When I was little, my father told “Uncle Theopholis” stories. They included how he created the white sands of New Mexico, carved the Grand Canyon. They were tall tales, family myths that the kids loved and always wanted to hear more of. What we know of history of the Romans and Great Britain has been used to tarnish and tear down once great Empires, but their mythology lives on untainted by reality or political correctness.
Myths are the perfect instrument to deliver social values and expectations. They aren’t changed with laws or revolutions, a change of leadership or opinions, they remain constant and ideal. What we know of the Greeks, Celts, and Vikings is almost entirely myth. We ignore the brutality of their daily lives, the tyranny of their culture on other cultures, we forgive them all their errors because we so highly value their myths. While we reject real history and real heroes, turning explorers into monsters, we readily revere mythological beasts and heroes.
This observation is something that CS Lewis kept in focus when he wrote his fiction novels. He created Christian Myths that were just as powerful as Christian Scripture. Many would argue it was more powerful because it delivered ideas about Christian culture and ideology that could not be accepted in any other way by unbelievers. Myths can transport values without judgement or comment outside of the myth itself. Like music, it gives a beauty to a set of ideas that can cross cultures, eras and technology.
Because I am a writer and because I love papercrafting and because I think it is important for each family to have their own myths and stories, I started creating this story for my family. This is the first page/installment of the story. It is our own family mythology.
The Book of Calinor:
Hannah fell from her realm, her wings burning. The Fae Realm she had spent her entire life in was unraveling quickly and she plunged into the portal that led to the Outworld.
She had been a Princess among the Fae in her realm. As eldest she would have been Queen one day, but it was not to be. She knew only a very little of the world she was entering, only what others had told her, and a little of what she had seen in the magic pools that looked in on other worlds. What she did know was that she could live in safety from the Nothing—the same force that was now devouring the Realm of her father, the River King.
She clung to her two youngest children, Brigid and Culain as she fell. She hadn’t known her wings wouldn’t survive outside of the Fae realm and it was agony to endure them burning as she fell. It reminded her that her life-mate had abandoned her. She had known he was a bit of a coward, but the confirmation of it had burned even more bitterly than her wings.
Her eldest children stubbornly desired to remain behind and try to fix the crumbling realm. They didn’t understand Fae magic, even though they had been raised with it. But she couldn’t wait. If the young ones were to survive with their magic intact, she would have to leave. And so she left her eldest sons behind and jumped.