' and let this post sink into obscurity. If not, 
Anyway, the Elohim's version of Creation Story seems at odds with the story we heard in the Land during the first chronicles. (I'll post the story at the end of my post if you want to look at it.) For one, there's no Lord Foul in it. And for another there's no Creator either. In short there is no guiding hand in the Creation of the world of the Land, either for beauty or for ill. We have the Worm which is hungry and we have the stars that are happy to do nothing but sing. The Earth is created when the two are joined to form the Elohim which are apparently the remnants of the stars the Worm swallowed. Now while the Elohim are very beautiful and potent, their part in the Creation of the Earth is at best incidental and plainly involuntary.
But all along the series we see that this world is not a random tumor but is built logically and has coherent Laws to govern it. The Creator even gets a few scenes in the books to prove his existence. What should we than make out of the Worm, the Elohim and their story?
The Creation story the Elohim tell does cover something the other story lack. It gives a material explanation for the creation of the world. The Creator creates the world, but we never hear what he made the world out of. His is a spiritual explanation. So where do the worm&stars' material explanation fit into the Creator's spiritual explanation?
The question would then be what sort of material would the creator use to make his creation? And the answer is of course ideas. The world the Creator creates is like a story and the stuff a story is made of is ideas. The stars that are still undevoured by the Worm are unrealized ideas and the Elohim are the realized ideas used in the Creation.
In that context the Worm is the creator's (writer's) inspiration, hunting for new ideas to enrich his story. We can see how rich the Land is from the amount of stars missing from its skies.
As the ideas that comprise the creation, the Elohim believe that they are the whole of creation. What matter a passing realization of an idea to the idea itself? If some mortal utilizes it in the outside world surely that wouldn't matter to (validate?) the idea. Likewise to them the Creator (as represented by the Worm that swallowed them) is not a kindly being. To them he is not a 'Creator'. They have already existed before he came as the stars, the unrealized free ideas. He just took them and imprisoned them in his creation where they had to suffer the indignity of having themselves tested by seeing how they are realized in the real world, something I'd reckon most ideas wouldn't be too keen on.
The stories about the stars being the Creator's children are explained as well (at least as far as the Elohim go. And since these stories come from the Giants who heard them from the Elohim and not the stars themselves this is not a problem). The ideas the creator (writer) has are like his children. A creator after all is not a physical being (in his capacity as a Creator) who'll have ordinary flesh and blood children. His children are his creations and more primarily the ideas he used in them.
Spoiler
This is supported by Esmer's assertion that he is Kestenessen's grandchild because to Elohim and their ilk familial relations arise from the passing of lore and not from fleshly ties.
Pitchwife's recounting of the story:
The Elohim's version:"It is said among the Elohim, whose knowledge is wondrous, and difficult of contradiction" - Pitchwife conveyed a chortle of personal amusement - "that in the ancient and eternal youth of the cosmos, long ere the Earth came to occupy its place, the stars were as thick as sand throughout all the heavens. Where now we see multitudes of bright beings were formerly multitudes of multitudes, so that the cosmos was an ocean of stars from shore to shore, and the great depth of their present solitude was unknown to them - a sorrow which they could not have comprehended. They were the living peoples of the heavens, as unlike to us as gods. Grand and warm in their bright loveliness, they danced to music of their own making and were content.
"But far away across the heavens lived a being of another kind. The Worm. For ages it slumbered in peace - but when it awakened, as it awakens at the dawn of each new eon, it was afflicted with a ravenous hunger. Every creation contains destruction, as life contains death, and the Worm was destruction. Driven by its immense lust, it began to devour stars.
"Perhaps this Worm was not large among the stars, but its emptiness was large beyond measure, and it roamed the heavens, consuming whole seas of brightness, cutting great swaths of loneliness across the firmament. Writhing along the ages, avid and insatiable, it fed on all that lay within its reach, until the heavens became as sparsely peopled as a desert.
"Yet the devoured stars were beings as unlike to us as gods, and no Worm or doom could consume their power without cost. Having fed hugely, the Worm became listless and gravid. Though it could not sleep, for the eon's end of its slumber had not come, it felt a whelming desire for rest. Therefore it curled its tail about itself and sank into quiescence.
"And while the Worm rested, the power of the stars wrought within it. From its skin grew excrescences of stone and soil, water and air, and these growths multiplied upon themselves and multiplied until the very Earth beneath our feet took form. Still the power of the stars wrought, but now it gave shape to the surface of the Earth, forging the seas and the land. And then was brought forth life upon the Earth. Thus were born all the peoples of the Earth, the beasts of the land, the creatures of the deep - all the forests and greenswards from pole to pole. And thus from destruction came forth creation, as death gives rise to life.
"Therefore, Chosen," said Pitchwife firmly, "we live, and strive, and seek to define the sense of our being. And it is good, for though we compose a scant blink across the eyes of eternity, yet while the blink lasts we choose what we will, create what we may, and share ourselves with each other as the stars did ere they were bereaved. But it must pass. The Worm does not slumber. It merely rests. And the time must come when it is roused, or rouses itself. Then it will slough off this skin of rock and water to pursue its hunger across the cosmos until eon's end and slumber. For that reason, it is named the Worm of the World's End."
"Sun-Sage," replied Daphin," we are the Wurd of the Earth."
She spoke clearly but her tome was confusing. Her Wurd sounded like Wyrd or Word.
Wyrd? Linden thought. Destiny - or doom? Or Word?
Or both.
Into the silence, Daphim placed her story. It was an account of the creation of the Earth; and Linden soon realized that is was the same tale that Pitchwife had told her during the calling of the Nicor. Yet it contained one baffling difference. Daphin did not speak of a Worm. Rather, she used that blurred sound, Wurd, which seemed to signify both Wyrd and Word.
This Wurd had awakened at the dawning of the eon and begun to consume the stars as if it intended to devout the cosmos whole. After a time, it had grown satiated and had curled around itself to rest, thus forming the Earth. And thus the Earth would remain until the Wurd roused to resume its feeding.
It was precisely the same story that Pitchwife had told. Had the Giants who had first brought that tale out of Elemesnedene misheard it? Or had the Elohim pronounced it differently to other visitors?
As if in answer, Daphin concluded, "Sun-Sage, we are the Wurd - the direct offspring of the creation of the Earth. From it we arose, and in it we have our being. Thus we are the heart, and the center, and the truth, and therefore we are what we are. We are all answers, just as are every question. For that reason, you must not judge the reply which we will give to your need."
Linden hardly heard the Elohim, her mind was awhirl with implications. Intuitions rand against the limits of her understanding like the clamor of bells. We are the Wurd. Morninglight swirling with color like the portrait of the clachon in metaphor. A willow leaved in butterflies. Self-contemplation.
Power.
Dear God. She could hardly form words though the soundless adumbration of the chimes. The Elohim-! They're Earthpower. The heart of the Earth. Earthpower incarnate.
).
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