Over a week had passed since Ako had rescued Jakub, and that week had been the best in her life. Throughout their journey, Ako had enjoyed herself immensely; Jakub was intelligent, witty, and had a bombastic sense of humour that Ako found herself very much enjoying. Never one to let the silence linger, Jakub had regaled her about his life and how he had started off as a boy amongst the poorest of poor. Even in the direst of straits, he nursed a desperate desire to see and experience all that Diev had to offer. One day, he left and never looked back. Jakub had been on the road for over sixty years, and at the age of seventy-two he frequently proclaimed that he felt like a man half his age, to Ako’s endless amusement.

“If you allow the world to see you as old and feeble, then you will become so,” Jakub had told her one night while they enjoyed a dinner of dried horse meat and warm water. The adage had stuck with her since, nestled in the back of her mind. Despite her best inclinations, she had always acted and reacted to the world around her, allowing others to shape her in a way that they found socially and economically acceptable.

No more, Ako thought determinedly. She would no longer allow herself to be driven by anyone else’s thoughts or desires save for her own. It probably wouldn’t last—she barely had anything to her name save her supplies and camel—but Ako was determined to do her best to live her life her way and by her own rules.

They continued on their way, with Jakub sometimes mopping his head with a sweat-filled cloth. Ako sympathized at that. Even for the young and strong, the Huzha Desert wasn’t for the faint of heart. Ako was amazed that the old man had done so well. He sweat much more than she did, but he never complained and always tried to help whenever he could. He would set up a fire and keep watch, even though he was old and probably wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

Jakub did much more than that, frequently telling stories to entertain them both as they traveled. Esai wasn’t far now, and if it weren’t for their dwindling supplies, Ako would be sorry to see this trek come to an end. The bard seemed to be a verifiable fountain of lore and knowledge, and Ako absorbed as much of his wisdom as she could.

“Jakub,” Ako said, startling the man. He had been sitting on her camel, staring off into the distance, no doubt thinking of something witty. Or trying to, at least.

“Yes?” Jakub asked, looking down at her curiously. “What is it, girl?”

Ako rolled her eyes. “It’s Ako, you old goat,” she said, to which Jakub sputtered.

“I’m in the prime of my life!” Jakub protested, rearing back and placing a hand on his brow as if Ako had mortally offended him. “I’ll have you know that women from one end of Diev to the next are waiting to see me again, you know.”

“And how many are my age?” Ako asked cheekily. Jakub opened his mouth to protest again, then stopped and laughed.

“An excellent riposte!” he said, reaching down to shake a bemused Ako’s hand. “I will make you into a bard yet!”

“I am sure you will,” Ako said dryly. She looked over Jakub’s shoulder to see if there was anyone in their vicinity, but all she saw was sand and dunes as far as the eye could see. It was strange considering their relative closeness to Esai, but it would do.

“Tell me another story,” Ako said, her eyes flitting back to an expectant-looking Jakub. “Tell me the story of how Diev was created.”

“How Diev was created or how the Diev’s world—also known as Diev—was created?” Jakub asked, taking her question very seriously, which Ako appreciated. She had never been able to hear much aside from how the Huzha Desert and the Lake of Peace had been created. She wanted to hear something new, something exciting. Jakub had been pleased to see Ako’s enthusiasm over his craft. He obliged by telling her as many stories as she wanted, and even more besides.

“Both,” Ako said. “Tell me both, Jakub.”

“Hmm,” Jakub said, leaning back and closing his eyes in thought. “Not many want to hear that tale. It is a long story, full of twists and turns. It’s not a cheerful story, Ako. It’s full of love, spurned or otherwise. Hatred of one’s kin, and the murder of family. Thousands—nay, millions died. I personally find it one of the saddest stories that I know.”

“And yet it is one of the most important stories that you know,” Ako said. “Tell me, bard.”

“Very well,” Jakub said with a theatrical sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Ako.”

Without waiting for Ako’s response, Jakub launched into his story, speaking of how when the universe had been created, there was nothing. No sound or light or anything, just pure darkness as far as the eye could see and even further beyond that.

“It was cold,” Jakub said, affecting a shiver. Ako smirked at his overacting, and Jakub winked at her before continuing. “Beyond the blue skies of Diev, there is an infinite void. You cannot breathe up there, neither can you exist. It is a silent killer, a watchful denizen of whatever lies beyond. And it is there where the Creator was born.”

“Where did he come from?”

Jakub shrugged. “No one knows. There was nothing one moment, and then He was there the next. He was formless, imperceptible, invisible, and yet, He was there all the same. His name was Diev, and that was all he knew.”

“And how do you know this?” Ako asked. “How does anyone know this?”

“After the Divinity War, Diev stayed for a time,” Jakub said, smiling wistfully. “I wish I could have met Him. He spoke to many, and His story was written down.”

“What did he look like?”

Jakub grinned. “Like me,” he said, gesturing to himself flamboyantly. “I’m told the resemblance is uncanny.”

“Jakub.”

“Oh, fine,” Jakub said, still grinning. “Ako the Funless, I shall dub you. The Ruiner of Jokes and Enemy to all Bards Everywhere.”

“I will be sure to announce myself properly at the gates of Esai,” Ako said, her voice as dry as the Huzha Desert. “Now, describe Diev.”

Jakub’s grin faded, his expression turning thoughtful. “He was tall,” he said. “Over six feet. He had a brown beard and green eyes that were piercing and glowing. All of the gods had glowing eyes, but His seemed all-knowing and soul-consuming. At one glance, He knew everything about you.”

“That is to be expected,” Ako said. “He is the Creator, after all.”

“True enough,” Jakub said. “But it is one thing to know of Diev and to be known by him. To actually speak to the one that created this planet and everything within it.”

Ako considered this. How would she feel if she were to meet the Creator?

“I would be intimidated,” Ako said. “One moment we would be living our lives, and the next, everything could be gone, and there would be nothing we could do about it.”

“That’s… one way of looking at it, I suppose,” Jakub said, looking down at her uncertainly.

Ako smiled, showing teeth. “The Huzha is harsh; its people harder,” she said, speaking the oft-repeated saying of her people.

“So it seems,” Jakub said, still looking uncomfortable. After a few moments he shook it off with practiced ease. “Diev wore clothes of the purest silver, and his hair was tinted in gold. When He spoke, it was said that a sense of peace swept over you like a mother’s lullaby. There was a presence surrounding him, almost a visible glow. People were drawn to him like moths to the flame, and He would pause and speak to every man and woman the same, whether they were the proudest king or the meanest beggar.”

“I see,” Ako said, amazed at the thought of the Creator speaking to anyone but Azmar, Noam, or Velaire. “Continue, please.”

“Of course,” Jakub said, bowing slightly in his saddle. “Now, where was I… oh, yes. Diev searched the universe for anything, for anyone. He searched and searched, and yet he found nothing. It was only himself in a vast universe. He was completely alone and bereft.”

Ako shuddered at the thought. While she had essentially run away from her family, the fact that they were still at home and presumably willing to take her back in was a comfort to her. To be alone entirely was a concept she had never considered, and it scared her.

“Yes,” Jakub said, giving her a knowing look. “To be utterly alone is a terrifying thought. Anyways, once he decided conclusively that he was alone, he set to work. He wanted there to be light, and light was created. Our Sun, hanging in the sky and warming this damnable desert, was created by Diev’s will alone.”

“Incredible,” Ako breathed. “To think a being exists that wields such power.”

“Indeed,” Jakub said. “From there, he continued his work, creating the planet that we live and thrive on. He sculpted the earth, the mountains, the sea, and all the plants and trees. It was in his image, and it was perfect.”

“What happened?” Ako asked as Jakub broke off to ponder what he had said. “What happened to the planet?”

“He created our gods,” Jakub said with a frown. “He created them as the shepherds of his planet. He created Noam, the Goddess of Life and Light, Velaire, the God of Magic, and Azmar, the God of Death and Darkness.”

“Shouldn’t Diev have known better?” Ako blurted and blushed as Jakub raised a white eyebrow. “I know Diev is our Creator, but that doesn’t mean he’s perfect. Look what happened to our gods. Azmar started a war against his brother and sister, and we had to pay for it.”

“Hmm,” Jakub said, visibly considering her question before he smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “From what I understand, Diev refused to speak much of Azmar.”

Jakub paused, rolling his shoulders as he ran a hand over his face. “There was a poem,” he said. “It is vexing to me as I cannot recall it in total. Still, I know enough of it. It was composed by one of the men that he spoke with, and the relevant portion went something like this:

His tears were as blue as sapphires and as pure as a stream,

And yet, our Creator refused to believe that this wasn’t a dream.

His shoulders shook, his head bowed, and his lip quaked,

And lo! Our Creator couldn’t speak of it; he refused to partake.

“So many lives lost,” Diev said, “So many lives that I was forced to take.”

“Why do this, my son?” Diev cried. “Why make such a grievous mistake?”

“What does it mean?” Ako asked. “What is it saying?”

“Oh, it’s just a fancy way of saying that Diev refused to speak of Azmar,” Jakub said with a shrug. “There’s a whole saga behind it; I would have to refresh my memory to tell it to you in total. As of right now, I wouldn’t do it justice.”

“But can you still tell me what happened next?”

Jakub nodded, smiling. “As persistent as a badger, gir-Ako,” he hastily amended at Ako’s glare. He settled back in the saddle, staring upward as if struggling to recall what he had been saying earlier.

“After he created his children—our gods—Diev was pleased by what he had done,” Jakub said, getting back into the groove as he gestured fluidly and with gusto.

“He was pleased, but he felt that the planet was incomplete, as if there was something else to be added. He gave this great thought, seeking counsel from his children, as they are reflections of him.”

“Surely not Azmar,” Ako said, making a face. She kicked at the sand in front of her, spraying it in an arc that her camel shied away from. “He’s dead now because of what he did.”

“Good and bad, we’re all reflections of our parents, our gods most of all,” Jakub said, his expression solemn. “You would do well to remember this, Ako.”

Ako swallowed, blinking back tears as she was suddenly almost overcome with emotion. She missed her father, who, while a skilled hunter, was extremely clumsy. She missed her mother and grandmother, warm and loving people that were more alike than they would ever admit. She even missed her brother, who had tried to sell her to that oaf.

“I will remember,” Ako rasped out. “Continue, please.”

“Of course,” Jakub said smoothly. “Azmar wanted half the day to be in darkness, and his wish was granted. Noam asked for the sunrise so that she and her kin behold all of Diev’s creation in all of its glory, and her wish was granted. Velaire then surprised Diev by asking for other denizens to live freely on his planet and to give them free will to make decisions as they pleased.”

“Why?”

“Diev only smiled at that and said nothing,” Jakub said. “The only thing that he would say that it is through his efforts that humanity existed, his greatest creation in the entire universe.”

“Thank Velaire for that,” Ako said fervently.

“Indeed,” Jakub agreed.

The bard then continued his story. He told Ako about how they had begged Diev not to leave them, to stay with them forever on the mountain. He described the gods’ anguish when Diev had told them he didn’t want to go but that he had to. He explained the pressing feeling in him that drove him to create. He wanted to continue creating until there was nothing of him left, his Essence spread across the cosmos.

Ako couldn’t believe it. Diev wants to kill himself? The thought of the most powerful being in all of creation casually talking of His own death was so mind-boggling that Ako pushed it aside for later as Jakub continued to speak.

The sun glinted, shining brightly down into Jakub’s sweaty face. The old man didn’t even seem to care, as he was so caught up in his enthusiasm he kept going without hesitation.

Jakub continued to speak of how the gods had been heartbroken over Diev’s leaving and had turned on each other slowly and over time. Velaire had shrunk in on himself, conducting magical experiments and ignoring his brother and sister. Noam had watched over humanity from afar, trying to guide them as best she could in her beloved Father’s name. Azmar had turned angry, lashing out at his brother and sister. He berated them for making their Father leave, telling them that it was their fault that their Father was going to die. Noam and Velaire both had tried to calm the angry God of Death and Darkness. They were relieved when Azmar had abruptly stopped, focusing on a single part of the world until, one night, he left the mountain without a word.

“Why is that important?” Ako asked when Jakub had paused for a moment in his telling. “Why did it matter that Azmar had left the mountain?”

“Keariset is the biggest mountain in the world and the supposed birthplace of the gods,” Jakub replied. “Diev told them that the moment they left the mountain, they forfeited its protection. Atop Keariset, they were immortal and powerful beyond all comparison, and off it, they could be killed.”

“Like Azmar,” Ako breathed. “He was killed in battle at the end of the Divinity Wars.”

“He was,” Jakub said with a nod. “And all because of a single human woman, Drea.”

Jakub then hesitated before narrowing his eyes, looking down at Ako. “How come you know nothing of this, Ako? Most know enough to get by at least.”

“My father,” Ako groused. “We knew the gods’ names and what they did—or what they were supposed to be—but he always said that their time had passed and that it was humanity that was most important now, not gods that haven’t been seen in hundreds of years.”

“Hmph,” Jakub said sourly, crossing his arms as they began to climb up a sand dune. Progress was slow as Ako took one long step at a time, with Jakub tutting and watching her. “With an attitude like that, bards and singers everywhere would be out of business,” Jakub said before he smirked. “Are you sure that attitude won’t catch if we let you loose in a city, Ako?”

Ako was about to tell Jakub where he could stuff his opinions when she made her way to the top of the dune and looked upon Esai.

It was magnificent, a towering achievement of humanity. Giant walls of stone hugged around the city, with hundreds of people flooding into it. From the distance that Ako was at, they were so small that they looked like ants. Ako narrowed her eyes and tried to see more, but she was too far. What she saw was more than impressive and left her feeling awed.

“It is incredible,” Ako said softly.

Jakub snorted. “If you think Esai is incredible, then you haven’t seen anything yet,” he said. “It’s a city, yes, but the smallest in the Huzha Desert and one of the smallest in all of Diev.”

“How can it get bigger?” Ako asked, astonished at Jakub’s explanation. “How?”

Jakub chuckled. “Travel with me, girl, and you’ll see cities that make Esai look like a speck on the horizon. Velaire, in particular, is magnificent. Come, let’s be on our way.”

Ako nodded, taking a tentative step forward toward Esai, intimidated at the vastness of it. She placed a hand at her belt, feeling at the dagger that was sheathed there, drawing comfort from it.

Time to see what the rest of the world is like, Ako thought, a cold wave swooping over her despite the heat. I am not ready for this.

Despite her fear, Ako kept walking, slowly gaining confidence as she walked down the sand dune. Jakub trotted down beside her.

“I remember when I saw the Huzha for the first time,” Jakub said. “I was a young man, barely old enough to be considered as such.”

“What did you do when you saw it?” Ako asked, finally tearing her eyes off Esai. “What did you think of it?”

“I almost shit myself,” Jakub said seriously, provoking a startled laugh from Ako and a grin from Jakub.

“What is the point of your story, then?” Ako asked in a teasing tone. “That I should be checking to see if I soiled myself?”

“Possibly,” Jakub said before he sobered, his eyes shining in the sunlight. “It’s easy to get overwhelmed by something you haven’t seen before, Ako. It’s easy to stay overwhelmed and make a mistake that could easily prove fatal. Stay close, and I’ll guide you through the city and to wherever else you want to go. You saved my life; you have my word that I’ll protect you to the best of my abilities, such as they are.”

Ako swallowed, blinking back tears at Jakub’s declaration. While she wanted to prove herself and find her place in the world, Jakub’s offer was touching. She had grown fond of the man, like discovering a grandfather that she had never had.

“Thank you,” Ako said. “I will.”