We sat down beside the river together, the Storyteller and I. I tucked my legs beneath my long skirts, splayed sideways in the juicy grass, my head propped in my palm as I watched him. The Storyteller took a flask from his patchwork jacket and a tiny stringed instrument from his pocket.
He smiled a silly crooked smile at me, took a sip from the flask before handing it to me, and held the instrument up to his ear. His grin widened as his fingers tickled a tune. I giggled at the sound; it was like the banter of fairies, or a field of daisies gossiping through their petals.
“Long ago, when the world was still being made,” the Storyteller said.
My head swam as if I’d drained his flask of its mead, though I hadn’t yet touched it. As if by another’s prompting, I lifted the flask to my lips and let it hover there, just touching my moist skin. My eyes were locked on the Storyteller.
“In those days, a beautiful angel maiden stood queen over the subjects of the world, who were not yet so divisive as to form clans and countries.” The Storyteller coaxed another riff out of his instrument, this one with a hint of malice running beneath. The flask bumped against my teeth and I gulped at the sweet, heavy liquid that hit my tongue. "But there was a shadow in the heart of the lord of the warriors. With each passing day his malice grew and twisted his features, until he was no more human than the serpent. He was the first demon.“
I could barely keep my eyes open, my chin bobbing towards my chest. The Storyteller’s face was an indecipherable blur.
"Then came the wars.”
I tumbled forward into his vision, my whole head filled with the frantic music of the tiny instrument. The black sky roared with columns and balls of fire, dodged by beings of light. A crescendo of wild drumbeats brought the image to a standstill, and as if from a distance I heard the Storyteller: “There was only one way to reconcile. A child must be born, produced of the light and the darkness, and given reign over the world. His struggle would be internal, eternal, but he would unravel the war.
"But the child must be made.”
I was lying on a grassy hill, facing the blue, cloudless sky. I raised my hands and saw that they were glowing from an internal illumination. Something rough and sinewy slid between my legs and I raised my head to see a scaly, demonic face gazing at me with a horrific mixture of adoration and loathing. A long, snake-like tongue slithered out of its mouth and lifted my luminous skirts with surprising strength.
I was bared, exposed, my head still swimming. I stared up at the sky. The creature’s tongue dove inside of me, somehow unbearably rough and heartbreakingly satisfying as it flicked in and out. I felt myself grow wetter; my hands moved to my nipples and I toyed with myself.
At last, the creature brought its legs up and forward and hovered over me as if waiting for a signal. I lifted my head again and met its eyes. I thought I would be consumed by the ancient fires there.
From far away came the sounds of four tiny strings, plucking out a melody that was as old as the world.
The demon plunged into me. I shrieked, the sound rising visibly from me like steam. I clenched the leathered buttocks in both hands, forcing him to work for every thrust, holding him in until my back arched and my lips parted and my breath escaped in rattles. Then I drained him of his semen, hotter than flame, coursing through my entire being until I knew: our child was conceived. The human race would be born.
Slowly, the vision faded. I was staring languorously at the Storyteller, who gazed back at me with intent but knowing eyes.
“And that, my love, is how we all came to be.”