The fire crackled merrily, pushing back the cold and darkness as night began its descent. Illuminating had gathered beside it, her legs tucked, her own share of firewood added to the pile and now allowing herself to rest, eyes closed, feeling the heat warming her face. Stories were being shared back and forth, the sun, the winter, the seasons, fire.Fire.
That was one of her favorites.
Many Zikwa origin stories involved the caves but fire had come from above, it always had. Some intrepid kin long, long ago had brought it back with them. For what need did Zikwa have of fire when there were mushrooms and glowing hides, warm chambers full of friends and family?
But there were still stories that needed to be told, of how it began, stories that changed and twisted over generations. Illuminating knew many versions but this was her favourite, and she told it to the gathered kin, her voice soft but somehow carrying easily to each of those listening.
“Once long ago, when the Swamp was new and the MotherFather began the cycle. She made each kin, slow and steady. From the mud of the swamp, she built the Kimeti. From the plains grass, she wove the Kiokote. From the desert suns, she formed the Acha. From the mountain rocks, she carved the Totoma. And from the glowing cave mushrooms, she moulded the Zikwa.
Five kin she made and to them she gave a home that suited them well. And far above, a daytime sun watched over all of them. It kept them warm and grew their food. Then gave way to the moon and night, who gave them time to rest and dream.
The kin in those days were very, very new. They had no stories, they had no lore. They had no generations passed on before them, rites or rituals given to them by trusted kin. They didn’t walk on grounds that had been walked across before, where countless others had breathed their last and returned to the earth.
They were new.
The world was new.
And so they lived simply, as beasts do.
They hunted, they played, they mated, they fought, they ate, they slept, and they dreamed. They dreamed of names they did not have a voice for yet. Concepts that teased at their mind, emotions that drew them to certain places and things.”
Illuminating paused for a moment and sighed.
“Have you ever made something?” She asked the surrounding kin. “Have you ever created something and then wanted to start again? Because the MotherFather has. The Swamp was wild and growing, bursting with life, new creatures being formed and running wild. Somewhere among it all, something was made, something large and long, something hungry, that undulated across the earth, devouring all that it came across.
It threatened the Swamp with its hunger.
It grew so big and hungry that it threatened the plains, the desert and the mountains as well. All it seemed to fear, as it gobbled and belched and mauled, was the light of the sun. Instead it moved at night, slithered forward, snapping up everything. Kin fled from it in terror, scurrying like frightened mice, running blindly through the night.
And yet it continued on, and it ate and ate and ate.
The MotherFather saw this and knew it had to be undone.
The MotherFather stretched her neck out long and in her beak she took from the sun a burning flame. And we all know how harshly the sun can burn, how hot its touch in summer, how it cracks the earth and makes the air hard to breathe.
She placed this ball of fire upon the earth and then she swept her wings. The mighty gust fuelled the flames and they swept across the Swamp, burning up all she had created. The mangroves, the bushes, the rivers and ponds, the beasts and the birds, the fish and the insects. Everything was consumed.
And as the fire spread, the great and terrible creature fled.
To the plains, then the desert and on to the mountain, where it climbed the highest peak. And yet the fire continued on, ever burning, hungrier than the creature could ever be.
And when it seemed it would finally wipe it away. The creature tunneled into the earth, fled down, down, down. Where the earth was cold and damp and the dark was infinite. Down so far the flames could not follow. Past the caverns where the Zikwa lived, dreaming their soft dreams, and there he turned to feast but the MotherFather had been watching and she was oh so quick.
She was the snake, infinitely long, eyes burning with flames, slithering after him. Driving him further down, down, down. And there he was bound, locked away.
When the MotherFather returned to the surface, the cleansing fire had abated and nothing remained but scorched earth. But not all was lost, as she unfurled her wings, where she had kept her kin cradled and safe and returned them to where they belonged.
The Swamp regrew and was refilled, though she was much more careful this time that nothing should break free of the cycle.
And the fire? She gifted it to the creatures of the earth. To the trees who needed the fire for their next generation, for new growth and renewal. And to the kin who walked above, to light their way in the night, to warm them in the cold, to remind them that not all was lost and there was always a way to push back the darkness.
The flames that had consumed all had left its mark in the rocks and she showed her chosen kin that if struck correctly the fire could be set free. Their first lesson. One they never forgot.
With fire, came knowledge and growth. Communities formed and connections made. New foods were discovered and the full belly that came from cooked meat became the greatest satisfaction. Stories shared, words born, more lives saved each generation. The world wasn’t as harsh or wild.
It was a gift.
But fire could never be tamed and the MotherFather didn’t want it to be.
When the summer is hot and the earth is dry, the fire spreads, through carelessness or through her will, it burns into brilliant wildfires, it eats up the old and leaves the earth scorched, a reminder to the one who lurks below to never return to the surface.
And that is the origin of fire.”