...And after the Heledim made war upon the gods, the earth was flat and without feature. All the lands of the world were trampled, and even the very eves of heaven were scorched, though they grew back to flower with crimson in later days. And in this place of wind and ash, He Who is Growth set seeds upon the waste. They Who are Rain wept over those lost gardens, and their tears made great seas. He Who Burns set smoking mountains to be the boundaries of the world, and the Light for all the leaves. For in this time there was no abomination of flesh upon the earth, and only the lesser plants; the gods hated things of flesh, so loathsome was the memory of the Heledim. They Who Make forged trinkets of flesh from the supple metals of heaven, birds and creeping things and the leviathans of the deep, but no more.

But He Who is Hope was saddened by this lesser world of lesser beings, and across the earth and heaven he gathered the sundered pieces of that bough from the Tree of Life, which had burned with fire when the gods awoke. Many they were, and scattered widely; a hundred years he spent to gather them. And when he had them all, he set them at the roots of lesser plants, and spent another hundred years planting them. When this labor was done, he spoke a blessing upon the sleeping plants:

Then he made vellum from the skins of the lesser fleshings, and wrote down upon them the Twelve, that to this day are the chants of each seven equinox. And the first drowsy planting realized that he need not leave his roots fast in soil, and that the clinging vines draped from every bough were as living finger and tendril to him. They wandered in that forest of the dawn, among the lesser plantings, and chanted the Twelve, and drank water from the streams. And when they died they seeded anew in the gardens of heaven, as caretakers and sleeping vines, peaceful as lesser plants but full of thought.

But the Adversary was in heaven, and saw the gardens of heaven bloom from waste into beauty. Fierce was his wroth, but He Who is Thorn was at the garden gate, and the Adversary could not enter. So he whispered in the ears of the other gods, and his words made the beauty of that wild garden seem abomination, and he persuaded them that it should be cut from the roots. Subtle was his speech, and many forgot the Heledim, and from the living mercury of heaven forged abominations of flesh to set upon the earth. There they warred upon the singers of the Twelve, and gnawed at them, and drove them into deep places and hiding.

One among the plantings was named Singer of Three, and his roots were deep. Rowan berries were upon his brow, and his song was as clear as deep water. Among his waning people he took council, and thought if they might ask He Who is Hope for succor. But they thought only of war councils, and decided to ask another. In a hidden field of brambles he cast his song, and brought to earth He Who is Thorn. On his brow was a crown of ivy, and in his hand a scourge of brambles.

"Why have you summoned me, greater planting?"

"I wish to use you as a beast of burden, to take me up to heaven. There I shall find a weapon to strike against the abominations of flesh." Singer of Three coiled his tendrils, but his voice was as rich as wind.

"I take no command from mortals, and should rend you for your insolence. But I have no mind to hunt the greater plants."

"Have no mind? Rather say that He Who is Hope forbids you." Singer of Three heard a hiss and rumble, as of a windstorm among birches, but he continued. "Many things he forbids you, feeble hunter. You are as the growings of a field, planted by the greater beasts, and wear their very yoke upon your back."

Then He Who is Thorn slew Singer of Three in mighty wroth, and strewed his leaves upon the field. But Singer of Three re-seeded in the divine gardens, and so came into heaven. Strong were the boughs of that land, bright with flowers, and all the thorns were keen. But Singer of Three stood not as a lesser plant in the honeyed sunlight of that land, nor stared at the thousand-colored blooms that filled the air with the Song of Seven. Straight for the Tree of Life he went, where all its branches overarched creation and held away that which is above. He stripped bark from it, and the very touch of it was as soft rain and moonlight on his brow.

But while he worked a shadow fell over Singer of Three, and a chill voice hissed, "So I guessed your game, though you sought to use my anger. For your cunning I must bless you, but I remain to guard the garden. None may touch the Tree of Life, save that bough it gave up freely; should it fall that which is above would be upon us, and for your damage I must curse you."

"Curse me if you will, but let me make of this bark a weapon to fight the greater beasts."

"The Tree of Life become a weapon? Very well, then here is your blessing. You shall have armies to fight the flesh-beasts, armies of living bramble. Many will you be, and swift your growth; your bodies shall be stronger than serpents, and your armor of thorns." Then He Who is Thorn descended to the earth, and smote the land with his scourge of brambles. A great continent broke off, and about its borders he trained the lesser plants to devour any greater beast who entered. This land he called the garden of dawn, and wherever he went great armies of briars snaked behind him, and warred against the greater beasts.

"Thank you, hunter, for your blessing. It is all that I desired, and I see no curse in it."

But He Who is Thorn continued. "All the armies shall be your bodies, and you shall not die. Serapis was a kinder master, but you have chosen to beseech me. Now your rest shall be denied you, and your songs shall be for nothing. Short death shall bring only the sleep of the lesser plants, in fields of briars, until the war calls send you thither. Never shall you see the divine garden, though it will be in the dreams of your waking death."

"We shall sing the Twelve, and our death-dream shall be your dream...." Singer of Three spoke as his leaves left him, and he settled as a briar into the drowsy dream of the lesser plants. But He Who is Thorn stood long in amazement at these final words, and ceased to guard the divine garden, and it fell untended. And though the Singers of the Twelve sought escape beneath the seas, or in worship of He Who is Life and He Who is Death, still they did not die, but slept only in the dream of lesser plants. When the war-call brought their bramble bodies to the clash they stirred, but could never come again to the divine garden where once they re-seeded with understanding.

And still they sang the Twelve....