storytelling. Indeed, the landdraw of this particular race had given them the gift of racial memory and mimicry. Possessing seven sets of vocal cords, the Mythrrim could imitate any sound in the universe. They were natural linguists, their native tongue called Oldspeech. It was the Mythrrim who had taught the two-leggeds about the world and about the Presence. It was the Mythrrim who had recited the names of the Greatkin to the cave dwellers at the beginning of time. It was the Mythrrim who had told the Great Stories, the myths, about each Greatkin and instructed the two-leggeds in their rituals of remembrance for each Greatkin. Then the Mythrrim had disappeared. In their place the Mythrrim had left the Mayanabi Nomads, a body of people culled from all the two-legged landdraws of Mnemlith and entrusted them with the Great Stories the Mythrrim had once told. It was time, said the Greatkin, for the two-leggeds to grow up. They needed to be able to teach themselves now. The two-leggeds must make their own mistakes and learn from them. The Mythrrim left sorrowing; they had come to love the two-leggeds as much as their own four-legged offspring. The Mythrrim, however, were ever obedient to the wishes of the Greatkin, and so did as they were bid. Centuries passed. In time, only the Mayanabi Nomads remembered that the Mythrrim Beasts had ever existed in physical reality. To most of the peoples of Mnemlith, the Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea were the stuff of fantasy. Rimble appeared on the hillside of the tallest and most willful mountain in all Mnemlith. It was called Mount Gaveralin. Intelligent and dangerous, Gaveralin immediately caused a blizzard to come out of nowhere and buffet Trickster. Rimble, who was still having an argument with the Greatkin of Matter in their ancestral home at Eranossa, scowled at the mountain and said, «I got rights here! I'm a guest of the Mythrrim—» They know you're coming? I don't seem to recall any orders instructing me to let you pass, Greatkin Rimble. Trickster scowled, wiping snow off his black hair. His bare upper torso prickled with goose bumps. Swearing at Mattermat—since the mountain was very definitely one of Mattermat's representatives—Rimble changed his costume. Now he wore furs and leather and snug boots. A multicolored woolen hat covered his small ears. Continuing to speak to Gaveralin, Rimble said, «Let me pass or I'll make you a mutant.» A mutant mountain? There's no such thing— Rimble lost his temper. «I'll blow off your summit!» The snowstorm stopped instantly. Among other things, the mountains of Soaringsea were volcanic. Rimble could make good his threat. «Thank you,» said Trickster through clenched teeth, and stomped up the
trail to a cluster of caves whose tunnels interconnected like the corridors of a labyrinth. Rimble, who had visited here many times before, headed for
the opening of the largest cave and turned right, then left, then two rights, then a sharp left until he found himself in a large underground chamber. You may wonder why Rimble didn't materialize directly into the chamber in the first place. Rimble loved the Mythrrim. He was the father of this particular race. Themyth was its mother. When the Mythrrim had retired to Soaringsea, they wished to prevent the two-leggeds from trailing them there. Gaveralin was their sentry. No one, not even the Greatkin, were allowed to reach the Mythrrim without their knowledge. Thus, by the time Rimble actually arrived at the place where the Mythrrim now gathered, everyone knew he was coming. He was met with a resounding chorus of hellos and wing-flapping. Rimble grinned at their obvious pleasure at seeing Dear Old Dad. Doffing his woolen cap, Trickster said, «I need your help.» The oldest and wisest Mythrrim was named Kindra. She had yellowed teeth and blue feathers that had turned white with age. She inclined her enormous, ugly head toward Rimble. «We're keeping kinhearth, Father. Care to join us?» «Keeping kinhearth» was the phrase the Mythrrim used to describe their practice of remembering the Presence, and the Greatkin. In the large chamber, wood blazed in a huge stone fireplace. Flames leapt as high as ten feet. Around this fire, the Mythrrim gathered and told the great myths of the world. «What're you telling?» asked Trickster. «The Mythrrim of Origin.» Rimble's expression turned wistful. «That's my favorite.» «I know,» said Kindra with a twinkle in her old eyes. «Here. Sit between my paws, and I'll start over from the beginning. We'll cast the spell of Once Upon.» Rimble sighed happily and climbed inside the large, brindle paws of Kindra.
The ancient Mythrrim Beast cleared her throat. During the telling of the tale she would re-create every sound effect needed to make the story real through her splendid set of vocal cords. Smiling and exposing her yellow teeth, Kindra spoke with authority. ></emphasis> The Mythrrim of Origin Once there was a Great Being. It was a radiant intelligence in which all things were contained. This Great Being was alone, for in all the universes
there was no other like Itself. It was very lonely. So to amuse Itself, Great Being dreamed.
It dreamed of civilizations that rose and fell with the seasons of the Ages, of worlds and all the peoples who lived on them: the Two-Leggeds, the Four-Leggeds, the Leafy and the Scaled, the Crawlers, the Winged Ones and the Wild Winds of the Five Directions. And each of these was named kin, for each sprang from the longing of their one Great Parent, sprang and fell back into the silence. There were no witnesses. There was no one to look upon the dreams of Great Being and say, «Good job, Great Being.» Or even, «This one needs a little work.» Troubled and sad, Great Being withdrew into Itself. And dreamed. It dreamed for eons. Finally, the dreams of Great Being became so intelligent that they, too, began to dream. And ask questions. But Great Being could
not answer their questions, for speech did not exist. Life was still hidden,
asleep in incubation. Reality was a divine potential waiting to be released. It was a closed universal—a secret garden of fertile splendor without entrance or exit. Finally, the dreams of Great Being became unruly in their captivity. Like fruit too long on the vine, they became a poison that threatened the sanity
of Great Being Itself. Daily the dreams clamored to be set free. Daily Great Being attempted to do so and could not. The need of both the Dreamer and the Dreams increased a thousand-fold with each Age. Never before had Great Being been beset by such a dire challenge. It thought long and hard about the problem. Then one day, Great Being had a Great Idea. The Idea was called the Real World. The Real World, thought Great Being, would be a clever device through which My dreams might know themselves. And, thought Great Being with pleasure and fear, the Real World might be a device through which I could know Myself as well. For are not My dreams part of Myself? This Idea pleased Great Being very much. It began to feel a little less lonely. But even so, Great Being still lacked the means to make Its dreams real. The desire to make them manifest was there, but the knowledge of how to do it was not. The frustration and despair of Great Being continued to grow along with Its love for Its captive dreams. Great Being tried everything It could think of to release Itself from this bind. It knew It needed to make a change, but change did not exist, either. Thus Great Being could do nothing but wait and hope. In unspeakable sympathy, Great Being suffered the agony of Its voiceless dreams. Still, the pressure increased. The Many and the One reached a terrible impasse. [Since division did not yet exist, either, neither the Many nor the One could see each other. There were no inunctions, no shadows. No plays of light against dark. There was no definition, nor depth perception. All was contained—like a road swallowed by the blinding white of a winter blizzard. Finally, one of Great Being's dreams also had a great idea. This idea was called individuality. The wise little dream decided to practice what it had conceived, and so in time, its small voice grew louder than the rest. Great Being was perplexed