the land. The god of Chaos and the goddess of War
are pleased at the amount of destruction you’ve caused,
but even they worry about what happens next.” Human
beliefs had given the gods their names and attributes
and solidified them into existence. Timor wished they’d
imagined him in less dramatic attire.
He gestured at the dark sea. “What is that?” Timor
asked. He pointed at the new orb over their heads.
“You could have destroyed us all by dredging earth up
from the bottom of the ocean and throwing it into the
sky. Do you know the sadness of the cosmos when you
stop the songs of an entire world?”
Kenok regarded the glowing sphere. “I was out of my
mind, Timor. I tried to destroy the ocean by ripping up
the ocean floor, but it didn’t work.”
A volcano to the south erupted, shaking the ground and
darkening the sky. Timor heard his steeds screaming on
the plateau. “So you have gone from being the Beauteous
One to being the God of Death? From the beginning, we
decided there would be no such deity.”
Kenok looked at Timor, his eyes filled with pain. “We
also agreed because of its nature that there would be no
god of the ocean. It’s a wild beast that kills. It
must be destroyed.”
“Because of your wish to punish the drink, you would
destroy the cup and send all of us through the gate?”
Kenok shook his head but didn’t return to his larger
form. Instead, he took a deep breath. “The beast must
pay.”
Timor stood and looked at the shining ball in the night
sky overhead. “If I ensure the beast will never rest,
never know peace, would that appease your anger?” He
waved his right hand at the sky, and the orb began to
move.
“What are you doing?” demanded Kenok. “You cannot
return it to the sea.”
“True,” said Timor. “That would cause even more
damage. No, I’m ensuring the sea is never calm again.”
“I don’t understand,” said Kenok. “What are you doing?”
“Watch.” The orb fell toward the horizon, and the sea
struggled to follow it. “But you must release the
ocean.”
“No,” said Kenok. “It will kill other children.”
“Trust me,” said Timor. “Do you want to destroy the
cup?”
Kenok shook his head, and Timor felt his brother’s
remorse break over them.
The stone containing his firstborn drew Kenok’s
attention, and he held out a human hand to touch it.
“I’m sorry. I do not wish to end this world’s song.”
“Your brothers and sisters do not wish it to end either,
but remind me to be far away when Bellina returns. She
will not appreciate having so many of her children
killed.”
Kenok’s tears stopped, and he gestured at the sea. The
giant wall of water slowly sank, increasing the water
level at their feet. The sea, released from Kenok’s
mighty grasp, sighed with relief and sought its former
bed.
“What happens now?” asked Kenok.
“Is the sea quiet and calm as it once was?” Timor
watched the water lap the shoreline.
“No. It’s moving as if it flows over giant boulders.
What is happening?”
Timor laughed. “The sea will ever regret the death of
Mavon. Every day and every night, it will toss, never
quiet. This doesn’t mean fewer humans will die now, but
you will have your revenge on the heartless, unfeeling
sea. Are you satisfied?”
Kenok looked at the churning waves. “What is causing
this unrest? Is it something I did?”
“In a way,” Timor replied. “That moon you placed in the
sky tugs the ocean as it orbits the world. The sea will
never lie still as it once did.”
Kenok clenched his fists. “It doesn’t seem enough.”
“You will always miss Mavon,” said Timor, “but now we’ll
place his body on a pyre, a grand pyre that reaches to
the stars. We will show the heavens what a hero he
might have been.” Timor hugged Kenok to him, pleased
when Kenok hugged back.
“We’ve cursed the sea for eternity,” said Kenok. “Why
don’t I feel better about losing my son?”
Timor hugged him tighter. “One of the drawbacks of
being immortal, I’m afraid.”
“We could use a volcano for Mavon’s pyre,” suggested
Kenok. “He always liked playing with fire.”
“Excellent,” said Timor, donning his lion helm and
gathering Mavon’s body in his cape. “Then we can build
a pyre for all the mortals.”
He watched the ocean waves crash against the shore, an
eternal lament for the loss of a god’s son.
THE END
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