#subís

I pushed my knuckles onto the ground to drag myself a step forward, to a spot where the firelight would illuminate me better. At my feet laid the remains of the roasted squash that had served me as dinner.

After Socigoj’s story, the heavy silence of satiety felt uncomfortable. The air was thick with smoke and humidity, and I had to make a real effort to breathe.

Fine drops of sweat gathered on my top lip and forehead like a stifling morning dew.

-I know a story.- I offered to my audience, but it was late, and the young orcs had been awake for far too long already. A few moments passed before Socigoj interrupted the eversinging crickets to ask me:

-What story?- I looked in his direction, but the fire stood between us, still bright enough to dazzle me.

-That one,- I murmured. -That story about the twins, the moon and the sun, the stars… the sea…

-We already know that story.- Witija sat up to my right and continued, with that heavy nasal accent of his, -Besides, it’s not as good as the one Socigoj told.

Socigoj murmured proudly. It was true that his story had been very exciting.

-No, no. Yes, you know the story. But not the way I’m going to tell it. The one I know is… more accurate, you could say… wiser. Better. - I reached my hand back, pointing at my brother. -He knows it too. It was told to us by our…

-Biso, shut up!- I’d thought Curaj was already asleep, but now he was looking at me, uneasy and wide-eyed. A few moments followed in which only the crackling of the fire and the sounds of insects could be heard. -One should not speak of the dead. Even less so like this, lying out in the open. At night.

I looked around and realized that I had captured the attention of our entire company.

Sibis, to my left, stared at me with his dark, shiny eyes, lying flat on his stomach over the smooth stones that covered the clearing we were in. Beyond it stretched deep, dark bushes, and behind those, the darkness of the night.

-You’re right. A man told us this story. A very intelligent man… he spoke to us of his travels, just like the one we’re making now. He met humans, you know?” I looked at Witija, who leaned toward me attentively. -That man told it differently. The story goes like this:

At the beginning of time there was only sea and hard, sandy land, and there was no night or day, no sky or celestial bodies. The Sea and the Earth were lovers, but the Sea was cruel and stormy and, wave after wave, consumed and spat out all the land.

The Earth, sorrowful, cried tears of fire and smoke, and the world was barren and inhospitable.

Ages passed, and the Earth felt alone. ‘You shall give me children,’ she said to the Sea, and so it was that from the foam of the waves and the sand of the shore two twins were born, white as ivory.

The Sun came out first. Such was his desire to be born and claim the world as his own that he emerged too early and carried with him a piece of ripped placenta, which he dragged across the land as he joyfully ran. From this piece of placenta was made the fertile soil of the earth. The Sun was broad shouldered, strong, beautiful, and proud, with a long, dazzling mane that illuminated the world on the first of days and gladdened his mother, the Earth.

And so the Sun took all the land above the waves.

Afterward came the Moon.

The Moon… did not arrive on time. Unlike his brother, he did not hurry and waited for the foam from which he was born to have… uh…

-Curdled. - Curaj added.

-Yes, Curdled. Anyway, he didn’t make it in time… he took too long, and there was nothing left for him.

Thus was born the enmity between the brothers, between the Sun and the Moon.

The Sun felt lonely. And so he asked his mother to fill the land with women that he could take as wives.

And so it was that from the fertile soil hundreds of women were born—young, beautiful, strong, and white as mother-of-pearl—and the Sun took them all as his wives.

Filled with shame, the Moon hid in a cave in the sea and wept and wept in envy.

His tears mixed with the sand, and so the first bright-scaled fish were born, which illuminated the darkness of the deep abyss.

This pleased his father, the Sea, who blessed him and said: “I grant you the darkness of my waters, so that you may act without being recognized by your brother, the Sun.”

Thus the Moon donned the dark cloak, and so came the first night, and the Moon could have the company of his brother’s women, hidden in the cave in the sea, without the Sun noticing, always taking care to spill his seed upon the earth—whence came the beasts that inhabit the land and the birds as well.

-He dragged the women to the bottom of the sea, not to a cave.- Sibis said. -That’s how my aunts told it.

-Well, your aunts are ignorant. I’m telling you this story the way my… a very wise man told it, and if you paid attention, you’d see there’s much to learn from it, things your aunts never told you. I’m sure of it. - Sibis’s face twisted into a grimace of reluctant acceptance, exaggerated by the firelight. -Anyway, yes, that was it:

Years passed, and the Sun grew sad, for having been born too early, his fertility remained in the placenta that became the fertile soil and was not transferred to him. Thus his women bore him no children.

-No! That’s not how it happened,- Socigoj exclaimed, rising and pointing at me from across the fire. -You’re wrong. The women were born from the barren sand, and not the fertile soil, that’s why they were infertile. If it were as you say, how is it that all orcs are descendants of the Sun?

-You keep interrupting me when I’m trying to teach you something of great value.- Though my tone sounded frustrated, I was truly thrilled to provoke such reactions in my companions. Now all of them watched me attentively. Much more than during Socigoj’s tale. Such was my talent in storytelling that, although the story angered them, they all agreed to let me finish it.

-So the Sun conspired with the Earth,- I continued. -They whispered so as not to be heard and secretly crafted a net with which they trapped the Moon while he wandered along the thin line between land and sea where he lived in those days.

The Moon had no time to take refuge in his dark cloak and was left immobilized.

With his long, shining fangs, the Sun cut off his brother’s testicles.

The Sun planted one of them in the fertile earth, and from it sprouted plants with fruits that nourished him and his wives. The other he gave to his wives, who used its fertility and bore him thousands of sons and daughters.

To house his descendants, the Sun raised the mountains and carved the valleys. From each of his wives was born one of the lineages from which all orcs descend.

The orcs settled these valleys, built reed houses and cultivated the earth, following the advice and traditions of the Sun and their primordial mothers.

The Moon, humiliated and wounded, fled to his cave, and from his injured scrotum fell blood that cursed the sea, making it salty and undrinkable.

Then the Moon donned again his cloak of night and traveled the world in search of his testicles. He hoarded the seeds of all the plants he found and chased after the Sun’s brides.

The Sun, terrified, journeyed into the firmament and took his wives with him. Thus each primordial woman became a constellation, under which her descendants still live on earth and recognize the first of their line.

The Moon too travels the firmament each night, filling his empty scrotum with the seeds of plants and women until he fills it completely. That is when the moon appears full.

Each day the Sun pursues and harasses his brother, and after every full moon, he defeats him and returns the seeds to the world and to the women. That is why women lose and regain their fertility as the Moon takes it and the Sun returns it.

This is also why, during the monsoon, when the Sun patrols the sky from its highest point, their struggle is most intense, giving rise to thunder and storm; and why in drought, when the Sun travels closer to the mountains, it is easier for the Moon to slip away, so plants, beasts, and earth do not grow so vigorously.

And so it was.

-That’s not how it happened.- Sibis lay back again, staring at the fire. -The story is correct, almost entirely, but the way you tell it, all creatures are born from the Moon, not from the Sun. Everyone knows the Sun is the great patriarch and the origin of everything. It’s stupid.

-And irresponsible,- added Witija, making an extra effort to be understood. -Especially like this, lying out here in the open, and at night. - He repeated these last words just as my brother pronounced them, which I found funny.

-You don’t understand.- I would have liked to continue the argument. But Witija was right: one should not speak so lightly of ancient spirits and the dead, and I was also very tired.

I lay down beside my brother and looked up at the night sky. A dense column of pale smoke filled a large portion of the firmament, lit by the fire, which was slowly dying.

Through the smoke, the waning moon.