Now, it was the wont of the folk of the Inner Lands to worship rumours
and legends of the Sea, and all that their prophets discovered of the
Sea was writ in a sacred book, and with deep devotion on days of
festival or mourning read in the temples by the priests. Now, all their
temples lay open to the west, resting upon pillars, that the breeze from
the Sea might enter them, and they lay open on pillars to the east that
the breezes of the Sea might not be hindered but pass onward wherever
the Sea list. And this is the legend that they had of the Sea, whom none
in the Inner Lands had ever beholden. They say that the Sea is a river
heading towards Hercules, and they say that he touches against the edge
of the world, and that Poltarnees looks upon him. They say that all the
worlds of heaven go bobbing on this river and are swept down with the
stream, and that Infinity is thick and furry with forests through which
the river in his course sweeps on with all the worlds of heaven. Among
the colossal trunks of those dark trees, the smallest fronds of whose
branches are many nights, there walk the gods. And whenever its thirst,
glowing in space like a great sun, comes upon the beast, the tiger of
the gods creeps down to the river to drink. And the tiger of the gods
drinks his fill loudly, whelming worlds the while, and the level of the
river sinks between its banks ere the beast’s thirst is quenched and
ceases to glow like a sun. And many worlds thereby are heaped up dry and
stranded, and the gods walk not among them evermore, because they are
hard to their feet. These are the worlds that have no destiny, whose
people know no god. And the river sweeps onwards ever. And the name of
the river is Oriathon, but men call it Ocean. This is the Lower Faith of
the Inner Lands. And there is a Higher Faith which is not told to all.
According to the Higher Faith of the Inner Lands the river Oriathon
sweeps on through the forests of Infinity and all at once falls roaring
over an Edge, whence Time has long ago recalled his hours to fight in
his war with the gods; and falls unlit by the flash of nights and days,
with his flood unmeasured by miles, into the deeps of nothing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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