Before the dark things were driven into the ocean, when they still hid from the light and hated all the land and all life, they would take men and women from their homes and families. The dark things took all that was living and all creatures which walked in the light, and made of them creatures to live in the shadows and walk among men, creatures borne of those same black spaces which had never seen the light where the dark things lived.

The skin thieves lived in the great mountains to the East, far above the valley of the midlands. They hid in the caverns, behind the shadows cast by the setting sun, and in the silver light of the lady Night’s eye the moon they came down from the high, cold places. The skin thieves were undying, as the dark things, and they stole the shapes of all living things they touched, as they consumed the living flesh. Undying, they were also childless, for the thieves of skin could not be born save by the wombs of living women.

The Swan tribe lived in the valley of the midlands, and their home was a lake of crystal clarity and perfect smoothness. Barely a ripple touched its surface, and the winds raging in the mountains became calming breezes on its shores. The lake was small and shallow, fecund with marshes and deep, dark soil at its shores, and when the sunlight was at a certain angle, it was possible to see the fish and turtles swimming under the surface. The men and women of the Swans were the children of the god Creation. Creation made them beautiful, and their lives were longer than any ten ordinary men or women. They did not know pain or hardship, or cold or hunger.

On the coldest winter nights, the Swan tribe would close their homes against the darkness and build great bonfires within them. They would listen to the howling from the mountain tops, and lie close together, listening to the sound of branches scraping together and marshgrass whipping against itself. Many of the youngest of the Swans were born on these nights, and some of the eldest knew something like fear, hearing the wind in the darkness.

But one winter came which was colder than any other. The skin thieves shivered in their caves, and many of their number died. There came a night when the moon stood full and silver in the sky, and frost covered the ground, and the perfect lake was stilled by ice. The skin thieves came down from the mountains, moaning and keening. They moved through the trees, with dead leaves falling around their feet and hands, where some walked on all fours. The marsh grass swayed as they moved between the blades, and the Swan tribe huddled in their homes as the claws of the skin thieves drew across their doorways.

The skin thieves took the form of animals and tore their way into the homes of the Swans. All the men and women of the Swan tribe took the form of swans and beat the skin thieves about their heads and necks with their wings. They broke the skin thieves’ limbs and split their stolen skin against their bones, but the skin thieves became swans as well as the Swan tribe, and every other frightful beast, and they laid about the Swan tribe until all the swans lay upon the floors of their homes and could resist the skin thieves no longer. The skin thieves slew all the men of the swan tribe and, by the women of the swan tribe, they sired the skin thieves of a future generation.

Long after the night had passed, after the skin thieves had gone and the Swans had buried their dead, the tribe of the Swan still knew fear and pain and the cold. The eldest women of the Swans gathered together. They decreed that all males born to the Swan tribe in the next year would be drowned, for the skin thieves were always and only male. The children of the Swans, lost thereafter, would be sacrificed so that the skin thieves would see no profit by their terrible deeds.

Months passed, escorted by the gentleman time, and new children were born to the Swan tribe, each male child taken after the other, carried into the still waters of the lake by his mother, and there held beneath the surface until the child was as still as the crystal lake. The midwives of the eldest Swans stood bedside at each birth, and so no male child was born without their knowledge. But the young woman Keprie would not heed the ruling of the eldest Swans. When she knew she was with child, she hid the swelling inside her. When the time came for her child to be born, she went deep into the woods, where no midwives would hear the cries. Young Keprie had her child alone, with no one at her side, and no hot towels upon her brow. She cut the umbilical cord with her own teeth, and cleaned the child with her own clothes. She held the child in her arms, and saw that he was a boy. His cries were quieted as he suckled, and she named her child Mut.

Keprie swaddled Mut in rags torn from her dress, and disguised her son as a girl. The Swan tribe was large, and a single child was easily overlooked by the eldest and the midwives. Mut was accepted by the Swan as one of their own, and taken with the other girls to be taught the secrets known only to the women of the Swan. The eldest taught him and taught the daughters of their tribe how the Swan came to be, how they took the form of swans, and all the vows made by the Swan to do no harm and to live in peace with the river and the forest.

Mut would return home late in the evening, as the sun was setting over the forest. The perfect lake would turn as red as blood and the reeds at the shore would sway, whispering words softly, so softly that he could not hear what they said. He would sit at night with his young mother Keprie, and she would tell him stories of the time before the skin thieves came down from the mountains, and stories of the men of the Swan. She would teach him the vows of honor and truth taken by all men of the Swan tribe, and show him all that the eldest could not.

But there came a time when all the children of the Swan had come of age, the girls grown to women. Young Keprie could teach her son Mut no more, though he was still a boy not yet a man. “There is no more I can teach you here, my child,” said Keprie. “And if you stay your whole life in the valley of the midlands you will never learn any more of the world. The eldest of the tribe will know you are a boy of the generation lost, and you will not be at peace in our valley. You must go into the mountains, higher than even the skin thieves live, in order to become a man.”

The boy saw the wisdom of his mother’s words. He removed the clothes in which his mother disguised him, and dressed himself in the simplest cloak of a young boy. He made a simple meal and lit a warm fire for Keprie. When the sun was set and the night was cold and silver under the gaze of the lady Night’s eye the moon, he left their home and set off into the mountains.

Many hours passed before Mut reached the base of the mountains. He saw the cloak of the Lady Night draw across the sky, and Twilight ushering rosy dawn over the horizon. He ate what fruits there were from the forest as it pleased him, though he felt no hunger or thirst. He climbed over and between stones as the gods’ barge drew their furnace across the sky, looking always above himself and far away, at the most distant peaks. For this reason he did not know he was long into the maze of caverns and shadows of the skin thieves until he came upon them.

Some had the forms of men, and others the forms of beast, while some skin thieves had all aspects of men and beast, as no creature in nature had ever known. The skin thieves looked upon Mut with unliving eyes, evincing no distress. They did not know one another by face or form, having countless of either. The skin thieves knew Mut as one of their own by scent and, having nothing to take from their own kind, showed him no regard. Thus Mut came to sleep in the caves with the skin thieves. He listened to their strange and sibilant language, and learned to speak as they did.

When he was rested once more, Mut pointed to the highest and farthest peak and asked one of the skin thieves, “What lies at the peak of this mountain?”

The skin thief answered him, “That is where the mountain goats climb from stone to stone as you or I might walk the straightest and most level of paths. Many skin thieves have fallen from those heights for the skin of the precious mountain goats, but none have climbed back up twice.”

Mut thanked the skin thief and set off on his journey again, looking far above himself to the highest peak. Yet he now also looked at the stones and dirt beneath his feet, and path before him. For this reason he soon learned to move from stone to stone as easily as the flattest of pathways, and to balance upon a single toe as if he were lying fast asleep. Mut walked for days, feeling no hunger or thirst, until he was upon the very same mountain peak he sought. It was as the skin thief had said, upon this peak, and mountain goats leapt from stone to stone as if no great abyss yawned below them.

The mountain goats knew the scent of a skin thief, and so they fled from Mut. Yet Mut had learned well enough to follow the mountain goats, as the skin thieves had not. He followed the mountain goats until they were too tired to flee any longer. He sat with them as they rested, and gave them what little food he had about his person. He learned to understand the bleating of the mountain goats as he huddled against them for warmth in the cold mountain peaks.

Once Mut was rested again, he pointed to the highest and farthest peak he could see and asked one of the mountain goats, “What lies at the peak of this mountain?”

The mountain goat answered him, “That is where the eagles fly high above the stones which you or I must walk upon. No mountain goat dares to climb so high, for we have not wings to carry us from our falls as the eagles do.”

Mut thanked the mountain goat and set off on his journey once more. He looked both to the highest peak, and at the path, and all the stones upon it. He looked far below, and learned how to set his path by the sun and the stars, and by the lay of the rocks and how the trees grew. He looked from stones to the barest trees eking out life from the hard soil, and learned to see who and what had passed by. Mut walked for many days more, feeling no hunger or thirst, until he was upon the very same mountain peak he sought. It was as the mountain goat had said, upon this peak, and eagles flew high above the stones without fear or risk of falling.

The eagles did not fear the scent of the skin thieves, but nor did they fly near to Mut. His voice could not reach them and, if they saw him, it was no concern of theirs. Thus Mut, who had learned well enough to follow the traces left by nature, followed the signs of the mountain until he found where the eagles nested. He had no food for the eagles, and there was no place for him to rest, but he lay on the cold stones and watched the eagles circle until he learned to understand their cries.

When he could speak as the eagles, though he was cold and tired, Mut pointed to the highest and farthest peak he could see and asked one of the eagles, “What lies at the peak of this mountain?”

The eagle answered him, “I do not know. No eagle has flown so high as that before, and none of us has ever seen its heights.”

Mut gave thanks to the eagle and set off for the highest peak. He felt no hunger or thirst, but the chill of the mountain’s heights seemed to fill his body; his bones were as ice, his skin parchment, and his blood as water. Mut was cold, but he walked on. He had not slept for many days, but he walked on. For days yet more, Mut walked onward, moving from one stone to another along a path no wider than the tip of a child’s finger. Though winds tore at his clothes, and though his fingers and toes lost all feeling, he climbed until he could climb no further.

As he felt he might fall to his death, the very first rays of the first winter’s sun came over the horizon and Mut beheld a slender crevice in the mountainside. Thus, with the first light of winter, Mut entered the highest peak of the Eastern mountains.

Mut stepped into the crevice on the mountain’s peak, and the winter sun followed him, falling upon what lay therein - two horses, one tall and fine as might carry a man across the desert, and the other broad and powerful as might pull a mountain from its moorings. The fine horse was pale, but with dark brown hooves, almost black as the fertile soil of the marshlands. The broad horse was that same dark brown of the marshy lakeside soil, save for his hooves, which were as pale as the tall horse. The pale horse spoke as his eyes beheld Mut: “We are the steeds of the god Naomi. He appears with the first sun of winter to ride with us into the world. We are the bearers of his will.”

Now, Mut had learned all the stories taught to him by his mother and by the eldest, and he recognized the name of Naomi, and knew him for a god long dead. “Forgive my trespass, oh steeds of the god Naomi. I sought only shelter from the chill of the winter and the winds. I have climbed for many days without sleep, and though I feel no hunger or thirst, the cold chills me and I grow weary in my travels. But you must know by now that the god Naomi is long dead, and will not return with the winter sun.”

The dark horse said, “This is no matter.”

And the pale horse said, “It is he who appears with the first winter’s sun who we serve, for gods and mortals die alike. I am called Blood, and this is my brother, Earth. We will be your steeds, and we will carry you from the mountains across this world, and bear your will.”

Mut tried three times over to tell the steeds of Naomi that he was not their master. He tried thrice again to tell them of Naomi’s death, but the dark horse only said, “It is no matter,” and the pale horse only said, “It is he who appears with the first winter’s sun who we serve.” At last, Mut grew too tired to argue, but said, “I am tired and cold, then. Let me rest here in the cave until tomorrow.”

Thus the two steeds led Mut into the cave. The dark horse was so dark that Mut could not see it, but his hooves were so pale that he knew always where Earth walked. Mut could see the pale horse clearly in the darkness, but his hooves we so dark that he never knew where Blood walked. Mut slept deep within the cave, where the winter’s chill did not reach, for a day and a night until the sun was rising again. He woke, laying against the dark horse, seeing the pale horse like the moon in the darkness. The dark horse said, “You are awake.” And the pale horse said, “What is your will, he who is called Mut?”

Mut looked into the darkness where Earth had spoken and back to Blood, and said, “What are the duties of a god? I will undertake them as best I am able.”

Earth said, “A god will bear witness to the seasons.”

Blood said, “A god will reward what pleases him, and punish what displeases him. A god will see to it that all mortal things have their place. A god will see the world as it is, and make it as it must be.”

Thus Mut saddled the two steeds of the god Naomi. At Blood’s flanks, his saddle held a sword, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and flint and steel. At Earth’s flanks, his saddle held a sickle, a whetstone, a bag of seeds, and a reed flute. Mut climbed upon the saddle of the pale horse, and lead the dark horse out of the cavern in the side of the mountain. Blood and Earth walked upon the ledge, no wider than the tip of a child’s finger, without fear and without looking down. The horses walked with time taking careful measure of each footfall, and were not long in passing the peak beyond which even the eagles would not fly. As Mut looked to the familiar sight of the eagles, Earth said, “Why do we walk?” And Blood said, “This path is long and winding. Would you not rather take the path of the eagles?”

Mut, not knowing the ways of gods, asked what path the horses meant to take. “Do you, then,” said Blood, “wish to see the path of the eagles?” And Mut allowed as that he did. Thus the steeds of the gods stepped off the mountain path, into the air, and walked along the path of the eagles. “This path is quicker,” said Earth.

Riding on the pale horse whose footfalls he could not see, Mut returned from the mountains in as many hours as it had been days to climb them. But as the horses galloped over the caves of the skin thieves, Mut’s countenance became dark, and his voice grew still. “This displeases you,” said Earth. And Blood said, “Why have your eyes grown hooded and your shoulders bent?”

The steeds of the gods then ceased their descent to the valley of the midlands and listened as Mut told them of the terrible pain the skin thieves had brought to the Swan tribe. “Their season shall pass,” said Earth. “Their crime has been great,” said Blood. “I see by your demeanor that you wish them punished for it. You have but to deem it just.”

Mut weighed the offer of Blood and the words of Earth, but though he had slept in the skin thieves’ caverns, the sadness of his mother’s stories was too great. “Let it be so,” he said to the steeds.

And the horse Blood strode up into the clouds, and the clouds grew dark about his hooves. And the horse Earth followed Blood into the clouds, and lightning flew from his hooves. The steeds circled the mountains above the caverns of the skin thieves, and the storm became greater until it spread across the whole of the mountain range. At last Blood reared back, and the clouds split apart, and rain drenched the mountains below.

“Their season has passed,” said Earth. “So it is done,” said Blood. “I have brought death to all who dwell in the mountains. The unliving shall become the living, and the undying will be mortal. All who are touched by our storm shall be remade thus.”

Mut looked down at the mountains and the great wash of rain, and he saw even the valley of the midlands ran with the terrible waters of life and death. “And what of the Swans?” he asked. “They will drink the water in the lake and eat the fruits of the trees growing from it.”

“Then you will bear witness,” said Earth. “The sin is not for the skin thieves alone,” said Blood, “for it was the Swans who drowned their children in the crystal lake. Life and death will be restored to both, and their terrible deeds may yet be redeemed together.”

Now Mut understood better the ways of the gods, and he felt the heavy burden not meant for mortal shoulders. He raked his face with his hands, and struck at his body with his fists and told his steeds to take him to a place without seasons, where he would bring no gifts or curses upon any living thing he cared for.

Blood and Earth carried Mut far from the valley of the midlands and the Eastern mountains, across the great East Ocean, to the burning lands far to the south. Mut went out into the middle of the great desert, and Blood walked on his left while Earth walked on his right. He lived in the desert and felt no hunger or no thirst. When the sun was high overhead, he slept in the cool shadow of Earth, whose hooves he could not see against the white desert sand. When the desert grew cold at night, he lay against Blood for warmth, though he could not see the pale horse in the silver moonlit sand.

The days and nights passed slowly in the desert, for Mut had no company but his own thoughts and the dead god’s steeds. At last he came to them and said, “I am wroth with myself, steeds. I have brought mortality to the Swan tribe, and death where there was only life. What must I do to make the world right again, to make it as it must be?”

“The seasons must change,” said Earth. “If you have brought death to one place, you must bring life to another. That is the way of the gods,” said Blood.

“How can I do this thing?” asked Mut.

“Take my sickle,” said Earth, “and spill my blood. The sand thirsts; let it drink my blood. The wind howls; let it have my bones. All the plants and animals hunger; let them have my flesh.” And Blood said, “My brother Earth will give life to the desert.”

“I cannot take one life to give life to another,” said Mut. “I will be no better than before.”

“You cannot kill me,” said Earth. “You may tear him apart,” said Blood, “But he will always return with the first rain.”

Mut had no more to say, and the steeds had no more to offer. Thus he took the sickle of the dark horse, and cut his throat. Earth’s blood was fed to the thirsty desert sands, and his bones were given to the howling wind, and his flesh was given to the hungry plants and animals of the desert. Great thunderclouds gathered in the sky, as dark as Earth’s body and Blood’s hooves, and it was not long before rain washed across the desert. Yet this rain was not the rain of life and death which poisoned the mountains and the midlands. Life blossomed where the rain fell, until the desert no longer burned under the sun, but was fertile with living creatures and a gentle wind.

As the last of the rain drops fell, the wet sand of the desert heaved like the ocean’s waves, and the steed Earth rose from beneath them. The sand fell from his body, leaving him as dark as the rich soil below, pooling about his hooves, which remained pale. He stepped from the sand and said to Mut, “These are the changing seasons.”

Mut looked at the desert in bloom and he saw it was good. Yet he knew that the life he brought to the desert could not atone for the death he brought to the Swan tribe, and even to the skin thieves. “I see how the gods must witness the changing seasons now,” said Mut. “But I will never fathom the will of any mortal or god to punish another. Let us go forth from the desert, and I will bring life where there is none, and make repairs for the injuries done by death and mortality.”

“If that is your wish,” said Earth. “We will carry you to all those places which have known no life, and we will balance the pain of death. But the desert thrives now only by the blood of Earth. It will burn again should we depart.”

“Then we will return again,” said Mut, as he climbed upon the steed Earth. “We will visit all those places without life, and I will take the burden of the seasons into the lifeless places of the world.”

Thus it was that Mut rode to all the deserts of the world and brought with him the rains. When he had circled all the world he began again, and in this way Mut and his steeds Blood and Earth brought the rains to the deserts of the world every year. Mut returned every year to watch over the Swans and the skin thieves, and saw how together they healed the wounds of the lost children and the pain of death. Some Swans yet lived lives a hundredfold score of years, but these soon vanished into the world and into legend. And even some skin thieves were yet undying, and these too went into the darkness of hushed stories.

It was said long after that when death fell upon a house Mut was always near, but that he would soon bring life. And if men and women are still mortal, then Mut still rides the steeds Blood and Earth to this day.