When the darkness abounded, there was no where. There was everywhere and nowhere, at once. Millenia passed in darkness, when from nothing, a wind blew. It blew from one boundless end to another, and as it blew, the swiwi formed in the friction of its draft.
The swiwi formed to soar in spectral wind. They had no feet, as there was nothing to stand upon, and no eyes, as there was nothing to see. They had a mouth, an open hole, to let them feel the wind pass through themselves. And when they brushed against each other, they turned and bit, and when they bit, the one consumed the other. Soon, there was only one, and it was called Nginep.
Nginep soared across the boundless nothing, and the only space which existed was that between the front of its body and its end, its flesh, marked only by the bites of its kin.
Then Nginep released the discomfort from its body, which became “there,” and by reference, “above” and “beneath” were created. Then Nginep turned into the wind, toward the space called: “away.”
The discomfort of Nginep became as a stone. It expanded, layer upon layer, as one swiwi had consumed another, and as it did, the layers inside grew hotter and hotter, until the core melted and burst into flame.
So great was the heat that the surface of the rock itself began to move. Io awoke, encased in a chamber of rock. The rock below was hot to the touch, as was the rock to his sides. Only above was the rock cool. He became aware of Yahweena, his mate, and he stared at the glistening sweat on her naked body.
Io felt the movement of the rock. Fissures opened in the ground, and lava began to fill the chamber. Io put Yahweena over his shoulder, and with his hands, he rent the stone above, lifting their bodies to the surface, emerging as if from a chrysalis. Clumps of dust and grit stuck to their sweaty bodies. Gently, Io set Yaweena down, far from the glowing hole, but then the lava erupted. The eruption set Io aflame, and flung his body into space. And Io was well suited to burn.
Yahweena slept for many years. Lava erupting from the hole had formed a chain of great mountains, and Io blazed in the sky. When she awoke, Yahweena longed for her lover. She wept, until her tears covered the world, and the peaks of the mountains were like islands.
But Yahweena cried in vain. Io’s love shone down on her in warming rays. So powerful was his love that the land became fertile.
In time, Io found that he, himself, did not burn. Instead, it was the grit and stone that covered his body. They were as of metal, burning with great heat. He gathered these and compressed them together into a mass. And it fed upon itself and became the Sun.
Yahweena shook the dust and stone from her body. Where it settled on the ground, it became soil; where it settled in the water, it became sand.
Io returned to Yahweena, and they created from their own labors a home. The islands moved through the sea until such time as they submerged beneath the waves, and when this happened, Io and Yahweena made a new home, as it is the nature of the living to survive and, verily, to multiply.
And because such was their nature, Yahweena blessed Io with three children.
So the three children came at once, although Anok was firstborn, then his brother Balnor, and his sister Cimaraya.
And Anok was born clean of flesh, with no hint of blood upon him and no vernix caked in the folds of his skin. The hair upon his head was blonde, and after his brother was born, he pushed his brother from the breast while he himself was at suck.
Balnor was born with creases upon his face as one who has tasted the pith. His body was still, and not before Io struck him upon the rump did he disgorge a mass of tissue from his mouth, and a low-voiced wail.
While Yahweena lay fatigued with a child at each breast, Cimaraya emerged with the ease of her own will. She consoled her mother through the strain of afterbirth, and her presence soothed her brothers into sleep. And Cimaraya brought her parents great happiness.
Where Cimaraya moved, green things sprung from the soil, worms wriggled within the dirt, and among the trunks and boughs of the growing trees, small creatures opened their eyes, and their fur grew thick. The larger consumed the smaller, as is their way, and as such, all thrived as a whole.
While her brothers competed in sport and law, she walked the land, giving music to the birds and finding joy in their song.
Seeing plenty of room within the seas, Cimaraya fashioned a clod oblong. She fanned small wings on its sides and at its tail. She called it Samodra, the First Fish, and she dropped it into the sea to multiply.
