Of Sirens and Satyrs - A Creation Myth

By: Demetrios Posted on: November 13, 2005

Our story begins before our beginning, before some events and after others, which is a common way for events to begin. These were sad ages for Sapience, for no jovial Satyrs traveled the land bringing their cheer and song, nor did any Siren grace the world with her beauty. Yet, people found what joy they could in such desperate times, yea, in friend, family, and lover. It is to people such as this that we now direct our attention.

In the fair city of Cyrene where the vineyards now stand and unfinished construction doth dominate the view, there were at this time a group of farms. The farmers there raised produce and livestock, selling them in the nascent markets of the growing town nearby. One of these farms was the Ocken farm. 'Twas not the largest farm, but 'twas of great import nonetheless, for the Ockens were goatherds, and the fabric, dairy, and at times even meat kept them, their neighbors, and the town well-supplied with food and clothing.

John Ocken provided work to a few farmhands. One of these farmhands was an older boy named Willas. His father and the Ockens were fast friends, and he had worked on their farm since he had been a child. Willas was a simple boy in various senses of the word, but he was full of passion for life. Whatever he did, he did with gusto. When he ate, he ate prodigiously. When he drank, he drank as if all wine would vanish from the world on the morrow. When he spied a graceful, womanly curve, ne'er did you see a farm boy wax so poetic. And when he sang the old songs, his joy was contagious.

Also working this farm was a young lady named Carinne. Carinne did tend to the goats as if they were her own children. When they fell ill, she would grind powerful medicines from herbs, and more often than not, they would be cured on the morrow. When they were injured, she did bind their hurts with bandages and poultices of her own make. She delivered their young, and did also grant them painless mercy when the situation did call for it. And ne'er was a woman OR man for that matter so intent on their duties as Carinne. She rose early to care for the herd and did so until she was exhausted. Ne'er did she seek for company amongst her own kind, and ne'er did she desire it, truth be told.

Well, such was a crime of sorts, for Carinne's beauty was legendary throughout Cyrene and beyond. There was not a man in town that did not try to catch her eye. Even those gentle born would make their suit, but Carinne had nay a hopeful word for any of them. Indeed, she was oft cold and rude to the questing hearts, dismissing them as quickly as possible so that she might return to her work.

Needless to say, Willas did love Carinne, and I use not the word lightly, for unlike many who came to call on her, Willas had spent countless hours watching her from a distance. He had seen the tenderness with which she cared for her charges and the selflessness of her service. Aye, so loved her he did, for when a powerful shaft of noble character is bound to the arrowhead of great beauty, the wound is often fatal, nay?

And yet, Willas knew that he had no hope, for he knew her rede well by this point. Carinne would have nothing to do with love or e'en friendship. Yet, he could not command his heart, which spun crazily about the Isle of Carinne like a rudderless ship. The days grew long, his spirit grew heavier, and his hours in her presence were silent torture. 'Twas bearable at first, but love weakens with distance, not proximity. And as he saw her day by day, the pain grew in his heart.

One night, Willas could not sleep for the desperate aching in his chest. He tossed and turned like a man in the throes of fever. He e'en began to rake his own chest with his fingernails. In a fit, he cast himself from the bed and threw open his window. "Whate'er gods are in this place," he gasped, "I will do anything for the love of Carinne. Take this pain from me, and grant joy in its place."

Then did the wind pick up in his room. The lamp on the nearby table guttered, and he found himself alone in the dark with only the faint starlight framed in his small window to guide him. He fumbled about the floor looking for his tinder, and when he found it, he lit the lamp, placed the tinder box on the table, and turned to get back into bed.

But Willas was no longer alone.

In the middle of his small room stood a cowled figure dressed in a ragged robe of sackcloth. Dark, beady eyes glinted in the low light of the flickering lantern, and a long, twisted nose protruded from the depths of the cowl. The figure spoke to Willas in a low rasp.

"The gods have heard thy prayer, mortal. Well, one of them hath taken an interest, anyway. Is it true what thou hast said? Is there nothing thou wouldst not give for the love of this woman?"

Hope did drive out Willas' fear. "There is nothing, er... sir. Nothing would I withhold, save of course my own life that I might enjoy the riches of her love."

"Family?" the figure rasped. "Friends? A future with another wife, perhaps many children? You would trade this all?"

The passion rose in Willas' breast, and he gave his answer quickly, "Aye. There is no price I would not pay."

"Very well then. The god I serve grants thy wish. When next thou art in Carinne's presence, she will behold thee as what she loves above all else."

Relief flooded Willas, and he almost wept. He lept forward and embraced the hideous figure. "Thank you. Thank you, and thank thy lord, whoever he might be. Carinne and I shall dedicate our first child to him!"

A horrible laugh escaped the cowl. "Enough of this. Go now to thy love. She waits for thee."

Willas released the figure, bolted across the room, and threw open the door. He ran down the hall to Carinne's room and stopped before her door. Lamplight flickered from underneath, which was not uncommon. Carinne often stayed up late updating her texts and journals. Running a hand quickly through his hair to smooth it, Willas opened the door and strode into the room.

Carinne's head whipped up at the intrusion, and their eyes met.

Willas' body was filled with fiery lances of pain.

He felt as though his bones would burst from his skin as they grew and warped. His feet felt as though they were being crushed under a boulder. Worst of all, great spears of pain shot through the top of his head. He shrieked and shrieked until he could bear himself no longer and collapsed to the ground.

As the pain began to ebb, Willas saw himself through tear-dimmed eyes. His legs were bulky, misshapen, and covered with hair. His feet ended in heavy hooves. As he reached up to rub his head, he felt two, large horns protruding there. It was then that he understood the price he paid and the gift he received. He had indeed become what Carinne loved most.

And Willas wept.

Then was the room filled with blazing light, and a figure covered with white flame did appear, and when it spoke, its voice was of many trumpets.

"I am the Logos and I have heard of thy trangression - thy unholy pact made for the sake of thy passion. Hear now thy doom."

"You, Willas, shall keep this new form of thine. It shall ever remind thee of the price of unchecked passion and the double edge of the sword of love."

"As for thee, Carinne. 'Tis every being's right to decide whether or not to love another, but 'tis no one's right to be cruel to an honest heart. Thou shalt retain thy beauty, but from this day forward, thou wilt ever draw the advances of men, and thou shalt long for them in thine own way."

"And I lay a final doom upon the both of ye. The descendants of Willas shall always be man, and the descendants of Carinne shall always be woman. In this manner, for those whose hearts are moved to unite with another in love to produce offspring, you will always be searching for it from another, and never will you find fulfillment of this amongst your own kind, but perhaps you might find it in each other. Now, leave my sight."

Then, in great fear did Willas take Carinne's hand, and she who knew the touch of no man did take it up, and they ran together from the room, the house, and the town of Cyrene into the night.

Back in the room, the Logos grew thoughtful. The flames that wreathed his body died down. The shining light of his countenance did recede. He idly scratched his arm. How this sackcloth robe did itch even a Divine! From a pocket, he drew a child's goblin mask, and looked into its beady eyes and tweaked its malformed nose. With a raspy chuckle, he placed it on Carinne's bed and vanished once more from the world of men.