"Gather around the fire. Forget the shadows that encircle us for a time." The quiet, steady voice of Turaga Vakama, one of the Elders of the Matoran people, spoke from beyond his spark-orange mask. He and the other five Elders stood around the large rock table erected in the center of the stone plateau. "Let your minds be at ease. No nightmares will enter in and plague you this evening, even if you nod off from boredom. Turaga Onewa wants to share with you a series of images to entertain you with tonight's story."
Turaga Onewa, Elder of the Po-Koro villages, exerted his frail strength. In response, his Noble Mask of Mind Control activated its power, and through it he shared his imagination with those near and far. The images conjured from his mind felt warm and heavy, for though the projections were for entertainment and instruction tonight, his long life's experience and wisdom inspired his creativity.
Those who allowed him access beheld an empty landscape of bare stone, over which a yellow sun shown bright in the white and cloudless sky. Two spheres flanked the sun, each as featureless a face as the expanse of land Onewa imagined. All was empty and all but void.
Turaga Nokama of Ga-Koro struck up the narrative. "In the Time before Time, when our three worlds, the Tapu Poi, were formed and set to orbit the bright furnace of Uranga Rehua, the Great Spirit Mata Nui, after whom our island home is named, descended to his then formless domain."
The image of the bare plain changed. A stone bigger than the sun drifted down from on high, but it cast no shadow and landed with grace upon the land, which rippled like the soft fabric of a bed. The mighty edifice was smooth and seamless. It radiated unnatural perfection, yet at the same time the land and sky seemed to circle around it instead of the sun, as if it were the fixed center of all things.
"From the silent ripple-swells of potential Mata Nui released the Sea," Turaga Matau croaked.
The ripples spread outward unto and beyond the horizon like a vast, disturbed pond. It turned paler and paler, until white crests formed on the tips of the ripples, which also swelled until they began to heave and collide. The ripples became waves, and the land an ocean. The sea was as clear as crystal. But the stone that represented Mata Nui rested over the water like a cork in a pool, but anchored motionless so that it was headless of the crashing waves.
"And then," Nokama's voice said, her cracked whisper blending into and then out from the murmuring surf, "Mata Nui summoned up our island home."
The murmuring of the ocean escalated to a tremendous roar. Turaga Nuju swept his hand over the table to provide a physical accompaniment to Onewa's cinema. The stone plateau, where the Elders gathered the villagers to recount stories, trembled beneath the power of his mask for a second. The villagers cried out in surprise and delight. With a sudden blast of countless drops of crystal water, the island threw back the covering of the ocean and its waves. The spear-like peak of Mt. Ihu shot high into the sky, its iced surface a blinding mirror beneath the sun.
The image of the island crept closer, slowly magnifying as Turaga Whenua's wheezing voice spoke. "And other islands and places were built to break the fathomless territories of our ocean world. At the same time, the other two Great Spirits set to work upon their worlds, also."
For a moment the vision changed to the sky, showing the two distant spheres. Green spread from the western hemisphere of the right-hand world, while the left turned black like a cinder as it slid behind the sun, as if in hiding…
"Mata Nui, in his wisdom, sought his brother and sister, Mahuta and Makuta Nui. Mahuta took the fertile soil of the island and painted it with lush jungles and pastures. But much remained barren with sand, and the ground was lifeless. So, Makuta released many living beasts with the sparks of life into the deserts and canyons and frigid mountains. And, within the lesser slopes of Mangai, which rested in the shadow of the taller Ihu, he churned up a great furnace…" Whenua coughed.
The image in the sky disappeared in a billow of dancing ash. When the cloud vanished Onewa had shifted again to an image of the island. Green spread out from the feet of the volcano and cold mountains to stain much of the land with vibrant jungle.
Turaga Matau's voice swirled around his listeners, his voice carried by some of his powers, which conjured up a gust about the listeners as the vision played in their heads. The island advanced closer, so that it looked and felt to the villagers that they were freefalling toward the volcano crater. "But Mata Nui didn't stop there!"
Then suddenly the great stone crashed down upon the stone plateau in the in the imaginary vision, causing the villagers to gasp in surprise, even though Onewa's image didn't feature them present in the vision. The point of view then fell into orbit about the great stone, and Turaga Nokama spoke once more, her voice low and proud, like the prow of a new ship cutting through the waves on its maiden voyage. "He created you, villagers of his island. The Matoran."
Many small pebbles exploded from the stone and began to orbit it.
"But you were unthinking-dull, and without purpose or direction," Turaga Matau said, his voice sounding hapless, as if there was nothing to be done about this problem. "Your head-thoughts were empty. Whatever to do? Order you build him honor-temples?"
Turaga Vakama coughed and spoke over the rising chuckles form the audience. "Ahem. Yes. Well, knowing that… empty-headedness and the danger it posses, The Great Spirit in his wisdom," he said, half-shouting at the end as the villagers' chuckling matured into laughter, "and graciousness, bequeathed unto us the Three Virtues."
Onewa's image rescued Vakama's narrative from Matau's humorous sabotage. Three blasts of light erupted from the great stone, each so bright the villagers reached for their eyes, their minds tricked into thinking they'd been blinded physically. The lights dimmed and became three spheres. They circled above the representation of Mata Nui, just as the worlds circled the sun. The sky overhead turned from day to night, transforming it into a black canvas speckled with the numberless host of stars. The distant clouds of Komata Rangi appeared overhead, circling the three worlds and obscuring many of the stars in their violet veils. The twin horns of the clouds almost touched one another to form a hedge in the sky. A similar design appeared around the Three Virtue Spheres orbiting Mata Nui's stone.
"Unity," Vakama said grandly. The rightmost sphere glowed with emerald light as he spoke. "Duty." The central sphere flashed gold. "And Destiny." The leftmost sphere glimmered purple.
"With these three commandments, Mata Nui gave the Matoran purpose in life," Vakama declared gravely.
"So that you can pretend to be happy about building honor-temples for him," Matau said into the solemn silence.
Laughter threatened to break out again.
This time, Vakama and the other Turaga let it go on. When the mirth faded back into expectant silence, the old Elder continued in a quiet voice. There was no grandiose coloring to his words, no acting in his grim voice. A chill claimed the meeting area.
"But, Makuta grew jealous of his brother and sister."
Onewa withdrew his power, cutting off the flow of images his creative mind had been projecting. For an instant every villager's mind was thrown into darkness. The light of the fire quickly returned them to reality.
"And, as you can see in the sky overhead, his world, Ahitaahi Poi, no longer dances in the modern sky above our heads," Whenua said.
Everyone turned their heads up toward the open sky. It was like a dark window, for the horns of the distant Komata Cloud nebulae encircled the horizon in shining violet. Comets darted about the distant gasses, and here and there a pulsing blue flicker issued from the dying seeds of the stars that once shown there. Sheens of metallic rainbow hues, as seen when light reflects off oil, crept across the clouds as the gasses rolled and shifted. But in the hole between these two nebula the sky was so clear it seemed magnified, giving a perfect view of distant stars and constellations, at least in part.
But in all this cosmic majesty no sign of Makuta's dark world could be seen with the naked eye.
Unfortunately, there was still one more heavenly body to see: Pukahu Poi. The planet rose over the horizon, its orbit passing close enough to fill a quarter of the open window stars. Unlike in Onewa's images of Creation, where the world of Mata Nui's sister had been green and lush, this world looked like a tombstone, a grave marker for its dead maker. All that was left for the villagers to see of the lost paradise of Pukahu Poi was a dead planet invading their sky.
"Jealous of his brother and sister, or perhaps corrupted for reasons none of us ever want to understand, Makuta betrayed us all," Vakama said. But it was the voice of one speaking to himself. Everyone knew the truth. The shadows of night reminded everyone of it with each passing flicker of the meeting fires.
"He shattered his own world of Ahitaahi. The fractured pieces plowed into its neighboring planets. Mata and Mahuta Nui were taken completely off guard. With his power, Mata Nui saved many islands from the horrific tidal waves that savaged from one side of Moana Poi to the other." Vakama's voice grew shaky with emotion as he remembered those events.
"As we can see, Mahuta and Pukahu were not so resilient," Whenua said, seeing Vakama was unable to talk anymore. "The world of abundance and life was shattered and broken. When the debris at last thinned out of the sky, nothing remained of Pukahu Poi but what you see, naked desert and mountains, save for the cold arctic lands and their armor of ice. That's why we call it Bara Magna, 'The Dead Rock', nowadays."
"And as for Mahuta Nui, sister of our Great Spirit, her death heralded his own peril," Nokama continued for Whenua.
Vakama spoke up again. "Makuta slew Mahuta. But that was not enough. He came for us next. Mata Nui was cast into a deep sleep. And then, with the Great Spirit unable to help us, Makuta sought to turn us into his slaves."
Onewa shared a final mental image with the villagers. It was of the island of Mata Nui being covered by a shadow, as if someone was closing a door in front of the sun itself. When the darkness was complete, multitudes of small lights remained on the island.
"But all hope is not loss," Vakama said, spirit returning to his words. "The Great Spirit foresaw this. His will lives on in all of you, in his Three Virtues. Unity, to bind us together in this time of darkness, Duty, to ensure we never lose sight of the path, and Destiny: the only promise despair can never touch."
"Don't despair, no matter how great Makuta's shadow grows," Nokama said. Her voice was like a soothing stream on a hot day.
"If he weren't so failure-desperate, he wouldn't have had to blow up his own freaky planet," Matau added.
"Mata Nui will awaken again," Vakama said, fire in his voice.
"Let us all remember to thank the Great Spirit for his wisdom. Even the spell of Makuta's sleep is not enough to separate us. He is in all of you, as we are all in him," Onewa said.
"And if that keeps you up at night, don't think about it at all," Matau said. Nuju grabbed him from behind and covered his mouth.
"Indeed, it is as you say," someone called from beyond the light of the meeting fire.
"Mata Nui can hear all your voices, every one down to the last," someone rasped from above.
The villagers and Turaga went still as if frozen. Many of the villagers began to huddle close, looking around in a foolish attempt to pierce the night for the owner of the voice.
"Your screams are the only thing to be found in the dolor of his everlasting slumber," a soft voice hissed from the main fire. As it spoke, the lesser fires set at the edge of the plateau died out.
Sparks crackled. The main fire in the center of the meeting place died to embers. Smoke billowed upwards like a thunderstorm. It spread out, darker than the sudden blackout, a hole in the night. It formed into a smooth mask somewhat like a shield or bullet, complete with two deeply slanted eye holes. Two green eyes behind the mask spoke of mold or corruption. A crimson tinge flared up now and then, like the sudden blasts from Mt. Mangai's caldera. It turned the green eyes a sick aquamarine for brief moments. From the light reflected off the cracked and dead skin of Bara Magna, the smoke shape rippled in a continuous billowing.
"Tell them, Turaga," the voice from the mask of shadow and smoke said in a rumbling whisper. Tremors ran out from the campfire. The plateau shivered like the villagers. "The truth," he said, soft as can be. The words calmed the villagers almost at once, soothing their shivers. "Remind them of how the Matoran were trapped in slave labor within the heart of Moana Magna, this drowned pebble of a world, slaving away for Mata Nui."
"Don't listen to Makuta's lies," Vakama shouted. His voice sounded muffled and sharp, like someone caught red-handed selling a lie to a gullible audience, compared to Makuta's eloquent voice.
"Slaving," Makuta continued, sounding like he could hardly believe it himself. "Working to the marrow of your iron bones, and all for whom? A lazy 'Great' Spirit who couldn't even stay awake long enough to help Mahuta Nui my sister . Or me and my people."
"He was awake," Onewa shouted, his old voice floundering out like some kind of hapless lunatic running from an alleyway and into a busy street.
"Yeah," Matau added. "You're lying! No one would believe a giant floating black head-mask!"
"Am I a Matoran villager or Turaga Elder? Do I hold true to a physical form? Where is Mata Nui's body? Do you tend to it on a giant bed under the sea?" Makuta's voice dripped contempt. Some of the Matoran were beginning to listen more attentively to his words, and he returned attention to them. "See, you Matoran are indeed connected to my careless Brother, for you know I speak the truth, and do so in the only way I can, from this cloud. Be thankful I don't seep into your thoughts, as your Turaga gurus do to with their dubious Mask of Power."
"You are a creature of the shadows, speaking from one after destroying our campfire to throw us into confusion," Whenua hollered.
"Shadow indeed," Makuta said. The mask above the meeting place grew larger, and the eyes blazed to life, bathing the Matoran villagers in light. "But see, I don't take on this form out of choice! My world is no more, destroyed in an accident I wasn't strong enough to prevent! That careless Mahuta ignored me, my lazy brother wasn't awake for me when I needed him. Tell me, Turaga, where was Mata Nui when his brother Makuta sought his help?"
"You perverted liar," Nokama railed, swinging her ceremonial trident staff. Some of the Matoran looked on in shock, surprised at the oozing venom in Nokama's tone. All calm she'd been on the surface, but now that she was angry her composure eroded into a violent fit! She actually began to caper about, spearing at the smoke.
"See! Look, Matoran villagers. They aren't even answering me. I want an answer, I want to know! Look, Ko-Koro villagers. Your Elder Nuju is trying to run away from the meeting while you can't see," Makuta said, turning his hovering apparition to the side so that one eye could bathe him in a red searchlight. The white-armored Turaga stopped short and looked back. He shook his pickaxe cane and hurried on into the night without a word.
"Now there is a creature of darkness!" Makuta snarled. "He doesn't even speak the same language as the rest of you, and not because he can't, but refuses, so what's it matter if he leaves? I don't care. What about you, Matoran? Will you listen? Will you think about my side, and my questions?"
"We won't let you take them from us," Onewa swore.
"The only questions they need to ask, is what we can do to silence you! Villagers of Ga-Koro, follow me, we're going back home to the village," Nokama ordered.
None of the Ga-Matoran obeyed, though several began to cluster together, separating from the other villagers.
"If it weren't for you, Makuta-mask," Turaga Matau sneered, "there wouldn't be dangerous beasts roaming the island trying to eat everybody!"
The villagers looked back to Makuta to hear his answer.
The shadow shifted in a shrug. "Those were creatures my sister reared. I can't be blamed for how others raise my animals. I've tried to re-tame them for you, but the Turaga keep you hard at work hunting them and destroying their habitats." Makuta sniffed. "If your homes were getting regularly knocked down and your parents hunted, you'd want to do the same."
"We hunt for necessity and build to expand the monuments and beauty of this island," Vakama shouted. "There is no destruction of nature! Only harmonious growth of each!"
"So you call it. I see it as a means to expand your petty fiefdoms," Makuta said. "But whether or not you're tyrants is for the villagers to decide. Tell me, Matoran of the Koros, do you feel your hard labor is ill-spent or well-wasted?"
"It is already decided," Vakama swore, raising his torch staff. Its crafted flame head blazed to life. "You are a deceiver and trickster. Our people know their Destiny! And it's not to serve or be deceived by you, Makuta! Begone!"
"Begone yourself," Makuta said, and then he laughed. "I alone remain to guide you, Matoran of Mata Nui, and assorted gurus. I alone am awake, fearless in this hour of night to govern the shadows that surround us. Heed my words. Hear my plea and turn to me, so I might help you, my good Matoran folk. I, Makuta Nui, still listen to your prayers. There are no others left to lend an ear."
The mask of shadows dissipated, leaving the sky over the plateau of meeting clear again, save for the scabrous corpse of Bara Magna.
After Turaga Vakama rekindled the fires, Turaga Matau and Whenua gathered the Matoran together around the table. Some were quiet, thoughtful, and used the night to conceal it. The more seasoned among them kept watch for signs of attacking rahi beasts.
The youngest Matoran were the most shaken. The combination of Makuta's appearance and Onewa's story imagery had dealt a shock that wasn't about to leave. Nokama sat with several of them, offering soothing words in an attempt to calm them down. She held the hand of a Ga-Matoran from her own village, Hali. "There, there. All will be well. Makuta's words won't break our Unity," Nokama said, her voice calming again, though her green eyes continued to sparkle with rage at what Makuta had done.
"Unity is no good without hope, Noble Nokama," Hali said.
"Nonsense," said Jaller, a Ta-Matoran soldier. "It's gotten us this far. We can keep holding him off so long as we have to."
"But how can we fight back," Hali asked. "Mata Nui didn't create us to be fighters, and Makuta's Rahi are too cunning and vicious. An endless defense can only have one outcome!"
Nokama turned a mournful look to Vakama. One by one, the other Turaga turned to look to the Elder of Ta-Koro for his answer.
Vakama heaved a sigh. "The night is old, and the Master of Shadows is watching us. Of all the time to hope, it's now, young Matoran, never doubt that."
"But what can we actually do," Jaller demanded, standing up. "Stories won't keep him away! Stories won't prove he's wrong," Jaller added, though he did so under his breath so Vakama couldn't hear. "I agree with Hali. An endless defense is no answer. In all the thousand years waging this Great War, have we ever mounted the offensive? We should spend time less on stories, and more on plans to counterattack!"
"So Makuta can hear them?" Matau asked. "What purpose would that serve, other than to provide him funny skit-fiascos like tonight?"
"It's just… too much," Hali said, holding her head in her hands. The island will look like that dead rock up in the sky. It reminds me of a skull with a shattered mask," she went on. Others began to voice agreement.
So many had died fighting to prevent Makuta from ruining Mata Nui. Bara Magna served as an excellent and constant reminder of what should happen if he had his way.
Hali glanced over at a friend, Takua, a Ta-Matoran. He was looking up at Bara Magna in fascination, and seemed the only Matoran able to do so without growing depressed.
"Do you have to do that," she asked.
"I don't mind. It's amazing. There's another whole world up there, bigger than our own. I wonder what it would be like to visit sometime, and explore it!"
"You're out of your mind," Jaller said, shocked. He rolled his eyes. "But that's what makes you Takua, I guess."
This brought a few chuckles, and a hurt look from Takua.
"Well, it's better than staying here. Maybe Makuta wouldn't bother us if we hid on Bara Magna, somehow," Takua argued.
"There is no need to run," Vakama said, tapping his staff to end the debates before they got out of hand. "We have a purpose here, a Duty to remain on this island and guard it from the evil that desolated Bara Magna. Make no mistake, there is no other safer haven beyond this land. It is intertwined with the awakening of the Great Spirit!"
"Really," Hali asked, her voice betraying her skepticism. "Why have you not told us this before, Noble Turaga?"
"We mustn't leave until the island of Mata Nui achieves its Destiny," Vakam replied. Sighing, he went to stand by the stone table again. He hopped up on top of it, an act reserved only for when someone meant to recount a new story or prophesy. It was something rarely done nowadays.
"Gather around, everyone, for new tale," he said in a distant way. His amber eyes gazed off into some faraway place only he could see, perhaps a vision of the future, or a reluctant piece of his secret memories. "It is an ancient oracle we Bionicle have passed down since before the treason of Makuta. It concerns our hope to keep fighting the enemy, even though he surrounds us and cannot be harmed with mere firelight. Even when all the islands across Moana Poi have been overrun or corrupted, leaving us trapped with nowhere else to go.
"Hear well, now, the Legend of the Toa."
Turaga Vakama began the new tale. It extended on into the looming night. No Matoran slept, and they did not cheer or shout. The new fire did not warm them, and the shifting shadows seemed to sneer at each of Vakama's words and turn them into flimsy promises. A few Matoran understood the oracle was quite embellished with hopeful ideas about what the Toa were like, or what they could do. Stronger than Turaga, and almost as tall as Vortixx, with powerful Kanohi Masks and powers of over an element from which Mata Nui had created them. Vakama ordered them to remember what they could, as if they were facts and he had seen them with his own eyes. The Matoran obeyed, of course. They had little else to cling to, even if no one had ever heard of a Toa before.
And never, not for a moment, did they forget the shadows circling them, or imagine they were not listening.
Upon completing his story, a story of the promised arrival of six heroes to awaken the Great Spirit and free the Island of Mata Nui, Vakama sat down and went silent. His ruby eyes dulled, and it seemed to the Matoran they were staring at a dying fire's last heat before retreating beneath the ash.
Morning crested the horizon and sent the shadows into an ordered, slow retreat. In the distance, they heard the Master of Shadows' voice echoing from the depths of the surrounding valley. He was laughing. . .