The are more gods than stars in the sky. Like stars some are almost invisible, they are the small spirits, perhaps a local river nymph whose name is known only to those who cross it day to day. Then the are the stars that burn so bright that we rely on them to guide us in the dark, these are the very architects of our world.

I hope to provide here a small summary of the events that led to the creation of that heavenly pantheon.

Gont the creator

First all was dark, in this blackness Gont opened two eyes. Nothing.

Gont called out, Silence. Not even an echo.

Reaching, stretching out with legs and arms, still nothing.

Gont is alone.

Gont is bored.

Taking a single hair from from the crown of the holy head, Gont plucks it. Then from the groin a thick stout hair is taken. Finally from the brow above the eye a third hair is pulled.

With the three hairs, Gont runs them between fingers. Flick and hums are heard but something is not right. Reaching inwards to the heavenly chest a rib is pulled free. The creator ties the three hairs to the rib, pulling them taught. Tighter and tighter the threads are held, till the rib bows under the strain. Covered in sweat from the work the god pauses and listens one last time to the perfect silence.

Then Gont’s fingers touch the first string. A note peals out, soft, gentle and full of warmth, and this sound is light itself. Every drop of sweat on the creator’s brow starts to glow. The light is so bright after the darkness even the god of gods is overwhelmed. So Gont thrashes, throwing the sweat out into the blackness.

When the eyes opened again Gont saw the stars. Each drop thrown out and caught in the black. Gont looks and is pleased. Admiring the work the god knows that something is still missing though. The tightest string, plucked from an eyebrow still sings its note breathing light into the world. There are two more though so the Bard grasps the third string, the thickest thread of hair.

A heavy bass rumble rolls out. So huge it seems to shake the stars in the sky. But no it is not the stars shaking but Gont. Each toenail is growing, stretching out until it has formed a great loop. They loop again and again, countless times, till beneath the feet to which they are attached is an entire world.

The maker snaps both feet free and rises, standing on Sonoro. Looking up with the stars above and with the ground to lay on Gont is content. Gont is not bored.

Gont lies on Sonoro. Placing the rib down and forgetting it. The longest time passes and the sight of the stars is not dull but the is no company. So the Bard decides it was time to talk. With a freshly plucked hair the god lassoes a star called Brin. Tugging it closer till it is brighter than all in the sky.

The creator calls out ‘Brin I am Gont, is what I have made not beautiful?’

The star answers ‘No Gont, it is not I see only a barren place.’

The bard is angry, could not Brin not see the perfection of the heavens. The sublime majesty that is worth watching for untold lifetimes. Then the god looks around and sees the blank expanse stretching to the edges of the world. It is just ugly featureless stone. The only marks on its surface furrows, places its creator had lain or the rises where the land had been moulded into a seat to better watch the sky.

Gont is sad. Bringing the star close the ugliness of this creation is revealed and can not be ignored. Then the humming is heard. The light of Brin catching on the rib with its three strings. The one still string still waiting.

The maker turns to the star. ‘Brin I shall make more, I shall fill the world, it will be beautiful, so much so that the stars will envy it.’

The star chides the god though. ‘We are beauty, you will never make that place of stone envied by us. Not with one string left to play.’

The creator smiles at the challenge. First there had been boredom, then contentment. Now though, now it was time to have fun.

The bard pulls the rib close, placing the tip on the ground. The middle string, the last string, is plucked. A hair taken from the head of the first god it holds still all the thoughts of the once bored Gont, stored and waiting to escape. And in that musical tone they did.

The sound is complex rising and falling and the whole world vibrates with it. Gont smiles and crys at the joy of the sound. The tears roll down a cheek and touch the ground. The oceans crashed out, filling the low places. Gont laughs at that and with the clouds are born.

The maker looks out on the world and is amazed at what a place three hairs, one rib, some sweat, two feet worth of toenails, an ocean of teardrops and a roaring laugh had made. Calling up at Brin, ‘Is the challenge met?’

‘It is a lovely world indeed, still I would say it’s beauty is not equal to a single star.’ Brin answers.

Gont stood fuming, whether the world is better than all the cosmos is up for debate but Sonoro certainly outshone any single star. The bard now realises Brin would never concede that, nor would any other star that the god brought close.  At a loss and annoyed for the first time the rage poured from the mighty being.

Curses flew out and chased away the laughter turning the white puffy clouds to storms which spoke with thunder and lightning. Feet stomped and heated the earth till it bubbled and split bringing up volcanoes and ash. Fists beat the earth carving out valleys in which the rivers surge through.

Admist this chaos the maker weeps, sad that this world must feel fury. Even these tears turned into the rain that pound into the sea and land. Certain that the world is ruined the Bard holds up the rib with it’s three strings and is about to smash it over one knee. In that moment the strings all sang together. Gont felt the rage leave and calmness return. Looking around the god felt a touch foolish, the chaos if still here but it isn’t destroying. The new thoughts were mixing with the clouds, mountains and seas of before. The forces combining and balancing with each other. The maker is surprised to find a new creation, a figure made of seafoam and ash sitting on the coast.

The bard greeted the new figure who turned and smiles. This is Solstra the keeper of balance, first of Sonoro’s gods.

We pause here, as the exact creation of Sonoro’s god’s is far more argued. it is best summed up as Gont went around having problems which ranged from too many clouds to stubbing a toe and made gods, using the harp, to fix the problem. The exact story behind each god is very involved and often heavily debated. What is recorded is that Brin and the other stars never did admit that Sonoro was better than the heavens. This did not matter, because soon the were so many voices on Sonoro that Gont paid the heavens so very little attention.

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