The Storm Rages On

Chapter One

Beginning

Before life, before creation, before anything that is or was existed, there was Vandrínereth, Father of All That Is, the Deíte, the One True God. Vandrínereth was not created, did not spring forth from a womb, did not form from the substance of some other life. Rather, He simply was, had been, continued to be, as He had since time immemorial.

Time. The concept of time meant nothing to Vandrínereth, for to Him, everything that ever was, ever would be existed, open for His countenance to study like words on a page. Yet Vandrínereth was not content simply to be, for He desired to express, to design, to create.

His mouth opened, music pouring forth. Music of such beauty, complex yet simple, melody and harmony swirling and coalescing into perfect unity until before Him stood a new race of beings, silently awaiting their instructions.

"My children," Vandrínereth said. "My Maíreth. The time has come for us to fashion those with whom we can share our song, those whose hearts will be receptive to its message. Come, my Maíreth. Let us sing our song together. Let us create the eternal music."

The Maíreth chorus joined Vandrínereth, their voices melding as one, carrying the song throughout eternity. From this song sprang forth countless sólinende, their light shining forth in abundance. Dust swirled, shaping, forming into land. Water poured forth, covering much of the land with its flowing coolness. Trees, plants, vegetation sprang forth, covering the bare rock with green. Animals of every shape and size, from the mightiest vállende to the smallest flíndena, filled both land and sea.

Yet something was amiss. Nothing moved, nothing grew. Silence pervaded upon the lands.

The Maíreth looked to Vandrínereth, uncertain. "Is this how Your Creation is to be, O Mighty One? Still? Rigid? Unmoving?"

"No, my Maíreth," Vandrínereth said. "They must receive my Spirit, my Soúlebreth." And Vandrínereth breathed upon his Creation. And life began.

But the Maíreth were still uneasy. "Your Creation is magnificent indeed, O Mighty One. But we, Your unworthy servants, see that there is none created worthy of communing with Your most holy Word."

Vandrínereth smiled. "Fear not, my Maíreth. Behold, my greatest creation."

And with His own hands, Vandrínereth rent the clay of the earth, molding it, shaping it into the likeness of a man. From the clay that was the man He took a small piece, forming it into a woman. Breathing upon them, Vandrínereth said, "This is Man, work of my own hands. He will tend my Creation, and we shall commune and be as one."

But Vandrínereth saw that the man and the woman were uncertain, afraid, confused. "It is not good for them to be left alone," He said. "I will create helpers for them, that they may care for the earth in wisdom and grace."

And from Vandrínereth's song sprang forth fire and ice, forming and shaping them into beings indistinguishable from men. He turned to His creations. "You will guide the man and the woman in the care of this world. This is your holy task, appointed to you from the Father of All That Is. You, my Flamdráneren, with your sacred flame you shall help man kindle his dominion over earth. And you, my Icénderen, with your holy chill you shall calm the passion of man's heart, help him to be wise and great as I have created him."

And before departing, Vandrínereth sung a final song. Three shining gems of purest shape, of perfect luminescence, appeared. "I bequeath you my final gift: the Tritastónende. These holy gems will guide men of righteousness in the paths of wisdom and right. Bear them well, my children. All is in your hands now."

And with that, Vandrínereth and the Maíreth departed for the heavens, leaving Creation to grow and flourish.

But the hearts of men are not as pure as the will of Vandrínereth. And over time, the Tritastónende became objects of desire, of greed, of jealousy. Wars were fought for them, countless lives lost in the vain pursuit of their possession, until all but a small fragment of one were believed lost, victims of time's relentless march.

But some men refused to accept that the Tritastónende were truly lost. They studied myth, legend, searching for clues to their fate, convinced that their retrieval was paramount for the exaltation of their own names. For one must never doubt the vanity of man and the lengths to which he will travel to achieve his own lustful desires . . .

AN: Part Four of the Voices Saga begins at the very beginning. The Tritastónende will form the thrust of the plot for this story. It seemed only fitting to begin with how they, and the world, came to be. The main story will commence in the next chapter. More to come!

Below are translations of the Ancient Arendellian I found in the manuscripts I consulted for these stories.

Flamdráneren – Literally "bearers of flame." Beings lower than the Maíreth yet higher than men. The offspring resulting from the union of Flamdráneren males and human women would become the brann wielders.

Flíndena – Generic term for small insect, typically used to describe what in the Common Tongue was called a "fly."

Icénderen – Literally "bearers of ice." Beings lower than the Maíreth yet higher than men. The offspring resulting from the union of Icénderen and human women would become the ice bærers.

Maíren – Angelic beings, immortal, devoted only to serving Vandrínereth and His creations.

Sólinende – Stars.

Tritastónende – "Three Jewels."

Vállende – Whale.