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The Text

CHRONOLOGUE OF THE CHILD OF THE WORLD

Collated and Edited by

R'rephistoch Orpherischt of the Linguistics Society

copyright (c) 2015 - 2026

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The Words

Words are dust, some have told,

But this perhaps is overbold.

For hath not word the man en-souled?

Carved and formed the thought he holds?

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CONTENTS

1. 'Breadcrumbs' (Poesy)

2. 'The Wyes in the Road' (Poesy)

3. 'Of the Tomes of the Sky Stones' (introduction)

4. 'BEGINNING' (Creation Story)

5. 'THE PRIMORDIAL PYRE' (The History of the First Ages)

6. 'SUCCESSION I' (Hatching of the First Elf)

7. 'THE LITTLE BOY OF THE MOUNTAIN' (Novella)

8. 'A Vessel' (Poesy)

9. 'An Overview of Fairyland'

10. 'The Mound' (Poesy)

11. 'The Galahad' (Poesy)

12. 'Navigation of Fairyland' (Essay)

13. 'I Await Thee at the Ford' (Poesy)

14. 'Of the Foundations' (Legend)

15. 'Gematria' (Poesy)

16. 'Of the Elf' (Essay)

17. 'And Yet' (Poesy)

18. 'The Outline' (Poesy)

19. 'The Qabala of Fairyland' (Exoteric Treatise)

20. 'The Tree of Tongues A' (Poesy)

21. 'The Tree of Tongues II' (Poesy)

22. 'The Tree of Tongues III' (Poesy)

23. 'The Tree of Tongues IV' (Poesy)

24. 'The Honey' (Poesy)

25. 'The Great Clash' (Poesy)

26. 'Last Word'

... .. . . .. ... .. . . .. ...

From the collected remnants of The Book of the Unwritten Things:

... .. . . .. ... .. . . .. ...

Earth: A Book of Breadcrumbs

I cast this spell upon thee now.

Thine eyes ensnared, for thou wouldst know

and receiveth mark upon thy brow, that

gaineth thee right of passage... so,

thou halt not reading - unto ends -

for words are here that thee shall send

to darkling place of danger fell,

of lurking chance and reeking hell,

o'er mountain crag and umbral dell,

through cavern black unlit by spill of

radiance from thy written will.

'Neath darkest recess of the soul, is

where thou goeth - a bitter pill.

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Yet hearken thou!

Fear not!...

I now this power upon thee bestow:-

Thou shalt secret lore of ages know!

That beyond these trials of mind and flesh

lie alchemies of time that stretch

t'ward horizons of the utter end; to

beginnings where the laws doth bend,

where thine every wish, and all desire,

lieth in wait beyond the gyre:

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The secret words, the speech of birds,

The ways of wyrd, and dragon shards.

From crystal dim that shines within, floweth

lofty knowledge of before; of Gods

and Beasts of Earth and Void -

Of forgotten kingdoms now destroyed.

The writ of sage that wisdom shared:

histories deep, and songs of heights,

and records kept of slow delights.

Every magic tongue of man: thy power

and mastery of realms divine.

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All these I give to thee this day.

The Holy Sooth before thee now lays:

Philosopher's Stone and ancient Grail -

afore these heirlooms all shall quail,

For might and power is thine to wield,

once read be writ that I now yield.

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Behold!

The First and Greatest Secret is

...

[ the original manuscript ends here ]

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The Wyes in the Road

There creeps a Monster in The Words -

Which being Language of the Birds,

contains a Singleton of Terror -

a Worm that makes it worse.

To read between the lines

is to peer through the Abyss:

One finds within an Error

... Yea, an Elemental Curse.

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For those that seeketh Light

within the darkest Fort of Night,

know that ardent search for Truth

leadeth one perforce to Rite

wherein which one is measured

by the Dark Elves of the Court, where

whispered spell by shaft be-feathered

.. shall be lodged within thy heart.

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The door to ancient knowledge

of the Ways that came before -

the secrets of that Village

lying hid 'oer yonder shore -

which ever strive to show themselves,

for they cannot right be said,

shall find a way yet, nonetheless,

.. to slip inside thy head.

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Evoking ancient blasphemies

that lie within the book

that is writ by dark epiphanies

received when Earth was shook

by the Glory of the Oeuvre

that no Witness may rebuke:

for thine Arrow from it's quiver loosed

.. is fixed within the Rock.

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Perhaps he that once did scoff at word

that pertains to Pearls and Swine,

Comes to see he underestimates

the Weight of Lore Divine, that, yet

though writ before and Everywhere,

the Knowledge of the Last,

cannot right be told to him

.. whose mind lays idle in repast.

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The Revelators of the World -

yea, those that seek and teach,

shall trouble find upon the road

that leadeth to the breach

through which a final light emergeth

from the Temple and the Sietch:

For the number of The Number

when the score is written down,

matches that of the Unspeakable:

the meaning of the Crown. ————— Örpherischt, 19 January, 2020

THE TOMES OF THE SKY-STONES

What follows is the text of two ancient leather-bound tomes, containing the forgotten histories of the primaeval days of the Earth. It is said these manuscripts were gifted to the House of the Anarim by Mbærōdaḵ, the mighty son of Ṅgái, before he departed for the land of Mer beyond Tal.

There is hearsay that the polished gems mounted upon the cover of each book are fragments of each of the two divine headstones that fell from the Kraal of the Paramount at the beginning of Time, that of Gaùnab-erebüzù (the 'Blackstone' or 'Pyramidion') and Khãnyab-Hëha (the 'Emerald stone') - but the vast majority of the antiquarians of the current day deny that this is possible, or that Ṅgái or even Mbærōdaḵ would have allowed this.

Together the two books make a relatively complete history of the ancient days up until the early part of the Second Age (known to some as the Silver Age). The first manuscript contains the earliest parts, The Before All Befores, while the other contains the latter period, and is known as Chronologue of the Child of the World. The original scribe, of the court of Mbærōdaḵ, was commanded to leave a number of empty pages in key parts of the text, wherein the archivists of the Anarim were charged to contribute to the histories with regards to the activities of the peoples that once dwelled in the region of Mount Nín-haväh-núma.

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These writings were translated from the remnant writings of Örpherischt, themselves apparently copies of the recovered nötes of an ancient sage, whose name is fõrgotten, evidently an amateur scholar of the syncretic mythologies of the 6th Age.

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BEGINNING ('The Befõre All Befõre')

From the Great Chief Ûmvélinqängi, uMDäli, and Lõrd of All Things, came fõrth River Time and Nöthingness - and River Time, being inflamed by desire fõr Nöthingness, engendered the Pýre, the Fýres of the Serpent, and from the ashes of a great combat, came Nín-haväh-núma, who fõrmed the heavens and the earth. In Time, many of Thöse-we-do-not-see were bõrn into the wórld, and Ma was not alöne.

Of the Time befõre Times; of the Thing befõre Things

1:1 - In the Deep there is nöthing but a great därkness and an abyss of cöld wãters. The därkness, it is töld, had it's being in the shadöw of the Páramòunt Chief, who is named Ûmvélinqängi: that is "Befõre Everything".

1:2 - In the Depths of the Abyss, beneath black wãters that róiled and heaved in the därk, slept Anïma, but she had not yet bled, and her wãter had not yet bröken.

1:3 - The Chief pondered the wãters, and peered into his Shadöw, and it became as it were a Reflection, and the longer he gazed, the mõre did he see and perſeive, and sö the Chief gave names to the features that he saw, and grouped them together, thöse that seemed akin.

1:4 - But Wisdöm hölds that the map is not the territõry, and thus it was that Ûmvélinqängi gave to the Tides põrtions of his Will, and began to convérse with them. And these are knöwn, by thöse who cáll themselves wise, the Pôwers and the Prinſipalities: the Umóyar of the Supreme Being.

1:5 - But the Shadöw remained, and Anïma slept ön.

1:6 - And sö it came to päss that these Pôwers, greater and lesser, were given to remove and dwell beside the Great Chief Ûmvélinqängi in the Kraal of the Thöse-we-do-not-see, which looks òut över the wãters.

1.7 - From Ûmvélinqängi great knòwledge came to the Umóyar, and they were in ãwe of his wisdöm, and they gave praise to their Chief.

The Kraal of Heaven

Description of the village of the tribe of the gods, and it's còunſil. The Fire of Tale-telling.

2:1 - The Kraal of the Páramòunt came to contain a great höst, and each of the spirits of the Deep that came fõrth thereto, and that would hòuse therein, was given a fair dwelling, and was jóined to öne of the Nine Inhlanganešo, the Chiefly guild-halls. Therein each was initiated unto that guild that might make profitable ends of the various pröpensities, acquired, and elemental, of each nascent Nature.

2:2 - Within their Inhlanganešo, the Tides of the Umóyar are tutõred and mentõred by their Lõrds, the Chieftains of the Guilds, who are the elders of the Kraal, and clösest in còuncil with Páramòunt Chief Ûmvélinqängi.

2:3 - Thus enfölded, titles and ranks of fõrmality were given to each accõrding to his õr her stature (fõr it has long been clear to all who study the matters of the Unseen Realms that the Umóyar, like the Endhrö, descendants of the Bantirrim, the Second Men, and sö too the M'moatia, are of male and female - their örigin the sweet wãters and the salt wãters that were at first an undivided confúsion within the primaeval Deep - but which Ûmvélinqängi had divided).

2:4 - Thereafter, there was a new kind of meeting of the spirits within the Great Kraal - a new föld of the Tides - and they came to learn much of each-other, and delighted in their likenesses and their differenſes.

2:5 - Òut of this divine arrangement, the wills of the heavens begun then to perſeive such of their purpöse as they were wont to reſeive - though nöt all.

2:6 - But the Umóyar did dwell in that plaſe by the Supreme Law of the Páramòunt Chief, and it was good.

The High Summons

The High Summons, leading to the pröſession of the Chief: the coming to the thröne of all the gods of the ſelestial regions.

3:1 - Nòw when all those of the Deep who would come fõrth had done sö, and the hösts of the Kraal of the Páramòunt Chief had swelled to numbers uncòunted, and nigh all Chiefly Pröpensities were enjoined to a subõrdinate Chief and to his Inhlanganešo, it came to päss that all the dwellings of the Kraal were delivered of an High Summons. The Páramòunt Chief nòw called all his Umóyar to himself, and in the presence of all, would shew them a new Thing.

3:2 - There was to be a great pröſession, burdened of High fõrmalities, and alsö feasting, merriment, music and dancing. After this, it was voiſed abòut, a great and mömentòus Unveiling would follöw.

3:3 - But befõre the grand pröſession, the greatest among the subõrdinate chiefs, the Lõrds of the Guilds, by the command of Ûmvélinqängi, held each a sepárate and sécret conclave with their guild-fellows, to which even the löwliest servant was invited, and there pröpòunded the parts that each would play in the great proſeedings to come.

3:4 - Nonetheless, the full purpöse of Páramòunt Ûmvélinqängi was revealed to none.

The Elder Thing

4:1 After these conclaves, the booming voice of the Great Chief called òut "Åht-ümha!", and behöld: with him were cloistered his clösest chiefs, and accompanying them were the Guild-lõrds and the Róyal messengers.

4:2 In the great silenſe that followed, absent then ëven of Imäna-Shü, the Wãters trembled, and Anïma-Teſn-utú answered from sleep.

4:3 Not ëven the great gods of earth could claim to have witnessed first hand this meeting of the Supreme Pôwers - never mind the eyes of men - nonetheless there is much conjecture över the things there spöken. Few deny hòwever, that there, behind the veiling mists of Därkness and Obscurity, the Eight Faces and the Nine convérsed and conſeived of a great plan.

4:4 Imäna, some say - befõre he gained his full dominion - afterwards spake the silent words of the thought of Ûmvélinqängi, and convéyed his Lõrd's utter-most desires to thöse present, but withheld his utter-möst höpe.

4:5 Many agree that it was this meeting that deſided the Fòundations of the Agenſy of Flesh - of the fõrms of Mother-Matter; of the dömains of the Unkulúnkülú, Sky-Father; of the agencies of the Scepter of the Lion, King of the Sun; of the mirrõred Wãters of Triple-Moon, and her writhing Serpent; of the Mother of the Spring and her lovely daughter, the Maiden of the Flowering Fields - who would come to be lost to the Sky, and gain a famous name upon the Earth.

4:6 And it is said that all shivered as the shadow of Time betrayed its Coming in the rippling of the Veils that obscured the faſe of the Supreme.

4:7 The fïnal Trûth flashed across the hidden eyes of Ûmvélinqängi, and the Fate of the Wórld Unbõrn was sealed. Imäna bòwed, but kept silent.

4;8 Ûmvélinqängi then raised his hand, and at this, all thöse present joined hands, fõrming a great ring encircling the Chief. All then bòwed to him, after which Imäna and Kalúnga entered the Ring, and stood befõre the Páramòunt. These two Great Old Ones then shook hands, and each gazed into the faſe of the other. They left the Kraal then by sepárate paths, in õrder to muster the Hòuses of the Umóyar.

4:9 The Grand Pröſeeding had begun.

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The Preſession Begins

The Great Pröſession, with the elders leading, and the hosts of heaven gathering in train.

5:1 - Nòw the Great Pröſession set òut from that place at which the Páramòunt Chief had first looked òut över the wãters. This plaſe is as a great preſipice, and from the abyss the ròilings of the wãters of the Gulf hissed as as it were a nest of coiling serpents.

5:2 - Then the Páramòunt Chief, High Lõrd över all in the Great Kraal of the Heavens, turned, and abandoned the void, fõr the deep cöld of it fröze his heart.

5:3 - Thereafter, together with nine of his chief Elders, he made his way by slöw and winding track towards the appointed plaſe of the First Great Indäba.

5:4 - Nòw this was a wide hallow in the center of the Kraal, where stood the thröne of Ûmvélinqängi - The Stool of Göld - that relic held möst in reverenſe of all things within the Kraal, after the Páramòunt himself. If any there were that might attempt to rémove it õr to take possession of it, his effõrts would prove vain, fõr there is nö thing in the wórld to be fòund as heavy as the Burden of the Gölden Chair of mDäli.

5:5 - And sö these highest of the Lõrds and Ladies of the Great Kraal, follöwed their King thither, through its' gate, and by méandering path traversed its' nine regions, which are the plaſes of residenſe of the Umóyar, and from these dwellings the Tides pòured fõrth in uncòunted multitudes, and each took their plaſes in the gröwing train of the Chief.

[...]

The text continues onward below.

Notes:

1.1: Ûmvélinqängi [ He of many names ]

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The Guild-còunſil of Judges

The preſession continues, with the Lõrds and Ladies of Åsamandó trailing clösely behind the Great Chief

6:1 - Following Ûmvélinqängi Paramount in the sombre train of the Elders, came the four and seven Judges of Åsamandó, and these walked ahead of the custödian of their Guild. The Three carried each a finely cärved two-headed wooden gavel in their right hand. The Seven bõre a stäff of pôwer in their left, the heads of which were cärved in the shape of a screeching ôwl, and their staves were wrõught from end to end in symböls of ärcane meaning.

6:2 - The Leader of the Judges is he who prönòunces The Last Judgement, the Lords' Elder Chieftain: the Öne who presides över Indabas, who is named Kalünga, and also Eita or Áïdi, The Lõrd of the Wealth of the Umóyar: he who divides the põrtions. His queen is Ánänsí, the Spider-woman, who is named grandmother to the Umóyar. Of thöse beneath the Chief, Kalünga perceives her mind möst clearly.

6:3 - Kalünga of Åsamandó: The Doomspeaker of Ûmvélinqängi, öpeneth the mòuth of the wõrd of the Páramòunt Chief. Sö too, he öpeneth the door to the Savannah of the Dead

6:4 - And his raiment was dark grey, and a black veil covered his face, fõr he is never seen by thöse who live.

6:5 - Now all the Great Öld Önes here named are deep in the còunſil of Grandmother Ánänsí, and through them, all tales are brõught from their beginnings to their ends.

The Dreamers and Diviners

7:1 - Trailing the The High Judges of the Chief are the Höst of Diviners. These are the Dreamers of the Chief, who, wõrking together, are the Fortune-tellers of the Ûmländó of Ûmvélinqängi. These great of the tribe are accompanied by Imäna, Chief of Wõrd and Breathe, without whose presence there is önly Silence.

7:2 - But for Imäna, the höst of Diviners are all asleep, and are bõrne aloft by the silent acölytes of their Guild upon small rafts, held above them. Richly adõrned are the Dreamers themselves, their beadwork shining like lanterns upon the currents and the eddies of the ſelestial River.

7:3 - Now Mother Ánänsí is the first wife of Kalünga, and she is the Öwner of All Stõries, and Head-mistress of the Spinners and Weavers. And She follöwed behind the train of the Diviners, gently flöating upon waving locks of her boundless black and silver hair. Ánänsí, the Great Grandmother, carries with her The Stöne of Heaven, from which she reads the ever-changing Shape of the Stõry. But the Stöne is veiled, for it is dangerous and forbidden for any other but Ánänsí to perceive it's true form. Some say hòwever, that her youngest daughter, against the ban of her mother, had looked upon it once by chance, and that this was the reason for her fey demeanor, and her wild and unending spinning dance.

7:4 - The three daughters of Ánänsí are the high-priestesses of the conclave of Ayanmó, beneath the banner of the Needle-point, and they wõrk accõrding to the directions of their Madam.

7:5 - Now only this once would these Great Önes travel the twisting circle of the celestial regions - Dreamers, Diviners, and the Weavers alike - and they observed all, and heard all that was said, and locked away the memõries of these things...

7:6 - ...for beyond the grand proſession - and the happenings that were to take place thereafter - never again would they leave their appointed place of tóil beneath the Great Root of the Tree of Life - the planting of which they knew the heavenly preſession foreböded - and from which the echöes of the pröſession would bud like flowers eternal.

The Spinners and Weavers

The Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone; The craftswomen of the Great Web

8:1 - ...Those gloomy ones that aid Ánänsí with her weaving were there behind, her offspring: thöse to whom all chief tasks of spinning and threading and bead-wõrk are given: be they the földing of tales of wild fancy, or grave accòunts of glõrious deeds; of matters of binding öath; ...of necessities, and thöse unto the very Dooms of Fate.

8:2 - These three, gossamer-veiled, by the direction of the Spider Woman, are given unto the manufacture of the raiment of the gods and the decõrations of their dwellings - and indeed the chief tasks for which they had been appointed: the spinning of the bead-work and còuntless embróideries of the manse of the Chief. Upon these illustrious fields are wöven the secret names of each of the Umóyar of the Heavenly Kraal, and of thöse without.

8:3 - And sö too the Gloomy Önes weave the webs of the dwelling of Kalünga in the Halls of Åsamandó, the place assigned for the recòunting, as they are fulfilled, of the histõries of the Kingdoms of Aarde not yet founded, of the sòuls that fõrge them, and fall under them, and of those that will bring them to ruin. Great wisdöm is given to them, and their wõrks speak önly of things that have been, things that are, õr of things that will be.

8:4 - Each of three spinners has a pärt in the making of the Great Web: the youngest wildly spins out her shadöwy silks; her mother doth measure òut the spans and loops the beads; while the eldest, a haggard and ancient cröne, severs the silken cõrds with her chattering teeth. Ceaseless they wõrk, and this wõrk all the Umóyar revere, and even fear, for through the weave of these great Pôwers, the fates of gods and men are wròught and clösed.

8:5 - Höwever, throughòut all the ages mortal men have essayed to bend and wàrp the weft of their wõrk, and some tales speak indeed of rare success.

8:6 - And sö it is that the ancient sècrets of the reckless Thakathi - the wizards and enchanters of men, they that traffick in the lõre and pôwer of the heavens and the hells - would come within the grasp of every commoner in the latest days... and once-veiled symböls of binding and cõrruption came to be tightly wöven and garishly visible within every dwelling place - these nôw are the needlework of every deed of man.

8:7- But Kalünga öpens the wõrds of Ûmvélinqängi, and each ones' place in the web is revealed in the end.

Notes:

7:1, Silence: for if a dream cannot be spoken, it cannot then be told.

The Speakers

The first great preſession continues it's traversal of the héavenly Kraal

9:1 - The Great Pröſession moves on, and thereafter come the Sanúsis, the Eldest of the Story-tellers, bent upon their staves. Seventy-two of these ancient önes there are, and of these, twenty-two are the senior, and of thöse high ones, three and three are the Chiefs of The Wisdöms: thöse Vóiced and thöse Needless To Say. Each Sanúsi has an Umóyar attendant, carrying a gem appearing as it were a glowing coal, graven with the symbol of Mantis, who together with Imäna, is High Chief and Lõrd of the Inhlanganešó of the Speakers. Now, though Imäna and Mantis share the rule (under Mdali) of the Guild of Storytellers, Mantis himself is considered perhaps the higher, thöugh he himself does not speak - the messages of Mantis are töld rather in the Times and places of his appearance, and how öne is reflected in his eye.

9:2 - The Story-tellers are they tasked with the study of Ûmländó, the Lõre and Laws of the Great Kraal. This they perform under the curatorship of learned Ánänsí, keeper of the deepest secrets of the mind of Ûmvélinqängi. This knowledge they, at need, and in their öwn way, reveal to the Umóyar, and, sö it appears, indeed at times to men.

9:3 - These same, by Imäna, are tútõred in the ärts of the finest enunciation, and of the emanation of wõrds of high import and great pôwer. Sö too they revere the delight and jóy of sõng - and with these talents the Speakers impart fragments of Ûmländó to the praise singers - who in their turn ventúre forth to sòund the great tales to every village of Héaven and Èarth.

9:4 - The Sanúsis carry with them each a great chain of polished ivõry beads: öne hundred and eight ſircúlar disks, with graven arc flanking the central hole through which the braided silks linking them were threaded, and all in the same strange pattern. As the stooped önes pröceed, they alternate these beads through their fingers in time with their slöw steps, and speak nöt, but chänt a deep sõng of syllables as yet unwritten, öne vóice and öne step for every two beads.

9:5 Each Speaker in turn [...this text is enciphered, making use of a strange and unique set of glyphs - the [Vat.] has not returned a decoding yet]

9:12 After each of the Mouths had finished their õratõry, th[...]

The Drummers

They that make Time

10:1 - Behind the Sanúsis röse then a thing unhéard of by all but thöse of the hösts of the Inhlanganešó of he who in latter days is named Gaùnab.

10:2 - Seven Umóyar, those of the greatest strength, heaving and pùlling, brõught up a mighty Drum, sable, and deep-wrõught.

10:3 - The tempered skin of the drum was wöven of the webs of Ánänsí, and it shimmered like an eböny river under nightshade.

10:4 - Thereafter came the höst of the ∫ircle of the Drum, and their attendants follöwed them. Twelve drummers there were beside Gaùnab, and the mightiest of these is Gõr, who brings up three great white drums.

10:5 - Now Gõr of a sooth hails from the Wrestling Guild, and is it's Chieftain, but he is also a mighty champiön of the Ìmpi, the Warrior Hösts of the Héavenly Kraal, and a high captain therein.

10:6 - Each of the members of the ∫ircle of the Drum that follöwed brõught a different and cúrious instrúment, adõrned with wondróus noise-makers and fine decõration. Chiefest and mightiest of all músical instrúments is the Drum, save maybe the vóices of gods and men böth.

10:7 - Hencefõrth from thöse möst ancient of days to the very latest, the beating of drums have ever sòunded forth from the village kraals, or behind the marching hösts of the nöble and the mighty tribes of Åfär-y-Kúr, even from the löst lands of Khemia and Núvia in the distant nõrth, unto the hôwling winds of Ice-ward realms of Mönömötapa, where lie the môuntains that have their fôundations in the flesh of the Titan Ådamastör, túrnèd to stöne.

10:8 - ...[ this passage is lost ]..

10:9 - In these lands indeed Men and Ælf-kind are not the önly things that speak, for here the echöes of the drums carry messages far afield, över plain and under forests green, över lake, and undergrôund - that news may pass from dwelling to dwelling, from village to village, from kingdöm to kingdöm.

The Praise Singers

11:1 - The héavenly pröſession marches onward. The iziböngi, which are the Praise Singers, follöw clöse unto the ∫ircle of the Drum, and ever thereafter have drummers annôunced the coming of a troupe of revered iimböngi to a village.

11:2 - The inflúence of the subtle sõng of the heralds of the Land-of-thöse-we-do-not-see, has long been held by the lõre-masters to have been the timeous intervention that inspired Märimba of Amäk-habaret, in a time of dire peril, unto the utterance of the Wreath - the first sõng ever heard upon the earth, which was as yet unbõrn.

11:3 - Now Chiefest of the Izibongi is Khänyab, son of Khänya, she who is consõrt to Imäna. Khänyab is named also Hëha, and he is a skillful and subtle wielder of wõrds and master of the maniföld fõrms of sòund. And he is a great singer, being the High Sölöist of the héavenly chóir enclave. He was revered and beloved by all in the Kraal, fõr the glimmering emanations of his veils when immérsed in the heights or depths of öne of his impassioned melódies.

11:4 - But secretly (and not guiltlessly) Khänyab revered Gaùnab, fõr his great knowledge of the ways of the mighty, his precise manner of speech, and sö too his contrarian nature - for it must be töld that Gaùnab harboured a secret confúsion, and like Khänyab, was ever eager to debate weighty matters with others of the congregation, and böth had more endurance than möst in this endeavour.

11:5 - Often-times they fôund themselves, though for differing reasons, on the same side of an argument, and they took pleasure in the bewilderment they broùght sö easily to their fellöws.

11:6 - Some say Khänyab desired great pôwer, commensurate with the strength of his shining öperatic vóice - that he would conduct, and not merely commúne in song - but this is not clear even to the wise. Some there are that say Khänyab desireth not pôwer, but that he exists to inspire it. And of these, some few say indeed that Khänyab be not of the male Umóyar, but rather Umóyarin: a lady of the clöse kin of Anïma herself, and a High Priestess of the ſelestial Kraal.

The Danſers

The Inhlanganešó of the Dänſers follow the iimbongi in the Great Preſession.

12:1 - In the train of the praise-singers came the throngs of the Dänſers. These all were of exceeding beauty tò behöld, glöwing naked, and unadõrned. They flicker and glimmer as they whip and whirl and strut tirelessly all the way tò the Arena of the Gölden Stool.

12:2 - The Umóyar of the Deep that were given tò the Guild of Dänſe were those of böldest and most fiery of the waters, and sö too thöse of the sweetest and silkiest of the eddies of the depths.

12:3 - Now mòvement and növelty and séquence is the dömain of the Dänſers, and ever these have blessed the realms of heaven and éarth with gifts of bôunteóus joy, heedless and free - but the sages will tell you, that when seen thròugh the eyes of the wise, these mòvements are but adõrnments upon a framewõrk of ròutines measured of matchless preſision and böne-jarring punctúation.

12:4 - The eyes of all the dänſers were held tightly shut, and their bödies shook and heaved as they stooped and rölled and leaped, över and under and abôut eachother in a frenzied whirling.

12:5 - The Läst of the Dänſers is an Umóyar steeped in mystery, and she moved (slightly apart from hèr guild fellöws) in sinuous contõrted forms impossible tò follöw - not önly for their inherent contradiction, but because she was veiled in a thick black smöke that appeared tò be making conscious effõrt tò envelop hèr celestial fõrm.

The Blacksmiths

The Inhlanganešó of Steel

13:1 - This viscous and ominous smöke emanated from the great vessels that encumbered the Guild that trailed this last of the Dänſers at some distance, and that were next in the train of the Great Preſession.

13:2 - These mighty Umóyar were the members of the Guild of Heavenly Steel, the Blacksmiths, and are renowned for the fõrging and shaping of the great Bräzier upon which the Sacred Fire of Tale-telling was soon be lit, but as yet none other of the Umóyar had seen: for the veiling smöke was thickest at it's póint of emanation, and this sòurce was an obscured vessel, nöt very large, but apparently of cölossal weight, given the straining labòurs of it's bearers.

13:3 - This véiled vessel contained an elemental tinctúre with the name of Everything, and möst sages agree it còuld önly have come from the Páramòunt Himself. [however this view is not without dissenters - ed].

13:4 - The Chief of the Guild of Blacksmiths is Gù. He is known in the l(and of?) [.... ...] Ben B[..] [..]one (celestial pro [..] (text lost due to moisture)

13:5 - [... ] when the Pupil of [...] placed i[...] (text erased with reference to replacement text that has not been found)

13:6 - [...] ove [...] great mystery, [...] äma s [...] itous ones of Ir[...] (undecipherable hand-writing) Great Brazier of the Kraal.

[The material for verses 13.7 to 13.9 is encrypted in the same strange set of heiroglyphics as the previous encrypted section]

The following four folios of the source materials were heavily water-logged upon discovery [Pret. site U.121, 3rd level BG], and very little can be recovered from them, but certain names and titles were written in a heavier ink. It appears the Guilds that follow next in the precession are the Inhlanganešó of One Thousand Eyes (with their attendants, the Pupils), the Sangòmas of Those-we-do-not-see (ie. apparently, the familiar spirits of the Witch-doctors), the Serving Guild (the tutors of all attendant Umóyar and one of the schools of the Muses. The final Inhlanganešó is the Celestial Army, the Impi of the Heavenly Kraal.

(Spectral analysis of the damaged folios might reveal additional details. If so, they will be notices sent via channel #TtC [protocol 9].)

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The Herald and the Agenda

19.1 The Gates of the Inner ſircle öpened, fõr the precession had arrived at the central hallow of the Kraal of Páramòunt Ûmvélinqängi. The Great Faſe was manifest then tò all that thronged abôut the Gölden Stool. Mdali there sat, and his Faſe has never moved from his Thröne since. The rest of the Umóyar remain standing fõr prönôuncement.

19.2 - The Hallöwed Voice of Great Chief Ûmvélinqängi, uMDäli, and Lõrd of All Things called ôut: Indaba, my children!

19.3 - Then follöwed the silent ôutlining of the Great Agenda by the Sacred Herald of the Chief, the mäster of the Speakers Guild, Lõrd Mantis. [ the rest of this fragment is corrupted, but it appears, as hinted by earlier text with regards to Mantis, that the outlining of the agenda was performed by spatial pantomime ]

19.4 - Thereafter the second initiation of the Umóyar was begun, öne by öne - in which, alöne, they looked upon themselves in the Black Mírrõr of Ánänsí [...] (r?)skigal-lu near [...] the waters from the Abyss. Each of the Umóyar in túrn spits intò the Calabash of Ömen, and then retúrns tò their place in the congregation.

19.5 - Indaba, my Children!

[ Verses 19.6 to 19.10 are all missing, perhaps all appeared on one folio yet to be discovered ]

19.11 - Finally, the Vóice of Ûmvélinqängi went silent. Imäna bôwed. Kalünga waited, and then bôwed löw himself. Éfa lowered herself döwn next tò the Bräzíer and sat beneath it's shadöw, földing her many legs, and clösing her many eyes. Ûmvélinqängi gestúred for the Beginning.

The Drum ſircle

20:1 - After each alöne was tútõred in the ùse of his õr hér instrument, the tribe assembled tògether, and under the conductõrship of Umvélinqängi, who sat upon The Great Chair, knöwn by the tribe as the Gölden Stool, the gods begin tò drum, and tò sing, and lately tò dänce, wheeling heedless abôut the Chief and his Thröne.

20:2 - The vóice of Khänyab was clearest and brightest, and he had been chosen and instructed by Umvélinqängi untò the achievement of a harmöny that would kindle the Fire of Tale-telling in the bronze brazier môunted before the Thröne.

20:3 - His shining vóice exalted with great praise, and the fire burned. And then, though their eyes were shut, the Dreaming Gods who sat nigh the fire did then pérceive strange and unnamed shapes behind their eyelids, that were fanned intò mötion by the light of the flickering flames.

20:4 - As the fires rise, the drums of heaven are cömmänded to begin a röll like thunder, beginning with a búrst of speed and pôwer, and follöwed by a gentle waning.

20:5 - Gõr and Gaùnab at first beat tògether, and the breathe of Imäna brings the great sôund to the ears of the tribe, and all was at first in accõrd.

20:6 - Gaùnab beat upon the chief drum, the great black drum called the Drum of Time, though none of the tribe of the gods yet knew the põrtent of this name. The drum was deep engraved with a shärp wave pattern, spell-wrought, which máde the fõrm of three peaks and twò valleys. All-arôund and just belöw the top of the drum, where the skin was afixed, there were three bands of pigment, the top-möst a dark grey, the middle öne a creamy white, the löwest a subtle blue-white.

20:7 - But Gõr beat upon the three white drums of Thunder, which rang almöst as deeply as did the drums of Gaùnab, but twò of the three were strung with silver-white hairs plucked from Gõr's wiry beard, which added tò their sound a sizzling crack. Of the three White Drums, the drum without háir-strands had the deepest nöte, though it did nöt quite descend the full pulse of the dark Drum of Time.

20:8 - In the Ages yet unbõrn, Gõr would come to be knöwn as Töré and Shángö by the peoples of the Aust, and some said he röde upon Indlóvü, grandfäther of the Élephants, when he visited the realms of men in ancient times. But Gaùnab has names maniföld.

20:9 - The izibongi, the praise singers of the heavens under Khänyab, did exalt, and were jóined, and the dän∫ing maidens whipped back and forth like fireflies. A great jóy, light and pierſing, and warm and soothing also, came then upon all but öne...

The War in the Heavenly Kraal

The Ümóyarin of Nãmmû is awakened in Abzú-Qõšḫ, and Battle is jóined in the Heavenly Kraal.

21:1 - ...fõr a number of drummers had begun then to gö astray, led by the mighty Gaùnab and his great sable drum. He evöked a pummeling märching beat uncãlled for - a pattern inspired by, enamóred with, and yéarning to retúrn to, thöse thunderòus first drum-rölls, and he was ôut of time with the rest of the cöngregation.

21:2 - Certain danſers, follöwed soon after by many singers, fell in time with this intrusive battery, and the Faſe of Umvélinqängi hardened then,...

21:3 - ...fõr beneath the waters of Nãmmû, the spirit of Anïma is qúickened by the heavings in the deep - these having their sõurce in the clamõròus reverberations of the tumbling and disõrdered cacöphöny of the Kraal. All the Umóyar then felt a change, thòugh they knew not it's Name.

21.4 - [*... a bracketed, encrypted phrase... *]

21:5 - The vóiſes of many of the singers faltered, and a number of the dänſers swooned and cöllapsed. Söme of the Dreamers awakened, and were astönied at the din to which they awöke. There was a great confúsion, and many harmönies were suddenly spóiled in a grim and viölent deſent into a terrible dissönanſe, made all the more disturbing in that it contained not önly malfõrmed tönes and off-key nötes, but that it was mingled with the cries of Umóyar in distress. This sôund had not hitherto been perceived by any in the Kraal beneath the Páramòunt Chief. Thöse that looked on Imäna beyond that terrible gyre might have knöwn that he vacillated över retreating then from the Hallow, and thus silenſing the cacóphöny. He looked to his Lõrd, but saw nö clear sign. (Some versions of this histõry relate that Imäna wondered then if this might indeed be his Final Test, and that come sö soon).

21:6 - To the Ümóyar it was as if the black waters of the Apse of the Chief were risen to an unbearable överflöwing, bubbling like a bóiling cauldrön. Some indeed looked withòut the ſircle of the dänſe, fearing that dark Ümóyar, untamed, they of the unknöwn deeps, might breach the bôundaries of the Kraal and rush in upön them. Yet for an Age or Seven it seemed Ûmvélinqängi was entirely still, but that his Faſe was turned a fraction to the rightward.

21:7 - When the fôundations of the Kraal began finally indeed tò shudder at the intölerable noise, Chief Umvélinqängi signs for silenſe, and the Kraal is hushed. "Indäba, my Children!" [ a short phrase of enſiphered híeröglyphics follows ]... Umvélinqängi annôunſes a Côunſil Meeting and a coming Prönòunſement of Doom.

21:8 - There was a great appréhension in the dread qúiet that follö[wed?] [ ...]

[text hereafter is hopelessly garbled by deletions and corrections].

[21:9 to 21:11 have been lost, most unfortunately, since it appears very important metaphysical axioms where instigated due to the results of this calamitòus Indaba.]

21:12 [The decision] made, many of the lesser Umóyar leave the Indäba, and file away to their guild-halls, their veils downcäst.

The Binding and Exile

The subdúing of the usùrping Pôwers. Gõr tears flesh from the forehead of Gaùnab. The flesh falls intò Nammü

With the help of her three daughters, Grandmother Ánänsí weaves the silver cõrd that will bind the deviant ones in the the Apse of the Vóid.

The Crooked Önes are subdúed and bôund upon the great cõrd, and there will strive vainly until not long befõre the Calabash itself withers away.

22:1 - Those who còuld not cõrrect, or are unrepentant in their attempts to follow the fraught marching beat of Gaùnab and his dark drum, are bôund, one by one, onto the great silken Cõrd of Fate, wöven of black webs by Ánänsí, which is löwered dôwn from the heavenly Kraal.

22:2 - This cõrd is then tethered in two places: one end is tied to one of the three legs of the Gölden Stool of Ûmvélinqängi, sinſe when occupied by him (as it always is), it remains utterly immòvable; the other end is tied to Gaùnab himself, who is löwered dôwn and left hanging in a distant pit, the deepest and möst pitch of the wells of nöthingness, and there held gently in place by the effõrtless will of the Páramòunt.

22:3 - By His mercy the wrathful Dweller in the Deep is allowed some freedöm to wriggle and squírm... [... the rest of this paragraph is lost ...]

22:4 - Gaùnab is named anéw by the Tribal Elders - they call him Erébüzú, the Därkness in the Void.

22:5 - The followers of Gaùnab, the rebelliòus of the tribe, were bôund at points along the Spiderwomans' thread at weird distanſes increasing, each from each-other, in a löng line, the belligerently unrepentant being tied nigh-möst to Gaùnab, in the Uttermöst Därk.

22:6 - But in the act of binding Gaùnab-Erébüzú to the far end of the cõrd, the fõrehead of the rebelliòus one is gôuged mistakenly by the fingernails of Gõr, who struggles to höld him dôwn and subdúe his thrashings, and a small, shriveled, rölled up wõrm-like portion of his flesh falls into the abyss.

22:7 - Later, this fleshy abomination was to gain a thòught and will of it's öwn (by the influenſe of Khänyab, accõrding to the writings of more than one Sanùsi) and came to be called Watamaräka, who waxed great, and was given to become the ancient Mother of all Demöns - she of multifariòus fõrm, and of maniföld name, the shortest of which yet discovered was in regúlar use at the time not long before the Wrath -a deeply occùlt wõrd of power: Ši'né.

22:8 - And thus it came to päss that the Crooked Önes were subdued and bôund upon the cõrd, and since have never ceased to strain, cóiling and uncóiling, against their bonds.

The Pronôunſement of Banishment

23:1 - The Drum of Swòrn Secreſy, black and gold, is bròught ôut, and is taken up by Gõr. The procession files away to their dwellings. Önly the Élders remain, and after a great debate, Kalünga of Åsamandó seals away the spell that will untie the cõrd, and release the exiles from their bondage at the time appóinted, to faſe their final judgement. Gõr signals for silence using three beats and three upon the gilded sable Drum.

23:2 - The Paramòunt Chief then prönôunſed, in his öwn vóiſe, such that there was nö Umóyar of the Kraal that did not hear precisely: "These disturbers, dissenters, and disruptõrs - they are nôw Lõrds of Fate, Masters of all Antagonists and Tõrmentõrs. Adversaries of the Wõrld to be. . But they are, until their day of unbïnding, Dead to Us, and Dead to Me. We will leave them be, and they will be adversaries to those that dwell in Time, tutòring them in härdship, fõrging söuls of strength and härdihood - söuls that will jóin us at the end, and rejóice at the clöse."

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The Silken Cõrd

The Straining of the Banished upon the Silken Cõrd of Ánänsí

24:1 - After the initial shock at being bôund, from which möst lay unmoving fõr a time, all of the rebelliòus then put up a great fight, striving and straining tò break their bönds, õr in the vain höpe that the thread might be loosened at öne õr böth of it's ends.

24:2 - The great spider's thread began then tò sway back and fõrth in great arcs, which rebôund and dóubled back upon themselves. The prisoners bôund upon it are shaken tò and frö, yet continue tò thrash and heave, like flies caught in a glistening reed-field Õrb-web founded riverside on a windy mõrning.

24:3 - Nonetheless, of thöse that were chained at first, none were ever tò escape completely, even until the very End of Days, and yet, fõr Gaùnab, his disciple Khänyab, and the youngest of the daughters of Ánänsí, whòse name was Kalathé - and so too a great number of the Umóyar ensconſed still about Ûmvélinqängi - a yet stranger doom was laid.

24:4 - ...Fõr the wisest of the Sanúsis, and the greatest of the Wizards höld it tò be Sooth that the supernal vibration of this mighty cõrd continues tò drive the deep pulses of the Tree of Life tò this day, which itself came intò being from the darkly fecund ashes of the coming infernö...

24:5 - And thus, seemingly tò the sorröw of all, the spirits banished from heaven upon the celestial chain have gained an evil inflúence in the world they unwittingly helped tò create and tò shape, having a number of names among the Qúyi that are rendered in the common speech 'The Tormentors': The Bringers of Traváil.

24:6 - Such as it is, many of thöse in the Åge of Men, thöse that reject the teachings of wise and the visions of the seers, claim this as the most difficult of the doctrines tò accept: that it còuld be the will of a merciful divinity tò have wròught the world with such dark materials.

24:7 - And sö, the dance of the spirits of the dark göeth on. Set, then as nôw, tò the accelerating beat of the great black drum of Time (which beateth of it's öwn accõrd, by the command of Ûmvélinqängi, being nôw bôund fõrever tò the heartbeat of Gaùnab after his banishment - he whose fear is ever increasing as the ages wear away).

24:8 - Nöw, Imäna had left the Kraal on an errand tò the high manses of his guildhall, but nigh the Gölden Stool of Ûmvélinqängi, Khänya sat frôwning as she observed the titanic battle in the deeps, for a fär sight had she. Soon thereafter, many Umóyar came to pérceive a low dröning hum, like untò a swarm of bees in the distance, and a strange sönõròus twanging - the töll of deep bells unimagined. All in the tribal cöngregation who heard these sôunds were greatly dismayed, and feared some coming calamity, fõr nö sôunds shòuld come from where Imäna is not, unless it be that Ûmvélinqängi himself prönôunſed. Many of the eyes of heaven then looked towards the mists of the faſe of the Paramount Chief - but his veils were impassive. And then their fear and wonder were the greater.

24:9 - It is said that after nine great thunderings of the bass-drum of Time had charged through the Silenſe, that the tiny põrtion of flesh, spoken of hitherto: the wõrm Watamaräka - the Ši'né torn from Gaùnab and that fell with him - came tò be impregnated by thöse weird revérberations loosened by the violent struggles of the straining prisoners fast-bôund upon their silken chain ...and she began tò swell.

24:10 - This abömination of flesh, uNgu-kli-üshü, the very seedling of the Mother of the Ãmaä, begins tò grow rapidly, and takes on the fõrm of a heaving black serpent of shimmering scales with brazen scútes. And her eyes were of deep-glöwing silver, like mölten mercúry, but these were as yet shut.

24:11 - Senseless and of nö direct will of it's öwn, this fell presence then lays a fôul black egg, misshapen, scaled and cracked, which itself begins tò pulsate and gröw in the vóid. And at the emergence of this abomination of abominations - Amaä of Nãmmû, The True Exilic, it was dubbed by one famòus sage - the ſelestial Kraal itself seemed tò recóil from the unnatural intrùsion. It was Something - and it was something not of the Heavens. Watamaräka opened her mercúrial eyes. She perceived that she was lying nigh her Egg, at that póint furthest from the realm of the shining chiefs - not far (if one can speak of near õr far in that eböny nothingness) where the cõrd is tethered tò banished Gaùnab. This dôur place was tò be her nest: the very moot of that which is and that which is not - but it was utterly cöld, and Watamaräka was slothful. She còuld not yet move.

24:12 - But gröw she còuld, and she grew yet mõre, and gained strength, and began tò feel a slight warming from the increasing heats of the vibrating thread and the fùry of flailing Gaùnab-Erébüzú.

24:13 - Övercoming her Sloth, the Broodmother, raven-dark Watamaräka, First Fecundity, moves towards and envelopes the throbbing vessel in the vóid, Amaä, her cõsmic egg, intuitively trying tò keep it warm, and tò prõtect it from being damaged by the buffeting of Ánänsí's silken cõrd, that gossamer prison of the fallen of the tribe.

24:14 - Gaùnab too, in his wrath, gröws larger and heavier, and thrashes mõre viölently. He eyes fall upön Watamaräka, the offspring of his flesh who by nôw has gröwn truly väst and terrible, a cóiling monströsity pòuring fõrth noxiòus fúmes. Gaùnab is pierced by a sudden desire and admiration fõr the writhing serpentine coils of Watamaräka, and sö himself takes on the fõrm of a huge red and black dragon, hõrned and fiery, whòse balefùl eyes swiveled independently this way and that, like thöse of a chameleon, and these pössessed a veiled glow of deep green, their cõres seared with red flame. Nonethless, in his great transfõrmation, Gaùnab-Erébüzú gained not his freedom - the Great Cõrd of the Spiderwoman, and the désign of Umvélinqängi, was sôund.

24:15 - Nôw, seated at the congregation of the Chief, and seeing the movements of the gröwing serpent Watamaräka and the violence of the dragon Erébüzú, Khänyab, son of Khänya, asks tò be himself bòund tò the cõrd, saying that he wòuld attempt tò attúne the buffetings of the silken strand - "tò balance ôut the thrashings of the prisoners; tò be the löcus when the great mötionless wave, standing tall, is at risk of collapse". Of the others of the congregation, önly Khänya understood what her son implied by this, and confúsed looks and uneasy múrmurs went abôut the Kraal of the Chief...

24:16 - But Ûmvélinqängi allôws it. "Verily, let there be a light upon it", was his cryptic assent, and Khänyab wõrks his way carefully dôwn the silken cõrd until he alights upon the scales of Gaùnab-Erébüzú, wôund still within its' nôw fraying extremities. Knöwingly, or unknöwningly - for it is not clear even to the wise - the fey maiden Kalathé-ntaòmbé, yóungest dàughter of Ánänsí, she pössesséd of a därk beauty, is alsö dispatched by Ûmvélinqängi, upon a sècret errand, and she follöwed behind Khänyab, keeping tò the shadöws as best she còuld.

24:17 - But as súrely as Páramòunt Ûmvélinqängi must have fõreseen, Khänyab-Hëha goes beyond his mandate, and making his way along the cölossal body of the dragon Gaùnab, he allows himself to be beheld by the first sérpent, the great python Watamaräka, beyond. The first light of the Shining Öne left the Broodsérpent stunned (and some say that fõr a shõrt moment Khänyab pössessed her mind). Being still behind the great crest of Erébüzú, the latter did not yet perceive the coming of Khänyab. Páramòunt Ûmvélinqängi súrely knew then the mind of Hëha, son of Khänya, and he angled his right eyebrôw, and he put fõrth his pôwer...

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Notes:

24:17 - [ mind possession theme - this is perhaps a mistaken doubling, an echo of events still to come. Multiple, slightly different copies of the original tale might have been used during production of the source manuscript at hand, and this feature of the story was perhaps dealt with differently in some versions. Indeed in one instance, the entity Khänyab is seemingly referenced as female (if it is not a copyist error) - see 24:15.]

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Théã' Béginnings

Dabuka: The events that lead tò the Pyre

25:1 - At this, upön the silvery spider cõrd of Fate, a great wave, utterly still, yet of naught else but mötion - a penultimate throbbing accõrd - is struck and maintained, as indeed fõreseen by Khänyab, he the valõrous son of the Dam of Radiance, Hér Lady Khänya, divine consõrt of Imäna of the Breathé.

25:2 - It is held that this great sôund was compösed of six cycles and of seven different nötes that were interlocked and överlayed along it's full length, from the deepest tò the möst piercing shrill...but as it happened, Khänyab löst his grip upon the nape of Gaùnab, and was flung past him - tòwards glistening Watamaräka and her därk egg.

25:3 - Gaùnab too had been shaken almöst free of the silken cõrd, many of it's knots that had bound his limbs were loosed, and the frayed end of Ánänsí's thread fluttered beyond him. His cóiling rage was given yet mõre room tò thrash about, but his flailings önly gave mõre pôwer tò the grand accõrd.

25:4 - Like Watamaräka, the great fiend Erébüzú is mömentarily confused and blinded by the effulgence of Khänyab, who tumbles past his great hõrned head - but which he strove tò approach nonetheless, being överwhelmed of all other sense and thõught. And thus sö it was that the radiant light of Khänyab, shining keenly, obscured from the eyes of Gaùnab the great bulk of Watamaräka that lurked then beyond.

25:5 - Watamaräka snaps at Khänyab, who all but tumbles askanſe intò her great toothy maw, but his glöwing ſelestial body is embedded in the roof of her mouth, and quickly congeals into a shimmering green crystal within the skull of the Dragon Queen, and he is spared the gloom of her belly.

25:6 - At the moment of the emanation of the great wave, the lithe nTaòmbé Kalathé had herself almost reached the end of the silken cõrd, tò the place where Gaùnab is still tied by it's last threads, and losing her grip, she also is flung from the thread and intò the vóid.

25:7 - But Kalathé, dodging the flailing cóils and gaping jaws of the sérpents, alights upon the dark, cracked surface of the shell of the cösmic egg, which had been partially revealed by Watamaräka when distracted by Gaùnab. Not knöwing what else tò dò, the maiden ntaòmbé buries herself deep within one of these cracks. But it was then that Great Chief Ûmvélinqängi, seated sö very far away upon his stool in the Hallöw, reached out and disröbed nTaòmbé's mind of it's veils. The danſing salt crystal of the brave Ümóyarin maiden he brought back tò himself and placed it in the Bräzier of Talé Telling, still búrning bright by the first harmönies of the Höly Kraal. And this was done tò a great purpöse, as yet unrevealed. But the dying veils of Kalathé remained upon the Amaä of Nãmmû, the egg of uNgu-kli-üshü, and began slöwly tò seep intò it's cracked surface, fõr they were weeping in their löneliness.

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25:8 - Gaùnab still blindly fights tò appröaches the light of Khãnyab, which nôw flöws like fire from the mòuth of Watamaräka. Gaùnab is at first attacked by the mönstròus Pythoness, She nôw Great Mistress of all Salt Waters, ùsúrper of the realm of Anïma the Endless. But Watamaräka bites dôwn upon the tail of Erébüzú... ( ... Nôw, there are sages that tell mõre of this moment - that in the instant of pain that follöwed this toothy assault Gaùnab of a sudden perceived many things tò come.)

[ a short encrypted heiroglyphic seal follows ]

25:9 - Erébüzú comes back to his senses and lunges at Watamaräka, but hampered by the last threads of the Silken Cõrd still binding him, succeeds önly in clamping her tail in his mouth, and the two great sérpents find themselves wrapped around the bulging egg Amaä, each hölding the tail of each in their toothy maws, and both still ultimately bound tò the Gölden Stool of the heavenly village. The doomed veils of Kalathé meanwhile, are trapped still in the cracks of the eggshell, and roofed över by the belly-scales of the great writhing sérpents.

25:10 - [this verse is written in a strange script, unique in these writings. Undeciphered. We have received some report-back from the [Vat.], but it seems they deem the translation 'eyes only'].

25:11 - [italics in context] And so it came tò pass, by the monstrous matings of the Red Dragon and the Black Sérpent that follöwed, Watamaräka swelled bodily with the growth of a new clutch of eggs within her, but these were not fated tò hatch in the vastness of the vóid spaſes of the ſelestial Kraal... [and the first of this new brood, sired by Gaùnab directly, came tò be knöwn as Bùrùmatära, Lord Azḫämata, and many other names besides]

The scrolls continue below:

Field Notes (file attached):

...'Dabuka': zulu, to separate, or to spring or break off, from something by fissure or division (the swarming of bees is an ukudabuka)

... ... Or what is perhaps more to the point, the mode in which Minerva was produced from Jupiter's head was an ukudabuka. See 'Uhlanga'

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26:1 - And thus there came to be the monstrous mating ball of the Dragon Gaùnab-Erébüzú and the Python Watamaräka-Ši'né. The battling pair exúded the frothy waters of their ever-hardening and interlocking veils, and these clung to the bulk of their enfölded sérpentine bodies. Thereafter, heated by the combat of the sérpents, and sö too by the grand accõrd of Umvélinqängi that rang still upon the Great Tether, these steaming ichõrs combined to fõrm an óily and bubbling barrier, aglöw with cryptic húes - múrmùring maladies that pooled between the flinty scales of the mated wyrms and the dark súrface of Amaä-Ge, the Egg of Åarde: that nôw gréatly-burdened cosmic abomination, pulsing of unknown Things. Yet each Wyrm still held the tail of each in it's mighty jaws, and together they ſircled in wild ärcs about the vóid - a gréat Knöt at the end of the thrumming pendulum of the fallen Umóyar - and the first gréat weight... And so it came to pass that the därk nectars of thöse primeval beings - the baleful fire of Gaùnab, and the green flame of Watamaräka-Anyäva, mingled then, and awöke...

26:2 - ...fõr the abandoned and weeping veils of the Spinning Maiden were drenched in these draconic póisons, and they suffered a hideous transfõrmation that rippled fõrth to gréat effect. The remnant outer essence of the weaver-daughter, the maiden Kalathé, had succumbed to a madness of dissölution - fõr the därkness of the egg-shell hollöw in which they now lay (a gréat valley õr gõrge we might imagine it) was covered över by the massive heaving and twisting sérpents, and it's därkness was deeper than any pitch imagined by even the greatest of the Alchemists. This blind tõrture of the héaven, taken together with those stinging fröths (enveloping, and indeed binding the spinners' tainted veils to the substance of Amaä itself), would have been fär too gréat fõr the frail mind of Ntaòmbé, nimble though it was (she whom had first flôwered in the Héavenly Village, and hath sö recently bathed in the radiant and beautiful glöaming of Khänyab). But as was told herefõre, Ûmvélinqängi himself had rescued the crystal cõre of Kalathé, and in mind and heärt she rested nôw (fõr a shõrt côunt of time) in the fire of Tale-telling, and was delivered of all pains.

26:3 - But Kalathé is the youngest of the Spinning Guild of Grandmother Ánänsí, and from her the beginnings of all recõrded tales äre spun fõrth, and sö it came to be that her ôutflöwing pôwer was given to the Gréat Egg of Watamaräka-Omõröca, as the veils shed of Ntaòmbé penetrated ever-deeper into it's shell. Meanwhile, húge and terrible though the Brood Mother Watamaräka had then become, Erébüzú was still the ölder and the gréater, having reached a vast length and girth beyond imagining!... Indeed, bùried within the echöes of echöes of Legends, still recôunted today in the Westföld of Qafrèria, there äre claims that Gaùnab completely coverèd över his brooding Pythöness - as she alike covered över her swollen egg - his 3500 cóils above hers', and her 3500 cóils belöw his.

26.4 - Thereafter a strange thing came to pass, fõr this gréat mass - being driven by the reverberations of the silken web, and revölving in the inky Wells of the Banished - exerted a strange yéarning in many of thöse lesser and unnamed waters of the Nöthingness that drifted nigh to the Sérpent's Knöt. And these were not exiles of the Chief, nõr even Umóyar of the Kraal, but were thöse waters not at first summoned by the Páramòunt, and that had remained in the Abyss. Many of these därk Umóyar and Umóyarin then found themselves caught up by the tides that aröse by the pôwer of the gréat revölutions in the Deep, and were jóined with it... Now this monúmental in-dwelling structure of spirit and nascent matter is remembered by the tribes of Bwindi as the Gréat Calabash, and (in part) it's gréat cóils can be glimpsed still by the keen-eyed, behind the wide-glinting night sky of Åfär-y-Kúr to this day... .. .. ... But harken thou!—

The waters of Watamaränka' bröke then.

26.5 - ... Hôwever, befõre this might öccùr undisturbed and of it's öwn accõrd, it must be töld that in her initial lunges at Gaùnab and in her grappling of his tail, the Pythöness was distracted from the maintenance of her gröwing chärge, the tumescent Amaä, and perhaps squeezed the gréat egg övermuch. Fõr an agönizing möment thereafter, the heart-hammered vibrations of the silvery cõrd of Ánänsí the Spider, to say nothing of the subsequent viölent love-making of the sérpents, had caused Amaä-Ge to weaken, and finally to rupture - a blistering, blinding uphéaval - an event knöwn later as...

. .. ... The Pyre :: The disruption of the Hells of Heat ... .. . .

26.6 - The Cataclysm erupted then. The gréat body of Watamaräka-Omõröca was destroyed by the fõrce of the shattering of Amaä. The constituent matters yielded up - those of sérpent, and of yölk - were torn and scattered by the winds of chaös. However, these materials were entirely contained and constrained within the sealed chamber formed of the obdurate body of the the Dragön Erébüzú, and this was aided by the fusing of the veils of the free waters that were stirred from beyönd by the Gréat Black One.

26.7 - As the egg-shell of Amaä splintered, shattered, and tumbled inwards, a gréat liquid inférnö ignited from within the cosmic egg, the fröthy and firey yölk of which was known to the ancient nõrthmen by the name Múšpell, but is Kalagaer to the folk of the Austward realms, and Ylem to the Sanúsis. Conversely, the cölder regions (thöse matters banished to the walls of Time) äre known as Nipha'el - the walls of Niks - but the ever-róiling and billöwing airs between the Black Rocks and the Heärthplace äre the very outbreathe of the Chõrd of Ûmvélinqängi upon the cõrd of Ánänsí.

26.8 - The sleek cóils of Watamaräka were blasted apärt by the explösion, and the burning mists of blood and the gõry flaming chunks of her rent matters spun wildly in the spherical vóid region bound by the nôw self-entwined body of her pärtner Gaùnab, whose scales had the gréater ärmour, and were the stronger.

26.9 - And sö it was that the body of the Dragön Gaùnab-Erébüzú survived the terrible blast, but he ſircled thereafter blinded, and dötard, with his öwn tail in his môuth (then as nôw, and sö unto the very end of fõrever). And his skull is cracked öpen, and from his gréat head, his vile venöms dribble still, but slöwly, into the wòrld... Of the obsidian-black headstone of Erébüz - that congéaled grain that seals away the exilic spirit of the Lõrd of the Drum - it, being nôw mated with the därkling embryonic materials of Time - fell then, rebel and outlaw of héaven, towards the heaving heärth, and was envelöped by white-hot billöws, the völcanic flushes of the flameseeds - the first rampant budding roots of the Wòrld Newborn.

26.10 - But the emerald green headstöne, the shining vessel of Khänyab, once embedded in the upper jaw of Watamaräka, was nôw irrevocably fused with fragments of her öwn, which was not a diamond-like gem, but rather a fetid mass that pulsed of an oozing and fizzing póison, black as Night. Yet the venom clung to the green gem, and covered it över, and prötected it. And sö the encrusted emerald of exiled song fell also into the nascent réalm of the Matter of Time, but fõr Aeons uncounted it was lost to all waking knowledge.

26.11 - Regardless of it's primeval dwelling place, it was thus, sö say the wise, that the mind of the spirit of Khänyab-Hëha was in some way jóined with that of the spirit of Watamaräka, the brazen sérpent. Furthermõre, Ši'né, as afõre related, was bõrn of the flesh of Gaùnab, and they were of a body, if not a mind, from the beginning. These three gréat daemons all, fôund then that they had each inherited (and each in their öwn fashion) a measure of knöwledge of the shape of the Wòrld and of the ∫ycles of Time - and of each-other - which Khänyab was to attempt to wield to his advantage, and to that of his Därk Mäster at the End of Days.

[It may be here töld that some sages ruminate on the essenſe of this understanding of each, as perceived in the characters of these primõrdial pôwers: the söul of Khänyab, it is said, yéarns fõr glöwing Time Eternal, a réalm where his countenanſe illuminates the Gréat Work of all men. Watamaräka would swallöw Time if she could, and everything in it, but önly after first mating with it. Gaùnab too would destroy Time, his self-créated prison (õr sö he would say), but deep in his heart of hearts, he fõresees his fate: to play the last thunderings of the Drum of Time. And he would come later into the knöwledge that dóing sö would prönounſe his doom. Thus fõr nôw he abides by the wishes of Khãnyab, his lesser, and höpes that through him, he might find a way to shirk his final duty.]

26.12 - The encased essenſe of Gaùnab, spöken of afõretime - by then an iron-härd headstöne gem - had been doubly prötected from the worst of the blast by the eggshell of Amaä, and by brazen walls of the innermost cóils of it's layer, Watamaräka-Šin, which had clutched tightly about the great egg, and in their turn churned and róiled within the bulky enfölding cóils of Erébüz himself.

26.13 - This, the headstöne of Gaùnab was in the shape of a Black Cùbe, and it was freed from the skull of Aído-hwédö, and found itself buffeted by the inférnö towards which it plummeted: many sages have spoken of the Fall of the Därkstär... It was not unhärmed however: at some póint in the turmóil of the ignition of the pyre, a small piece of the Cùbe was bröken off. Some say it was a cõrner piece, in the shape (somehow, indeed) of a fõur-sided pyramid.

26.14 - And thus it was that the dread spirit Gaùnab-Erébüzú, Därkness in the Vóid, became alsö the Därkness Of the Wòrld, for he was trapped inside the grinding cóils of the Blind Dragön, Aído-hwédö, whose mind he had onſe pössessed, and whose heaving body he had onſe commanded. The scales of Aidö-hwedö, red-black and obdurate though they were, had been scôùred by the first heats of the pyre-blast, and nôw reflected anew, in seven rainböw húes, the inner light of the Great Heärth: the búrning glöw of the Ylem; the refracted lúminanſe of the Hells of Múšpell. ... And it was in this fashion that the minds and wills of böth Gaùnab and Khänyab were delivered into the newly-hatched wòrld, and took with them some essenſe of their tempõrary hömes, the primeval twins, the 'volving sérpents of Time.

26.15 - Behöld! Gaùnab's mind, however, is a fractúred thing: that splinter of the headstöne that beheld his spirit had bröken off from the rest, and this smaller pärt fell on a time into the raging öceans of Åarde in it's youth, and sank beneath new waters, weighty and pitiless. There, in the silty depths of the Realm of Nín-haväh-núma, the Pyramidion slowly shed the terrible heats it had acquired dúring it's blazing fall. And thus a fraction of the will of Erébüzú remains in the deep waters of the wòrld, residing (some tell) as the spirit and maliſe of the great Master of Water, Köùteign Kooroù, the Sea-Sérpent, bõrn of Watamaräka as she was slain and her body scattered. This titanic beast is said to have came across the sunken fragment of Black Stöne, and swallöwed it.

26.16 - Behöld! How it came to be that the combinatõrial gnösis held within the black cube of Gaùnab and the green stöne of Watamaräka-Anyäva made its way (together with severed pyramidiön and flaming iris), into the hands of the M'möatia and Bantirrim in the first ages of the Wòrld, is indeed the kernel at the heart of all mythölogies. Verily, this Great Matter is the the Sõurce of the earthly Lõre of the Laws of the ∫elestial Kraal, and it was by these wyrd implements of the mind of Ûmvélinqängi, and in this wondrous fashion, transférred into the Mind of Man.

26.17 - Finally, there äre some that speak of an anſient and fõrgotten time when the radiant Ûmländó found therein (though it be encased in vessels grim and obscure indeed), was shared by all peoples, and was in wisdom used to raise up: to teach, to gröw and to guide. These tales tell also of a Därkening, when the Law and it's Story was lost or veiled to all (...or to most: perhaps at great need, and for the safety of mankind, but perhaps indeed in malice - for it is unclear). Nonetheless, thenſefõrward the great sages and philösöphers have ever quested for it's Truth. Elſe-wise, and doubtlessly, all is observed by the Umóyar, the Pôwers and the Prin∫ipalities - all of the greater and a number of the lesser: thöse that were given to remove and dwell beside the Great Chief Ûmvélinqängi in the Kraal of the Thöse-we-do-not-see, which looks ever òut över the wãters.

... ......... ... AEAMAN ... ......... ...

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26.18 - Hereafter äre named the Great Powers:

Ûmvélinqängi Páramòunt. Great Chief, uMDäli, and Lõrd of All Things

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Anïma the Sleeping Water... Ever Whisp'ring thy Name...

... The Plight of the River Daughter, to Múrmùr no Shame.

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Dread Shadow long Nameless, be now Renamed...

... a Last Drumbeat awaits, and Stõry appraiséd.

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Virgin Mother Ánänsí, Grandmother Great, ...

... Shape of the Wòrld, and Mistress of Fate....

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Queen Khänya of Sight, her Eyes Búrn in Delight.....

... Imäna speaketh thy Mind, and thröws back the Night.

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Maiden Kalathé, the Veiled Extract; Mötespin of Fòrce, and Blessed of Còurse......

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Därk Kalünga of Doom, Åsamandó hath Spake;

... Speaketh the Wòrd, and Knöweth thy Take.

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Gõr of the Arm, Mighty and Hale; His thunder echoeth upon the great Loom.

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Efa, the Cröne, of Wire and Böne, the Chattering Teeth, the Severing Stöne.

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... Many there are, Pôwers and Prinſes, but Kalünga takes all, for long are his fingers.

A Fire in the Night 

    The Darkness of Nothing, in Deepness a Yearning,

    Time was Becoming, before Wisdöm or Learning.

    Lad'n and Loathsome fell lingering Dark :-

    Eternity's excess: An excellent Spark.

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    Hõary black hide; Bearded and Long,

    That heavenly bulk, Helm'd Horror unsung:

    Hateful, Hell-gölden, an head-stöne of green.

    Hulking. Heavy hornèd. Veils shimmering sheen.

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    He drãws nearer to Night, tastes with his tongue,

    The End of the Aeön enmeshèd there hung.

    The Hôurs appròached; Hells fires are kindled

    Fearful Infernö fláming, up-rearèd.

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    That monstrous mating, a maniföld meeting,

    Delving Demögõrgon & Dread Devil's õrgan,

    That harröwing hôwler, did hunger and glôwer,

    Nö deed mõre dreadful, nö act was fôuler.

    Vile, demönic, möst dôur that mingling:

    Black Night was 'neath Him, naked and gröaning.

    Nôw Nöthing was Nyxèd, and denúded of faith,

    She fled from the Fire, ran fey from it's heats

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    To Borders of Blackness. Nôw banished by Pyre:

    That fleet-fòoted nymph, siðe fearful and dire.

    Weird Webs she wovèd: rank eböny mire;

    Deepest of depths, dank Nephila nigh her.

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    Thou Fire and Red-flame, thy dread fell of Múse spells,

    Hearth of the Hells and Höme of the Séraphim!

    The Heats of the Heavens, heaving and òozing,

    are Pierced by the Pyre - Pale Mattr confùsing.

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    There Khänya onſe claimeth crystal cradle of life,

    Her thröne hung throngèd by ethaereal light,

    But a gulf there gapèd - it gnàwed by the strife,

    'Tween fusèd infernö, and ringèd Spirit of Ice.

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    Yet far from Heats' höme (thöugh not free from the Fire),

    Spirits Cöld rule unsated. And seal Wòrld's doom.

    Gulf-winds were weavèd - vóid-wövèn by Sire:

    Bane-battle intemperate, the brimming black Gyre.

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    The Heats of the Heavens were hewed by Long Wars,

    and Pyres were parted; Fires peeled and split...

    And thöugh thröes of Hëha did höne them abôut,

    flung this way and that, they cöllided and spat.

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    Thöse Crushings of Chaös, didst create something new -

    A silvery Âsh: shining remnant of !Xü.

    A Great Goddess arose and engravèd all things;

    The Bòsòm of Bôunty: to each Wánderer gave rings.

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    Behöld Nín-haväh-núma, great Déva of Destinies,

    took wándering lights and made fixéd their cõurses.

    Thöugh unwary of wills, därk fõrces she seizes:

    ...Of fire-froth fõrgéd temples with breezes.

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    Black the beyond; light brimmed abôut;

    The Stage was set, His Audienſe withôut.

    Yet creatures there weren't: the wòrld not yet fit,

    Thöugh Far Deeps rejóicèd... by star-beacons lit.

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    Möst ancient of enemies: Åll-fire and Fate,

    Their battle initial, shed wòrst of it's hate.

    Nôw misty and milder did then Things become,

    And mistress Ma möulded, she made Åarde, ôur höme.

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Translated from the remnant writings of Örpherischt, themselves apparently copies of the recovered nötes of an ancient sage, whose name is fõrgotten, evidently an amateúr scholar of the syncretic mythologies of the 6th Age.

Notes (found attached to source scrolls):

26.1 and 26.16 - [re. 'Watamaräka-Anyäva': based on other related documents, this title is more correctly used to refer to the Rainbow Serpent, Aído-hwédö II, a sexless being, last of the elemental daemons to hatch or emerge from the slain and scattered body of Watamaräka-Ši'ne at the occurence of the Pyre. Some say this creature is wielded by Phoenix the Cosmic Soul, and before this was harnessed by Nín-haväh-núma to form the priomordial earth. Watamaräka-Anyäva is said to be the Spirit of the River Serpent that visits and bites elves that have become lost in their memories, and require awakening. In this main text above, Watamaräka-Ši'ne the Elder is also referred to as Watamaräka-Omõröca, but this is more properly the title of another of Ši'ne's primordial clutch, who is seen as the first worldly daughter, or avatar of the Elder Watamaräka. Certain esoteric texts refer to Omõröca as the Elder Lilith or Tiamat.

26.15 - [re. Koùteign Kooroù - other folios refer to this creature as Nganyãmba, and these others, based on certain clues referred to elsewhere, are perhaps more correct. Koùteign Kooroù is thought instead to name that ancient Gnome-dragon Nidho-kúr (or simply Kúr, the 'mountain dragon' or 'foreign force'). Expect confusion in this arena of the literature. Either way Nganyãmba is more definitely associated with the deep waters of the ocean, while Koùteign Kooroù/Nidho-kúr/Kúr, while not without water association, is known to travel upon the marshes and the lands and is referred to as chewing upon the roots of the Father Tree.]

26.15 - [Others maintain that Koùteign Kooroù, also named Nganyãmba, is a manifestation or outgrowth of the shared possession of Aído-hwédö by both Gaùnab and Khãnyab from outside of the bounds of Time - this enabled perhaps by the first mixing of the waters of those paired sérpents constituting the primal form of River Time itself. But whatever the truth of this small component of the story (surely a thinly-stretched allegory, and found only in one of the extent copies of these folios), that Other pärt of the essence of Gaùnab is a woeful spirit, capable of assuming many forms, and moving easily through the air, but for the most pärt is presumed to dwell deep in the hells of Múšpell.]

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The Primordial Pyre and the Birth of the Phoenix

Chronologue of the Child of the World

First, a summary of the previous chapters ('The Before All Before') that deal with the matters before Time began:

... and thus the tale continues ...

... .. .. ...

The Pyre and the First Wars of the World (Summary of Events):

"Those days were indeed faraway days. Those nights were indeed faraway nights. Those years were indeed faraway years. The storm roared, the lights flashed. In the sacred area of Nimbrû (Nibrû, Nippûr), the storm roared... the lights flashed. Heaven talked with Earth, and Earth talked with Heaven."

The Primordial World

Heaven and Earth

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"The second period of the world's history may be termed the past of active creativity. It is the time when the sons of Burr or Borr [Br, Ybr, Uber, Upior, Viper, Hyborua/Hyberborea], those beings Grímnismál 41 calls "the joyous gods" (blíð regin), made heaven and earth out of the body parts of the primeval giant Ymir. These are of giant descent on the mother's side but represent a new genetic stock in the patriline."

The First Village

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Age of the Colossal Trees

The years wheel onward.

The Emerald Stone

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The Forgotten Civilization

The Hatching of the Elves

The Age of Or :: The 'Golden Age'

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Dramatis Personae (List)

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Placenames:

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o. .... "a sign" (Succession A)

A Seething Vortex Monstrous.

Pressured Immense, Thunderous..

Harrying, Crushing, Luminous...

Clashing Masses Numerous....

Moving, Gnashing, Onerous.....

Nimble Omens Ravenous......

Eye o' Roaring Storminess.......

Rage of Sulphur Tumulus........

Shivered Tower Sonorous.........

Tooth of Sunlight Bitterness.

A.

ء - Nín-haväh-núma rested, exhausted of notions.

بـ - Long had been her building, forceful her labours.

هـ - Carving, shaping, moving, forming. Setting bounds. Preparing ground.

جـ - Heaving matter. Earth blending. Moulds casting. Stone ringing with the digging of oceans.

مـ - The last of the Great Temples of the Outer Seas had been made ready, and her breeze kept them on their rounds.

نـ - Tired. She felt the bite of weariness. She, Nín-haväh-núma, Mistress Mawú-Líša, had swum up every stream whose valley she and Åído-Hwedo had carved in their great forays.

عـ - With her eyes of all life she saw the glory and fury of that which had come to be. The threads of Ánänsí would take care of the rest, for most all her work was done.

ﺭ‎ - Reclining, seated, her back against a low embankment, and pondering all that had been made, and so too the many strange tethers that held it all in place - this scenery - she daydreamed for a time of the curious parts that each new Thing would play.

ش - Nín-haväh-núma laid herself down with her head in the east, and it was crowned with the leaping sun.

ﺕ‎ - Long she slumbered, and the world grew older. Clouds were gathering - mists of silver and grey.

B.

Ɐ - There is a land, or island, where is found a mighty mountain range with four great roots and six tall summits. Many folk speak of the mountain range as a single mountain. Some say it is far to the East. Others tell that it lies far to the North. Yet others relate that the mountain itself moves and is not truly of this world. Regardless, the tallest peak is to the east of the range, and it is like a great dome of solid rock, seated amongst lofty rolling hills and piled rocky cairns that flow about it like sand-drifts about a pebble. The next highest peaks are twins, and they are far on the opposite end of the range, to the west. The center of the range itself is a large massif, with two great terraced hills rising up from the eastern portion, near to the tall dome-peak eastwardmost, and one of these somewhat larger than the other. Further west of these hills, there is a depression or saddle (in times past the site of a wide lake) near the middle of the main highlands of the range, that once, eons ago, if one was travelling north-south, would have been the easiest path across the mountains. Not so now.

ꓭ - Rooted here at the center of the massif, and rising to untold heights, stands an enormous tree of unknown kind, and given many names in the dreams and tales of men. The twisted roots of this tree flow out of and over the lower central mass of the mountain range, and it is difficult indeed to tell the difference between mountain rock and the base of the erupting tree roots. The heights of the canopy of the Tree stand vastly higher than the tallest peaks of the range that surround it like marker stones, along with the other lesser peaks and hills that stand arrayed roundabout. Verily, by sunlight or moonlight, much of the great range is covered in a dappled shadow that is not made by it's own summits. Clouds that cannot aspire to traverse and enfold the lofty branches of the Tree must instead be content with veiling the mountaintops that lurk in it's shadow. Meanwhile, beyond and roundabout the central shade of the Great Tree, are rich forests thickly planted, of lesser trees, incomparably smaller than the Great one (yet still large compared to the familiar species of our Earth that we know). These grow in thickets all around the foothills of the greater range, veiling the bases of the craggy cliffs on all sides, and lie most thickly about the roots of the twin mountain bastions of the west that guard the Plateau of the Tree from the lands of the setting sun.

ʜ⅁ - These, casting their own long shadows, are the next two greatest summits of the mountain range. Lesser in height compared to the great dome-peak upon the east (though not by much), they stand somewhat apart to the west of the Great Tree - one peak somewhat northward, and the other southward, though the eastern slopes of both of them run down and join the great plateau and massif upon which the Tree sits. The northerly peak is taller and sharper, while the southern mount is more domed and it's foothills cover more area and wrap around somewhat, creating a protected bowl-like region before and between the twin peaks themselves. Herein fertile vegetation runs riot amidst a guarded land of quiet lakes and shimmering reeds.

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ꓘ - To those approaching from the distant west, these two summits stand like the twin posts of a gardened gateway - thoroughfare, perhaps, to the bulging central region of Tree-Mount beyond.

ꟺ - As one enters the curving folds of these foothills, which leap up to become the great stony knees of the twin summits on each side, then, central and nearer at hand, a deep forested ravine with many small hidden ponds and waterfalls is revealed. This vale runs up from the bowl-land before the two peaks, into the highlands and hinterland between and beyond.

u - In the deepest and darkest portion of that great gorge between the peaks, but below the uppermost overhanging cliffs above, there are secret caverns hidden amongst the great shadowy trees from which spill the purest subterranean waters.

o - Climbing further up, above the caves, one reaches the final steep and rugged cliff, as it were a great wall of giants . This rocky barrier spans the entire upper region directly between the two peaks, and obstructs further travel.

ꓤ - It is no easy climb over these highest parts of the ravine and beyond to the saddle-lands, which would allow one to pass out from between the two great mountain summits, on their eastern side, and descend again to the central plateau of the mount - to the innermost realm and the stupendous knotted base of the Great Tree.

ꓢ - Do you see the Tree of Earth, bathed in the golden light of the the Torch of Tixo?

ꓕ - None have marked it's true elevation.

Gh / He / E.

𐤀 - The roots of the Tree, twisted mountains themselves - mountains lying upon mountains - the cracks in their mighty bark being ravines you and I might journey in. The four greatest of the roots of the tree, like the buttresses of a gigantic cathedral, spread out over the central massif as it were the dais upon which a bonsai tree were grown, and descended and spread out, two to the north and two to the south, to the plains far below, and into which they buried. Standing upon the tallest dome-peak of the east, the view of the twin western peaks is almost entirely blocked by the mighty girth of the bole of the Great Tree erupting from the massif. So too, standing upon either of the far western summits, one might glimpse far in the distance, only the shoulders of the mountain heights that support the dome-rock of the east, for the Great Tree obstructs the direct view.

𐤁 - And now, roughly, you know the lay of this mysterious mountainous land.

𐤂 - However, though the Tree be it's most startling feature, that is not the focus of this particular account. Rather, it is far in the west of the range, in the bowl of garden land seated in the vale betwixt the twin summits, about which fold the foothills of the southerly peak that create an enclosed region of wetlands and dense forest and dappled glades that glow orange in the evenings... Our tale really begins here, in one of the three dank caverns of the upper regions of the cloven gorge. The cave of the lowest reaches was long ago buried in a rockfall, and is no longer accessible. The two at higher altitudes might still be entered. From the highest cave, only navigable by crawling, springs an underground river, that cascades down the valley to feed the gardenlands below. The main chambers of the central cave are larger, though the entrance to both accessible caverns are not easily visible or trivial to find. Within this larger cavern (with interior walls and floor of glistening crystals, polished flowing rock sculptures, and it's roof erupting with sharp stalactites and huge beads of transparent stone) - here slept a strong creature of the ancient days.

𐤃 - The scaly body of the cave beast was long and armoured with strong scales. It lay, curled up, off to the side of the main chamber. It's tail and fins were wrapped about itself. It lay on it's nest. The creature had chosen this spot because of it's love of shiny objects, and in this spot was a particular rock formation, embedded in the ribbed stone of the cavern floor. It was somewhat larger than a human head, but more conical. This jewel seemed to be made of a strange crystal or semi-precious stone, and it reflected what little light entered the cave into a marvelous subtle spray of colour, misty and deep, yet appearing as though warmth radiated from it. Long ago the cave-creature took this formation to be the central post of it's bed, and wrapped itself around it. Years went by, and after a visitation by a great winged male of it's species, it had now a clutch of eggs gathered beneath it's fins and body. The cave was damp and drafty, ideal for the beast, but there was a need to keep the eggs that held it's young warmer than usual.

𐤌 - Months later, there must have been a cave-in deeper within the mountain, and some underground stream or reservoir was redirected, and there was a short flood-torrent that swept through the creatures lair. Some of it's eggs were lost, being rolled by the waters to smash on the rocks below the cave entrance. Most of the eggs were safe, however, but the mother worried for the consequences of the extra dampness. The female of the species had not the fiery breathe of the male that might have dried out the bed of eggs.

𐤍 - But something queer was in those rushing waters, and it reacted with the pearly stone that was the bedpost of the monster, and around which the eggs were cloistered. It began to glow more than usual. The cave creature noticed this but it was nought more that the tides of the light of glowworms changing over the season.

𐤔 - Another month or two later, the eggs hatched, and so did the creature's bed-post. The shiny stone cracked open, only a little while after the first young hatchlings of the scaly subterranean beast had began to crawl out of their shells.

𐤓 - The great cave creature's head snapped around at the sound of the conical glow-stone splintering. It was not being cracked open by a force from within, but rather it's lower section was slowly dissolving, and the grinding sound was caused by the still solid pieces jostling as they weakened and gave way. The mother monster was confused and distracted. Her young, four little dragons, a bit smaller than she had hoped, were now clear of their shells and were testing out their senses and their limbs. The strongest had already picked out the runt of the litter and was tearing at it's feeble limbs, and it cried with a pitiful squeal. The glowing bed-post stone, cracking and flaking, suddenly collapsed entirely, seeming almost to dissolve into a gritty, greasy paste, and slime down upon itself, pooling at it's base. It revealed a new thing.

𐤎 - Sitting on the ground, covered in rapidly dissolving but still slippery goop bubbling in weird colours, was a strange creature that the mother-monster had never before seen. The baby dragons were busy fighting amongst themselves, gorging on the now dead runt, that had been born with malformed wings and crippled hind legs. The cave beast leaned in and surveyed the newborn that had erupted from her prized jewel-stone that was her bed-post no more. This strange new animal seated in front of her was immediately intriguing because it glowed with a rather bright light, an echo of the light of the stars or the moon - although the dragon could not properly focus her eyes on it for some reason. It was attractive but unknown. Somewhat disconcerting. Those very familiar with Fairyland and it's most secret denizens would perhaps know what the dragon-mother was gazing at.

𐤕 - At that moment the sun, which had been setting for hours, reached the distant western horizon, and a ray of sunlight beamed in through the narrow cave entrance, illuminating the dragon's nest. The strange little newborn was bathed in the light, and it appeared to the mother-drake to be almost fully transparent for a few seconds. However, it's skin and eyes gave back the light manyfold, and it glowed brightly in the cavern and illuminated it's sculpted walls in a spray of colour that recalled the radiance the stone itself had made. The drakaena had to look away for the brightness. But the newborn giggled, and the cave beast again focused on the baby. The creature was looking straight into the dragon-mother's eyes - and it smiled, revealing sharp little fangs. It's body appeared to be clothed in a skin that at times had an appearance like as to the purest chalk, yet at other times, as it moved, it looked like misty, milky crystal glass. It looked soft and cuddly, yet hard as diamond. The strange little animal laughed again, and the laugh echoed in the caverns. The sound was exceedingly strange to the cave-beast, and also to the instincts of the pups. The sun set then, and mother observed that the baby dragons had now noticed the newborn from the stone, which was moving and stretching it's little legs and six-fingered arms. It was still glowing gently, especially it's bald elongated skull, and yet it appeared shadowed or veiled somehow. It was still difficult to look at directly for reasons other than its' brightness. It was then that the biggest of the cave-dragon pups, one of two winged males, pushed past a smaller female that had begun to nose up to the strange new thing, and faced off with it, assuming a threat posture, and looked to it's mother for a signal to attack. The mother was not sure however, being still in awe and indecision about this strange animal. The biggest dragon pup then got impatient, and leaped at the baby from the stone. ..

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The Little Boy of the Mountain

--A--

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a strange little boy that lived on the lower south-facing slopes of the great mountains that ran from east to west.

Tall were these mountains, and they were covered in white snow, and were often veiled in thick clouds in the stormy winters, yet the skies were clear and bright in the summer months, when warm winds blew up from the distant plains, and the tallest spire of the great peaks stood starkly, piercing the dark blue heavens.

The little boy lived with his father and mother in the upper reaches of the foothills, where these met the steep cliffs and crags of the main summits of the range.

Below them, forested valleys descended to the downlands, where little streams gathered together into greater rivers that eventually, it was said, fed the great inland sea far to the south.

The little boy loved his parents, and his home. He had some friends from distant farms, but the mountain life was rather solitary. This he did not begrudge however: his family farm was situated in a wonderful place of rolling slopes of green turf, big boulders to climb, and small caves to explore - and all this, the boy's little realm, was perched between the shear mountain peaks above, and stream-riven and waterfall-hewn valleys stretching below them. It had wonderful views, and healthy air. It was peaceful, and they had all their desire.

It was kine that the family ranched in the mountains - the deep green grass of the well-watered heights being much to their liking. They were bred over the years from great oxen of the mountains that were tamed by men of long ago. Twenty six head of cattle they had in total. Of the sires there was one older bull, two youngsters and two little male calves had recently been born. The wide span of the tall horns of the bull was magnificent. His father was very proud of them all, and the boy thought them handsome and friendly animals.

They also had many chickens, and these the boy liked less, for their noise made sleep after sunrise rather difficult.

Three bad-tempered goats they had too, and five more they planned to buy at the next opportunity - though hopefully these would be less gruff.

Rabbits also, they kept - a multitude - in an area craftily chosen by the boy's father, where the lay of the mountain rocks near to the house created a large enclave that could be fenced in with minimal work, and that provided a terrain of grass and rock overhangs for the rabbits to play within. He and his father had built little huts for them to retire to, or to escape to. Indeed the boy had become quite capable using his leather sling to loose stones at the roguish cliff-dwelling hawks and the occasional large crow that were tempted by the fluffy morsels and needed shooing away, for scarecrows proved ineffective as a deterrent.

Usually, the little boy spent his mornings with his dad in the fields above the house, minding the herd (which was not very large compared to some of the lowland farms, but just enough for one small family to manage alone). The mountain fields were wonderful places: a network of secret grasslands in the heights, hidden in alcoves in the folds of the mountain walls, and protected from the elements by large tumbled boulders and outcrops that acted as baffles against the winds.

In the afternoons the boy left his father and adventured in the wooded valleys below the house, usually to be back just before dark, when the frigid airs came down from the heights. There was a labyrinth of dappled paths and running streams, secret ponds and mysterious remnants of old stone constructions.

At certain times of year, he and his father went to the great market on the plains, and there bought and sold goods of the harvests, and traded cattle. All the men participated in the moot of the people, where the chieftain pronounced upon judgements and important matters were decided. At these times, his mother went to stay at the dwellings of her aunt's household above the valley to the east. This he thought strange, since his mum was full of good advice, and practical, and would have much to offer at the council debates. But that was not the way of it for the folk of the region. In other lands perhaps things were otherwise.

--B--

It was noon, a day of low clouds in Autumn - the moon would be waxing nearly full that night.

Upon the heights below the cliffs the boy embraced his father, who had been telling him of his thoughts about the profitability of cheese-making, and of his plans to build a new storage shed. The lad ran down the steep path from the fields, his hair streaming behind him, and descended to the house, which was built of the fine pine wood of the mountains - just big enough for the three of them.

Their home had a square floor plan, with it's door to the north and big bay windows looking south. It was divided into two partitions, the living and cooking area on the west, and the sleeping area on the east. The boy slept in a cot against the north wall in a smaller 'room' delineated by a curtain.

Life was not complicated, but for the little boy it was never dreary. He was clever, and knew how to occupy himself. His parents loved him dearly, but it must be said that they thought him somewhat peculiar. He did not really take after either of his parents in looks or physique. He remained rather small and lithe for his age, and his hair had traces of copper at the ends. His eyes were hazel, or rather, a strange green-tinged amber, which did not reflect the bright blue eyes of his mothers' people or the dark brown of his fathers' folk. Furthermore, the child had begun to speak at an unusually early age, and his mother also noticed his hands were strangely wrinkled even in early youth, as though they were the hands of an older person. Besides this (only noticeable on close examination) he was a beautiful child, and well-mannered, and healthy. He showed love and respect to his parents, but he was never clingy. He did not tend towards tantrums and other unruly behaviour, and seemed an able judge of danger - being perhaps more cautious in his adventuring and climbing than one might expect of a child of the mountains. And thus his parents trusted him to gallivant in the hills and at the feet of the cliffs behind their abode.

In his interests and ambitions too, he was wayward, being ever prone to flights of fancy and extended daydreams. Almost every sentence, his father complained, began with...

"Imagine..."

His parents worried a little, what the future would bring for him. He struggled somewhat with some of the practical mundanities of running the farm and even of the simplest things. There were unusual dichotomies in his aptitudes: he was good at carving and toolwork, and could build finely crafted wooden toys, and sketched well on parchment, but he was clumsy at certain simple tasks, such as opening and closing containers, and often spilled his drinking cup as though he was a drunkard at the tavern. He could throw and catch a ball well, but in laying something down on a shelf, would often miss-judge the movement or distance and see the item crash to the floor. His mother said that the world was not quite the right size for him, or that he must have been bigger in a past life. His mother believed in past lives whilest his father was skeptical of such things. The boy did not concern himself greatly with these notions, for his life had really only just begun. Of his occasional clumsiness, it might be said that the boy was obstinately and selectively lazy in certain areas of daily activity, even down to mundane spatial awareness, but not in others. Indeed he struggled with routine... unless it were his own. He was gently wilful. He was shabby with completing his chores, and liked to stay up late, loving the quiet nights of stars and bright moonlight. He adored sitting by the fire into the tired evenings listening to his parents' talk. And one tale was never enough before bed.

There were no schools in those days (except for the secret and hidden schools of wizards, but this boy and his family knew nothing of such things), and as such he learned what he knew from his parents, and from his few friends and what he saw of their lives. He was unlettered, for in the olden days, the letters had not yet got out and about.

--C--

As he ran down the winding path towards the house he was pondering what part of the valley he would visit. To the wooded waterfall? Or the tumbled stone mound covered in moss and fallen trees? To the sunny glade across the little river?

He reached the house, and as he put his hand on the doorhandle to enter, he suddenly realized he had misplaced his special walking stick. Perhaps he had left it in the woods on his adventure two days ago? Perhaps it had loosed from the bindings on Clipper's saddlepack, and dropped quietly and unheard onto the soft springy grass?

Now this stave was one of the boys prized possessions. It was more than just a walking stick. He had put great effort into carving and shaping an attractive and strong fallen branch he had found a year ago. He had put semi-precious stones in its' handle, which was wrapped in fine leather. It had an attachment for his sling, which allowed him to cast stones much further than he could with his little arm alone. While he had mastered the sling by itself, he was not yet very skilled with the sling-staff combination, but he was working on it with practice. He got the idea from some boys he had seen in the village playing with similar gear. He also used the stave as a fishing pole, though it was rather large and thick for this purpose, however, being enterprising, the boy had built a tripod near the waterfall where it could be mounted and attended without hefty effort. He would have to retrace his steps and find his staff.

He had a Quest!

It was very rare to bump into another in the forest valley, and the boy had no worry that his stave might be moved or stolen by another person (unless it were the tricksy fairies that his mother spoke of in her bedtime stories - which the boy was old enough perhaps to begin to disbelieve, though he did not, for the reason of two strange sightings: indeed he had twice caught glimpses of an unknown figure standing on the cliffs or high on a rock outcrop. The first time he had looked back and the shape was gone, but the second time he had stared into the face of a strange woman, wearing what seemed to be a cloak of glowing white that appeared to be made of large feathers fluttering in the breeze. He was held for a moment, but was then distracted by his father calling from a distance. He had looked again, blinking in the light of the bright day. She was gone. His memory of the event was confused: she had been far away on the ridge, but he had seen her face so near...

He had told his parents what he saw then, and for a while they kept an eye out for strangers, but eventually they dismissed the tale as a trick of light or one of the boys imaginariums.

--D--

He pushed open the heavy wooden door, to see his mother getting up from her loom. She was weaving new curtains, but came to greet her arriving son. She had noticed the newly-discovered consternation written on his face and gave him a querying look.

The boy told her that he had lost his fishing-walking-slinging stick and was going to go find it.

He asked how the curtains were progressing. He was fascinated by the mechanism of the loom. He had been defeated by it, when his mother had prompted him to try it - he did not have the patience for such work, even though he marveled at the results that could be achieved by those that knew what they were doing.

He suspected however that his friends might laugh at him if they knew he had been trying his hands at woman's work.

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--E--

Examining the woven patterns upon the loom he felt a change in the light of the room. He ran to the bay window and looked out to the southward. The sun was high and still a cloudy haze covered all, but there was a little patch of warm sunlight there. He stared out and down over the valley.

It seemed the morning mists were beginning to clear, and the forest treetops could be seen poking out of the mysterious glare. The sun was creating rainbows in the misty airs. He rejoiced at the glorious sight, and his excitement to get his afternoon journeying underway grew ever stronger.

He loved the broken mists seeping between the trees, and the dripping wetness on the big leaves after rain. Oft he was held spellbound by beams of yellow-gold sunlight streaming in through gaps in the treetops that fleetingly illuminated little secret nooks between the roots and revealed multi-coloured flowers and toadstools in all their glory.

His eyes caught upon movement then, down in the mists of the valley before the line of trees began.

He wondered if he saw, veiled by the rising and evaporating clouds, a large-framed man walking down upon the way, and coming up the valley-path towards the house. The curious boy would go out to greet him.

--F--

"Mother, someone is coming up the valley. I will go meet him on the way down to the woods. He is on the path"

He hugged and said goodbye to his mum, and since he lacked his staff, he fetched from his chest his backup: a trusty little wooden club, an early essay in his carving arts. In making this he had been inspired by Uncle Obúdius, who always carried with him a battle-mace like those wielded by the plains militia, with a pentacle engraved in it's darkwood handle.

The child was awed and much enamoured of it, for little boys seem ever to have a propensity to gravitate towards tools of war - but the mace was much too heavy for him to wield. He looped the strap of his wooden facsimile on his belt and reached for his pouch of iron sling shot. From behind the front door, from it's hook, he retrieved his winter coat, just in case the weather turned for the worse.

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--G--

The boy went back outside and around the side of the house, to the west courtyard, which was a large fenced-off area with a partial roof over it's southern half. It had a small A-frame doorway at the north-east corner where he filled his water pouch from a rainwater bucket, above which his mother had placed a wreath of flowers surrounding a seven pointed star made of interlocking reeds. The main gateway from the courtyard led out westward where there was a wide gravel area upon which the market-cart stood, covered in a sheet. Within the courtyard, his steed was resting: Clipper, the farm donkey, whom had been given to his parents as a wedding gift by their neighbours to the west that were breeders of horses and makers of saddles.

--H--

Hefting the full waterpouch over his shoulders, the boy entered and stood in the courtyard and looked back north above it's fenced wall at the high peaks overhead. He examined the signs of the prevailing weather. While the sun strove against the grey morning and appeared to be gaining ground, there was a changeableness in the air. Beyond these concerns he enjoyed this particular view from this particular spot: somehow the peaks looked closer and clearer when framed by the open timber roof structure of the courtyard. There were rugged and comfortable couches here, under the shade, and there was a cosy firepit in the center. He liked to sit here when he practiced drawing or worked on smaller wooden items.

The donkey was tied up at the far western end of the courtyard near the tool-racks and the big gate that led out to the mountain road. The boy untied the old animal, and greeted him gladly just as his mother came in to see him off properly. He unlocked the gate, saddled Clipper, walked him outside and mounted. He checked all his pockets and adventuring gear and smiling he waved goodbye. His mother closed and locked the gate after him, and he cantered away down the track.

The path led first south west for a very short stretch, between some lone pine trees, and near the rabbit enclosure, and then turned around and downward to the south east, so that it came back to a point directly below the south side of the house and it's bay window, which now stood above them at the summit of a steep cliff wall. This rocky barrier was over thirty feet high, and cleaving to it were creeping plants with big floppy leaves that anchored in small cracks and fissures. The cliff wall was very difficult to climb. He had attempted it twice, but had not succeeded. He had felt unsure of himself and given up quite quickly both times. It was certainly too dangerous to attempt without ropes, and his parents would not approve.

He look further up, and saw his mother was standing watching him from the main window. She waved and smiled. The boy waved back and turned Clipper southward down the trail towards the valley.

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--I--

As he descended he saw that it was as he thought. Coming up the path was Uncle Obúdius. They met halfway between the first eaves of the valley forest and the house. The boy greeted the visitor, who announced that he had come to talk with the boy's father. There was a shift in the wind and the distant trees sighed in the gusts. A strange feinting feeling came over the little boy suddenly. He swooned a bit and swayed in the saddle. Obúdius reached out to steady him, but the spell passed. He realized he had not eaten enough breakfast that morning. He must have been lightheaded for a hunger that all his youthful excitements and concerns had hidden from him. Perhaps he should return to the house with Obúdius and fetch some snacks?

No... he remembered then the berry bushes near the waterfall - he would go get some of those instead. He might also find some mushrooms to add to supper tonight.

He told Uncle Obúdius that his father was up in the first field, and that his mother was home. He said goodbye and spurred Clipper into motion. Obúdius was not really his Uncle, but rather an old friend of his fathers'. He was a big and blustery man, brave and strong, but of all the people the boy knew, Obúdius made him somewhat uneasy. The great man was shifty of mood, now boistrous and playful, but then suddenly sullen and thoughtful. The boy was awed by him, but some part of him mistrusted Obúdius, and he preferred to keep his distance. He got the feeling also that while his father honoured him as an old friend, that that friendship was cooling, and his uncle's visits were appreciated less by his parents than they had been in the past. As the boy rode away, and Obúdius carried on with his ascent, billows of mist were rising to their level again - it seemed the grey airs were not easily to be dispelled that day.

As he and Clipper went down the trail that descended into the valley, the boy practiced using his sling with little stones (so as not to waste his iron shot). He aimed at the whitewashed boulders that marked the pathway. He pondered how it was said that fairies do not like iron, or so the boy had heard from the aunt of his friends once. He was not decided about what he thought of fairies. The tales of them were ambiguous and general wisdom said to leave them well enough alone, but that they might always be providing unacknowledged boons to those that live near them. These gifts could become a matter of spiteful revenge if uncertain 'rules' were broken by the recipients, or the boons (whatever they might be) could become banes if mis-appreciated or mis-used.

The boughs and splayed branches of the first sparse outlying trees folded over him as the path descended more steeply, and between the trunks of these he saw glimpses, ahead and below, of the nine ancient standing stones that formed a close ring just above and west of the cross-roads. This waymeet was where the valley track intersected the High Path that ran all along the foothills of the mountains, sometimes nearer, sometime further, from the cliffs of the peaks. The High Path joined the numerous widespread homesteads of the uplands, and in the east, descended to the plains and turned south to the villages.

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--J--

The little rider travelled on further downhill, the trees opening out a bit again. The wide slope was even steeper here, and the track made gentle windings to alleviate the burden of climbing and descending it. On each side of the path were planted rows of little bushes with golden-tinged flowers. Fluffy blue birds with white bellies were playing upon them, chirping loudly, but as the boy and his donkey approached, sling in hand, they flew off to the trees. He would not have shot at them, but he had to acknowledge their caution; he waved and nodded at them when they landed and looked back at him. The path cleared of bystanders, he practiced the slingshot with his left and right hands now, still using the pebbles he had collected that day up in the fields. It was his ambition to be ambidextrous like the famous legendary hero Danth Hobs who was revered for wielding two axes in battle, and was said to be able to throw them six hundred feet and accurately hit two different foes at the same time. The boy did not quite believe that - it must have been an exaggeration. Still, it was an exciting legend amongst many such like: of those great Masters of the Olden Days that no man living in the boy's own time could match.

--K--

The child was able to re-arm and loose his sling with one hand, and with the other he guided the donkey (whom had never been perturbed by the boys' battle-play from the saddle). The boy was very fond of Clipper, and so too the trusty donkey appreciated his ambles with the farmer's son. The little boy patted his friend and tickled his ears. The slope of the track began to level out.

Alternating with the sling, he practiced loosing it with one hand, and then with the other. He was getting quite accurate, and could hit the path-stones from many yards away.

On his right, out of the haze and mist the standing stones were now fully revealed.

This was a strange place. There were nine great stones in a ring, and these surrounded a shallow bowl-like crater, which of old was made, it was said, by a falling star that crashed to earth, leaving a smouldering lump of strong iron in the ground.

Rustic legend told that ancient men dwelling here had erected the ring of stones and worshiped the fallen star. But in later ages, when the reverence for the iron was forgotten for a time, and the peopling of the lands had changed after many wars, other folk had turned the crater into a water reservoir by building up the sides with masonry, and they had planted what would become eleven great oak trees rooted in a ring around the circle of stone and it's pool.

The iron star was submerged beneath dark waters, and though not forgotten utterly, it lost it's significance to the people, and the terror of the stone faded. The boy was now passing by this old, empty, unused (and to him, slightly spooky) reservoir. For years it had been used by his own family, but they had abandoned it for a new one nearer to the house - for the southern wall of this older had caved in and collapsed and its' water was emptied after a series of powerful rainstorms a few years back. A great lighting and thunder had cracked the sky then (as it had on the ancient night when the star had first fallen, but none remembered this).

The iron star had been revealed at dawn, and a number of the surrounding folk had come to see it. The boy could still remember that exciting morning. The stone, after long years beneath the quiet water, had grown an unusual rough patina that exhibited curious honey-comb patterns.

The boy did not often go into the ring, before or after the storm breached it, for while the star-stone exerted a strange pull on the mystery-loving lad, he was simultaneously repulsed by it. The thought of it being from Outside cowed his usual bravery.

After the great storm, Obúdius had helped dig and build the new reservoir that replaced the ruined one. This was closer to the house, smaller in area, but deeper. The new pond, with the young boy's help, his mother and father had landscaped, surrounding it with interesting plants and shrubs and rockeries. It was partially covered with lily pads, and upon these little frogs croaked lazily in the evenings.

--L--

The little lad reached the crossroads. The larger way, the High Path, was a gravel road that ran east-west. It was wide enough for a wagon to pass along, and there was a wide lawn on either side. It ran quite straight in either direction for a quarter-mile or so and then bent around trees and boulder outcrops following the marching contours of the foothills. There was a large and very worn marker stone that presided over the crossroads. In times long past it had been a perfectly cylindrical worked pillar with a metal cap, identical to thousands of others than declared the roadways of the ancients. Coming nearer, he saw that propped against the marker stone was a small shepherds crook.

He peered about him, looking left and then right on the High Path, and indeed, he caught a glimpse in the distance of three young children passing round the bend on the western way to the right, surrounded by trailing numbers of a herd of sheep they were goading along the road. They disappeared from view. If he had arrived but a moment later he would not had seen them. Strange to see so many people moving about on this dreary day. One of them must have left their crook here and forgotten it in their idyll.

Suddenly there was a loud piping of little birds in the bushes to his left, and these were answered a moment later by some others across the Path and to the right. The boy jumped off the donkey and ran to fetch the implement laying against the crossing-stone. Quickly he returned to his steed, remounted, and urged the beast along the High Path, following westward after the herd boys.

He was feeling hungry now, but he hurried along the track and arrived at the rightward bend that had hidden the sheep and their minders from view. He turned the corner, which arced around a large embankment covered in fine bushes with little red flowers. On the left another valley opened below him and it's mists hovered beyond the road like a foaming sea. He heard laughter and shouts, and he saw that he had caught up with the herders. It was three little boys from a farm across the next valley, whom he did not know too well. He was not sure of their names, but he approached, greeted them, and held up the crook that he had rescued.

The eyes of the smallest boy lit up as he realized simultaneously his mistake and his luck. He ran over to Clipper and spoke with the rider. These three were hastening back home before the weather got any worse, having been minding their small herd near the lake to the north-east, where friends of theirs were lodged. Quite a long journey they were making, perhaps seven or eight miles.

Feeling pleased with himself, the little boy said goodbye to the sheep-minders and their flock, and returned to the cross-roads. The breeze had shifted again, beginning now to blow from the mountains, and a light drizzle began, but the skies still seemed quite undecided. The boy was not yet perturbed however. He turned right off the wide track and continued downward on the valley path. It began to zig-zag as it descended, the first tight bend turning left around a smooth-cut treestump, where there were some small steps to ease the traversal - though not too high or close to dismay Clipper.

The boy astride his steed was nearing the river, going deeper into the trees of the dell following the ever-twisting path. He could hear the gurglings and splashings clearly now below, and saw hints of light reflecting off moving waters glinting through the thickly-planted trees. He was in the last open glade before the deepest section of the valley and it's dense riverine forest. Yet further south, there were steep and treacherous stone gorges with sheer sides that dropped away to the plains below. The little river there shot out into space, turning into a fine mist as it fell, before it reached the large and deep pools below. To these pools it was perhaps impossible to reach, from above or below, but they could be viewed from certain high vantage points within the valley. The boy had once seen a large swan gliding on the lake from afar. Beyond, southwards, the forests picked up again and followed the river out into the wide spaces of the plains for some distance, but then the trees failed as the stream, gaining size and becoming more sluggish, wound it's way like a great serpent towards the village-lands and cornfields beyond.

None of this could the lad see from where he now rode, on the little track torn by twisted tree roots that made his donkey's footing somewhat perilous. Aha!...

There it is! The boy had spotted his favourite staff lying on a small shaded greensward to his right. It must indeed have fallen loose from the donkey's saddlepack bindings, when he was hunting for mushrooms between the tentacle-like tree roots on his previous trip.

He noticed as he dismounted to fetch it that where the southward path entered the arch of dense trees into the valley proper and the deeper forest, that the sun was shining through the leaves at a curious angle for the time of day, casting a bright beam that crossed the dappled darkness beyond. In the misty sky above the tree arch, there was a small rainbow that seemed to spring from the beam and arch into the sky to the west spreading into it's seven famous colours.

.

The boy turned north to look back at what he could see of the mountain peaks, but they were now veiled in thick billowing cloud, at least from where he stood. In the grey-white glare above him, the exact position of the sun was hard to tell. A small spattering of proper rain began just then, but it was not yet enough to deter him and his donkey.

He mounted, and after tying his sling to his belt, took up his staff. The pair entered beneath the arch of trees, passing through the beam of sunlight. Through a tight avenue of gnarled lichen-covered trees they wove. Little wren-birds leapt about on the mossy branches above their heads, enjoying a bath of lightly-dripping water. There was a steep section, where Clipper found it easier to leave the path and navigate around some boulder-steps rather than make use of them.

--M--

Moments later, just a little further down, the path swung left, and the trees opened up somewhat, but they were taller now, and thick ferns grew at their roots. The sound of running water became loud in the air.

They had arrived at the fords: an open grassy area where the river ran across the path. Butterflies of many colours fluttered about in the damp air above the rocky stream, which emerged from thick trees on the boy's left, and ran over the pathway in front of him and on into the deep shadows of a stony gorge to the right, disappearing round a sharp bend that led further on into the valley. It was dangerous that way - certainly not navigable by donkey. But he was not going that way today. Nor would he cross the river here and continue on the southward path. Nonetheless, the boy left Clipper in a dappled grassy glen familiar to him, near the banks of the stream to the left, where tiny bright red birds with long tails sat singing gaily above him. The boy, alone, continued leftward to follow the river-path diagonally uphill and upstream, into deeper woods north-eastwards on a narrow old trail of rough stone steps. This led towards the little waterfalls between a thick copse of vine-covered trees, and beyond was the brake of berry bushes that was his destination.

He wondered if he would see salmon jumping this time. These travelled upstream from the plains to spawn in a large mountain lake on the property of their neighbour eastwards and northwards. It was not clear how they made it up the deep gorge further to the south - there must be offshoots from the main river that led to the secret entrances of torturous underground streams that bypassed the greatest waterfalls. Or perhaps it was magic...

He climbed a short flight of steep stairs and arrived at the meeting of two little rivers becoming one, each coming from a different side of a very large boulder-hill that partly blocked the valley. On the right side and further upstream he could see some distance away the tall thin waterfall, while on the left, the slightly wider and deeper stream leaped a series of smaller falls. It was these the salmon navigated on the way up, and where he had sometimes seen them (and caught some).

Further above, beyond his sight, the streams were ultimately found to be from the same source far up in the mountains northward and about a mile eastward above his own house, near the grey-white cliffs of his father's fourth cattle field. The rapid spring waters passed down a deep-cloven channel that formed the highest entry-point of their valley. When it reached it, the river was split into two under a culvert bridge of the High Road, and from there took two divergent paths through the upper section of the valley (for there were many ridges and ledges within it) and joined again where he now stood.

The boy chose the rightward path, which led towards the single tall waterfall, below which lay a deep-swirling pool in the shadow of the great boulder-hill. It's waters were brackish, the colour of dark wine in that blended dappled light under the great trees, whose wide canopies rose even above the massive stone. To get there - and then to the second pool beyond, above the waterfall - he had to cross over a small arched bridge of large rough stones that leapt from the left side of the river to the right. The little bridge, which was built many summers ago by his great grand-father (and which sported a little stone birdbath on the far corner-post) stood in front of and below the huge dividing boulder, down which thick vines grew to the ground. The two streams met and swirled together directly beneath the pretty stone arch, which was paved with small red bricks, now worn and cracked.

He loved this ancient hidden place - this part of the forest was perhaps one of the boy's favourites. His father had shown it to him soon after he was big and able enough to make the journey, though they had not travelled it's deeper regions together since the second of the great storms some years back, when the upper part of the valley was changed.

--N--

He crossed the little bridge, though this was not strictly necessary, since the river could be passed over in quite a few places here and there, by leaping to large rocks that peeped out of the water. Only when the rivers ran very strongly after heavy rains were these rocks submerged, and the bridge a requirement. The path of roughly laid flagstones led now northward and entered the shaded area of the lower pool. The happy waterfall sprayed down from on high, cascading over a wet cliff face in a corner of the great mountain boulder. A wide hall-space was created here, by the great trees overhead and the close-walled, fern-lined valley sides. The water bubbled and foamed gently, and while the soft rain was lessening now, rainwater dropped still from leaves high above to tinkle like diamonds upon the pool and splash upon the undergrowth. He had not spotted any salmon in the pool, but there were some small dark fish darting about below the surface.

He walked around the little foaming lake and passed his fishing tripod, which stood where he had left it. There the boy put his sling-staff down against it, for he could not continue the journey onward carrying his prop. It was too large and awkward, and he needed both his hands free. He moved towards the steep rock cliff that seemed to bar his further progress up the valley. Here there was a great old tree, riven partly in two - perhaps by a lightning strike long ago. It had wide-groping roots that were seated in the angle of boulder, pool, and valley floor. The larger part of it's divided trunk ascended just to the right of the waterfall itself. Some of it's great curving branches had grown into and around the mighty rocks, and the tree seemed to be resting against them, and reaching over them, while with the lesser half of it's sundered bole, that split off to the right, seemed to be holding onto a protrusion of rock two-thirds of the way up. The tree reminded the boy of a gigantic stick insect trying to climb the wet cliff. On previous journeys he had found a way to climb this tree and sneak up to a secret spot above the waterfall, where another hidden pool lay, and that also was covered over by tall trees with dense foliage. It was the place where his favourite berry bushes grew.

Now this secret upper pool was nigh to the glade wherein was found the burial mound of his great grandmother - the mother of his father's mother, whom he had never met for she had died many years before the boy was born. That glade used to be easier to reach from the north, almost directly from the High Path - the opposite direction from which the boy now came. For a landslide and treefall had completed the long-threatened blockage of the valley from above, but for a short section where the river ran underground. That final closing of the upper valley path had occurred on the same night the storm ravaged the old reservoir of the stone circle. How old had he been then?

He climbed the great cliff-side tree beside the waterfall, which would have been much more difficult if he was a full-statured man, given the overgrowth of vines and closely twisting branches. He had a sudden sad thought of the possibility that at some point, as he grew up, he would no longer be small enough to get to the upper glade...

He reached the top and squeezed beneath a horizontal branch, scraping his belly somewhat on the granite rock. He had to worm his way through a thick grove of wet ferns overgrown by a tangle of vined branches of the tree that he had climbed. This leafy tunnel was right next to the stream where it tumbled over the cliff. He got through, huffing and puffing. Then he stood up in his familiar escape. He was standing beyond the top of the waterfall and overlooked the upper pool from which it's waters fell. This glade was even darker, as only a small section of the sky was open through a gap in the tree cover high above. When it was sunny, a great beam of sharp light fell upon a small mound in a flat, raised grassy area above and to the right of this upper pond, where the storm waters could not reach. That was the mound of his great grandmother.

The berry bushes were near where the stream entered the little lake, on the other side of the shadowy dell from where he stood. The rain had stopped entirely now, and a diffuse glow of light teased upon all he saw. There was a small brightly shimmering green bird with a red crown flitting down at the waters edge. He slowly ambled around the quiet pool. The water here was less deep, and it could be easily waded except at the far bank where the berry bushes lay. There was a little island rock in the center of the pond, where a crude stone seat had been constructed, facing the mound. It was covered in leafy creepers. Beside it grew a small rosebush. He had never sat in the old chair. It felt somehow ominous, and it reminded him of the scary tales of the plight of Old Mr. Horn. But also it provoked a strange yearning and sadness within him. His thoughts strayed to the mound. He peered over his right shoulder at it now, but he could not ponder it too long, or he would get depressed.

.

.

The boy reached the center of the glade to the right of the still waters, and observed the entire scene for a while, turning slowly on his heels, he took in all the sights and sounds and fine details. He heard the gentle buzzing of a bee-hive somewhere nearby. Honey!

First however, he went to fetch some of his favourite berries. The little boy was famished now. He knew not to over-eat however, for they were strong of flavour and could curdle an empty belly in large quantities. He walked to the northern-most section of the glade, where the stream sprung out from between tall and thick ferns and bushes that lurked in the shadow below the tall trees that surrounded them on all sides. There were impenetrable thickets on the far (western) side of the lake, that barred any from reaching the other stream and it's stepped waterfalls, while the steep sides of the valley on the right and east were not scaleable unless with ropegear, perhaps.

His tummy grumbled. He turned to the berry bushes, which grew just out of reach on the far bank, and hung just over the still waters. To reach these he had to get down on his knees and stretch out over a curving bay of the pond, reaching across to an almost-submerged boulder in the deepest part of the water. With this he could support himself with one hand, and with the other could (usually) reach some tasty growths of the dark cherry-coloured berries. This he did - after emptying his upper pockets in case something fell out, as had happened once before. He had lost his flimsy old sling that time. Now, as he leaned out over the dark waters he looked down, and he saw mirrored in them his own face in silhouette, and above that (or was it below?) were echoed the great limbs, branches, swaying twigs and leaves of the huge valley trees, through which a grey light filtered.

The light slowly changed, or the waters seemed to clear a little. Though he had made this journey quite often, and performed this balancing act over the lake almost as many times, he saw something then he had not noticed before. On the sandy bottom of the lake, he could see a dark glass bottle. He peered at it, trying to judge it's size and contents. It appeared to be too deep to reach without getting very wet.

It was just then that he heard a strange sound. It was a low rumbling hiss. He heard some cracking of twigs and a soft scraping noise, like that of bark chaffing. There were some heavy reverberations in the air and his ears popped as if with pressure changes - as though he were running speedily downhill. He wondered if he saw then, as he looked downward, reflected in the waters, the branches of the trees above him seeming to move and writhe. Or was that just ripples disturbing the mirrored scene? Quickly he shoved himself upwards from the wet rock with his one hand, and found himself kneeling on the bank and staring straight into the eyes of...

What was it?

.

.

It hissed at him. He was in sudden marvelous shock and he held his breathe, yet this was after some delay in attempting to resolve what exactly he was looking at. It was outside of all experience.

It was the head of what appeared to be a gigantic serpent, bright emerald green with highlights of almost-yellow in places. It's scales were enormous and smooth as glass. It's head was upon the end of a long neck that looped down from the trees above and beyond, went underneath the ferns and berry pushes and popped out from beneath them at the lake-edge opposite him. The neck barely skimmed across the lake surface and then rose to meet him. Its mouth was closed. It hardly moved. It's huge eyes, somewhat oversized in it's great head, were unblinking. It was only four or five feet away. Suddenly the little lad realized his peril, for he could not move, though the impulse to flee burst from within him.

--O--

He could not take his eyes from the tip of the serpents' blunt nose and it's own deep-welling orbs that held him in their gaze.

This was no snake, surely.

This was The Great River Worm from the tales!. What else could it be?

As the serpent stared at him his mind wandered. His eyes started watering, and he had strange flashing visions of unknown places and bright forms. Time seemed to have stopped, or was passing them by like a river. He felt that all the leaves of the trees of the glade were vibrating.

Suddenly there was a loud ringing in his ears. Still he could not move.

His sight went suddenly dark, and he took a gasping breathe. But still he heard the chirping of birds, the rustle of the leaves, and the gentle but deep-hissed breathing of the huge wyrm. He felt as if he was spinning in place like a top, just barely maintaining his balance. His ears felt like they were stuffed with wax. Then he was falling. Falling as though down great rapids in the darkness. He came to rest with his head in the lap of someone he knew, but could not see. He had swooned and his friend was trying to rouse him. There was a sudden knocking or popping noise. His ears had cleared, but the boy could no longer hear the world around him. He felt at first like he had melted or folded, as if he was bent backwards impossibly, and that his heels might be touching his head. Then he began to feel a rising tension of peril at his obvious helplessness, which turned into a fluttering panic. His heart pulsed rapidly like that of a bird and his uncontrolled and ragged breathing filled his thought and became all-pervading. A great iris opened, that he could not see but that he knew was there... and he was falling again. There was a great blast of stormwinds that rushed madly but then subsided as quickly as they had began.

.

.

.

--P--

Presently he felt his entire body was being stuck by tiny pins, as though blood was returning to limbs that had been uncomfortably positioned for too long.

All was then grey and shadowy, though he felt a bright light was shining on him. He had stopped spinning and falling, but all sense of place and surroundings was lost to him.

There was a strange breeze, however, that he felt across his body--. No. Not his body - he could not feel any sensations from his body.

There was a rumble from within his mind, and this ramped up into a shimmering piercing high-pitched pain that did not hurt.

He noticed the ringing in his ears had become a buzzing, and then the buzzing became a loud droning sound, and the droning seemed slowly to transform into whispered chanting.

The serpent was speaking words that seemed to flash quick images in his mind. He focused, trying to perceive the shape and meaning...

The sounds appeared to be repeating, but it took what seemed an age and many repetitions to bring clarity to them.

Finally, he heard. 

  Ahriash, son of Kepheiriet -

  Bashaqwarh, son of Ahriash -

  Cethryhesh, son of Bashaqwarh -

  Drasthynger, son of Cethryhesh -

  Erutsarhu, son of Drasthynger -

  Faisahall, son of Erutsarhu -

  Galamagraha, son of Faisahall -

  Hrusheth, son of Galamagraha -

  Ihmera, son of Hrusheth -

  Jruamyrthaen, son of Ihmera -

  Kalthundra, son of Jruamyrthaen -

  Lyrnaethlad, son of Kalthundra -

  Mbushidri, son of Lyrnaethlad -

  Nunreiadha, son of Mbushidri -

  Oshthedhi, son of Nunreiadha -

  Paemryth, son of Oshthedhi -

  Qirrahaetha—

....

.

--Q--

The sound was cut short. The boy's panic had increased for the strangeness of it all, but he had now mastered some aspect of himself again. He still could not see. What was that incantation? What were the last words or names he knew somehow had been left unsaid? He could not confront them. But these questions whirled away suddenly as the new-found total silence became a strong vision of a dark room. He felt cold, and he felt his body convulse, wherever it was.

There was a woman on a reclining chair, and she was in labour of birth. A man was there also, fretting over her. The man looked ever over his shoulder out the doorway where lights flickered with colours for which the watching boy had no names, while at the same time he was trying to attend to the woman. The man appeared to have long dark hair, but the shadows were deep and he could not see the woman's face or tresses clearly.

He knew then he was not in this room that he could see, and he could hear nothing of the scene. It was the strangest thing he had ever experienced.

There was another flash, and the man then bent over and kissed the woman gently. Then he raised himself up and gesticulated hastily about something happening outside. He seemed to need to leave, but was perhaps ensuring her that he would return. He left, and the woman remained, wracked by the pains of childbirth.

There were a few moments of stillness, and then a weird thing happened. Three strange folk calmly entered the room from the door that the man had left. One carried a large bundle of cloth. They approached the woman in labour, who sat now transfixed, for the strangers seemed to have an indescribable yet subtle glow about them. They were hard to look at directly, but not because of this soft glare, but rather ones' eyes seemed always to slip from them.

They were tall, and were wearing hoods.

They appeared to begin to speak with the woman, who seemed to relax in the chair. The flickering lights outside were dimmed now, and it was hard to see the forms of the visitors or the fashion of their raiment.

None of them seemed to acknowledge his own curious 'presence' in their midst.

Then the scene changed, or rather his viewing position in the room changed. He saw that one of the people had been kneeling by the woman in the chair, and that the reclining woman held now a small child in her arms, while another of the strangers was bundling something else up in the swaddling cloth that they had brought with them. The person kneeling by the woman got up and turned to face the other two, and just then there was another bright flash of light from outside and the boy saw in that instant that it was the strange fairy woman from the mountains, the one with the feather cloak!

Then he noticed that the baby held by the new mother was glowing as the strangers did!

The three then bowed and left, and the woman he'd seen upon the outcrop was last to turn and go. But she stood for a while staring at the newborn and it's mother resting on the couch. As they exited the door the child's glowing faded away.

He reeled. Then the boy's swimming visions steadied. The feeling of pinpricks all over began to subside. Again before him he saw the eyes of the great serpent holding him in thrall. All else was a blur, but he perceived he was back in the valley forest. The chirping of birds began to return to his senses. Had the serpent given him the visions and put the sounds in his memory? A part of his distracted mind quested after his body, trying to recover his ability to move. He was no longer fearful, though he couldn't as yet explain to himself why that was so. All he knew was that some hazy yet important things needed re-evaluating.

He could not feel his feet.

He forgot then the vision, for a time. He was wide awake again, but still he struggled to move or do anything.

The serpent was there still, it's unblinking eyes, deep black but shining, and with twin pinpricks of light, surveyed him.

It seemed bright in the glade. He blinked in the glare. He was sure he was succeeding now in clenching his fists and wiggling his fingers. Without breaking the stare, he then managed with difficulty to slowly raise his hand, until, as a blur, it entered his fixed line of sight. After this concerted effort, much of the dread of the strange visions or memories had washed away, like heartburn that suddenly evaporates.

Just then, in his innocence, he reached out: to pat the wyrm as though it were Clipper. He was compelled. For reasons unknown to himself he felt obliged to touch the head of the serpent...

--R--

Raising himself very slowly from his kneeling position, he was again awed at the size of the creatures great face, and the alien nature of it's bulbous eyes. As he stretched out his hand, indeed, the serpent drew ever so slightly nearer, and it's neck quivered slightly, and the large clustered scales on the back of it's head and behind it's eyes gently flared, giving the appearance of horns or the sharp ears of a fox - yet he could not tell if it was a sign of danger or affection. The boy sensed that the serpent was shifting and adjusting it's heavy coils in the boughs above him. He noticed then that it's tongue did not flicker in and out like the small grass snakes of the woods. Would the great beast allow the boy to feel it's bright scales? He hoped that he appeared friendly to the great creature... certainly he could not be seen as a threat to it? Had it ever met anyone else? Of course, if any other was watching them just then, they would have been hoping rather that the boy did not look tasty, and that the wyrm had already fed.

.

.

--S--

Slowly the boy tried to step forward, willing himself, or so it seemed, to make contact with the great wyrm, but as he began his motion, the undergrowth about the serpents' body shivered, there was a rustle of leaves, and with lightning speed, the snake eyes flashed, it bared it's great fangs and without further ado, bit the boy sharply on the hand. The little child of the mountains felt and heard it like a colossal thunderclap. He yelped. He first thought was that his hand must have be been crushed flat.

--T--

The boy was stunned, and recoiled, and forgetting the snake for a moment, looked quickly at his hand. It was punctured with a single deep tooth-mark, for the serpents' head was too big for both it's fangs to pierce his one hand at the same time. The skin around the wound was raised in two flaps of ragged skin, but there was as yet no blood.

Strangely, he realized that there was no pain either, and had not been. All of his sensations had been driven by his fright, and his expectations. Yet he struggled to move the fingers of his wounded hand. He remembered the serpent then, and returned his weary gaze to it, but it was not there. It must have slipped silently and speedily into the thick undergrowth and disappeared from whence it came.

He looked again at his hand, and the bite mark remained. It had all really happened. His hand was warm. So were his pants. He had wet himself.

The mist had lifted, and the last shred of cloud and haze had blown away to the north, and a wan light had returned to the little clearing. He was in an obscure state of limbo.

--U--

The boy stood there, staring at the bushes and the rocks, and the trunks of the gallery of trees about him, yet not seeing them. His mind was reeling over the strange set of events, trying to remember the many weird details, and his thought flitted over lists of consequences, when suddenly he had, seemingly out of nowhere - and quite incongruous - a vision of Uncle Obúdius' battle-mace.

--V--

He did not know why, but just then the little boy was caught up in a sudden and violent fear that overwhelmed him, much greater than that of all his experiences thus far that day. His stomach suddenly felt heavy as lead. He spun around and bolted back towards where he had left Clipper. He must return to the house! Something was wrong. These were his only thoughts then. He forgot the encounter with the wyrm almost entirely, as he squeezed back through to the waterfall and carefully clambered back down the tree. Movement began to return to his injured hand, but it was not very useful. It was not easy getting back down, but he managed.

Sprinting heedless around the lower pool, he kicked his wooden fishing tripod over by mistake, and it's three timbers (which were quite thick and heavy to support his ornate stave) were knocked into the water with a splash he did not hear. It was a lucky reminder of his stave, which he had forgotten about. He spun around and grabbed it - it had landed on the sandy bank right near the pond. He ran along the big flagstones back down the valley. The boy felt the pain in his foot of the moment of impact with the tripod, but yet he did not - for his mind was fixed on returning home for some reason he could not access, but felt he knew.

--W--

Wind whistling in his ears, he sped back down the path, after bypassing the bridge by leaping the river, jumping from rock to rock. He vaulted the stone staircase in one bound and followed the river trail the way he had come.

Returning to the fords of the stream, he found Clipper munching on some grass in a sunny glade near where the boy had left him. Knowing he would be faster on foot, he tied the beast down with a peg so that it would not wander, and sprinted back up the hill on the valley path towards the ring of standing stones. As he ran he began to feel properly now the pain of his toes that had kicked the tripod in his great haste back at the waterfall. His stave was beginning to be a burden to run with, and his water-pouch, slung over his shoulder, bouncing and sloshing as he ran, began to feel very heavy. He tried to count his steps as he ran, to take his mind off the pain and inexplicable worry that coursed through his veins.

--X--

He slowed, for the foot-pain was suddenly throbbing terribly. He had a quick panicked thought that perhaps he had broken his toes, for his light slipper-like boots were no protection against such great impacts. He stopped jogging then, and tried wiggling them in the ends of his shoe. They seemed to be able to move, but not without wincing pain.

Again he checked his hand, where the serpents fang had made its gory dint. His hand and fingers, it turned out, he could move more easily than his toes. He wondered abstractly if the wyrm was poisonous. His hand did seem to him strangely thin and bony now, as though his diet was much less nourishing than he knew it to be. The skin seemed to have lost the last of it's lustre of youth. But again all these concerns of his bodily injuries left him, as the panic of what might be happening back at the farm returned in full flood.

He set off at a pace, but his knees were sore now. His legs felt creaky. It must have been getting colder, and he had not noticed. The pause to check on his toes was unwise - he had suddenly lost all his bodily warmth and was no longer limber for running. It felt like his muscles were groggy after a long night of cold sleep without a blanket.

He resigned himself to walking briskly, to give himself time to limber up again, but he begrudged the delay. The path wound its' way uphill through the trees towards the High Path. He reached the set of four and twenty boulder-steps that Clipper avoided by climbing the embankment. He found as he climbed that he was struggling for air. He was huffing and puffing like one of the old men of the village. Then he tripped on a tree root growing up from the path but managed to catch himself before he fell.

The surrounding trees grew shorter and less thickly here. He was on a zig-zag, heading temporarily south-west. It was just a little bit further on before the last twist to the right, where began the final short and straight ascent out the valley to meet the Path at the cross-roads. He tripped again, over another root or stone upon the way, and this time almost lost himself to a tumble, but there was a nearby tree stump, where the little track twisted around to head north again. He put out his un-bitten hand to catch himself, and had to drop his staff to do so. It clattered to the ground.

He paused then, shaking his head at his clumsiness, and trying to catch his breath. He was seeing stars, and the ground felt far away. He blinked his eyes and steadied himself. Why was he so exhausted? His water pouch felt extremely heavy, and it's leather cord bit into his shoulder. His thigh muscles were shaking. Was this the serpents' venom finally getting to him? He focused on the tree stump, and the hand that held it--

Wait...

Which hand had the serpent bitten?

The hand that held the stump was the serpent-afflicted hand! He felt the pain now. He noticed the inflamed bite-mark. He turned it over to look at the palm. There was a red blotch where the fang had almost come straight through. It was a deep wound. He looked at his other hand, and there too, to his great shock, was a deep bite mark. Blood dripped slowly from the punctures left and right.

He felt now the pain from both of them. What was going on? He was sure he had only held up one hand to touch the snake, but now he could not remember which it was. Left or Right?.

No time.

Onward. Forward. Northward back up the valley. He had to walk, for his ankles felt like they were made of wood. Above him the skies were grey-white with clouds again, but they were no longer diffuse. There were shadows on the east sides of their billows, and dark voids open and closed amongst them.

He was about to traverse around the treestump that marked the last reversal of the winding track and continue up on the trail, when he heard a soft voice from above him, from the path on the other side of the stump.

"Grandfather.", it said, matter-of-factly.

He froze.

The boy looked up. The voice was that of a youth, with a fine clear timbre. His swimming eyes focused.

He inhaled a sharp breath.

There was a beautiful little girl with the deepest of blue eyes standing there. The darkest blue he had ever seen, with opal glints. Her hair was an unusual dark blonde, long in the back and and untied, with a curly fringe. In the shade it seemed oddly dark, but where the sunlight caught it, her tresses shone very fine and pale. Both of her hands were laying relaxed on the treestump, and she stared at him, quite impassive. To him just then, her skin seemed not pale, not ruddy, not dark, but golden or of a subtle burnished brass. She was earthly, yet somehow distant. It was a strange meeting, but of a different sort than when he had gazed at the 'fairy' lady on the ridge, who, in his ever-fading memory of it, had skin like clear glass.

He was still shocked at this encounter with the little girl, and had not said anything. She stood, patiently expectant. He stared at her. As he did so he realized her face was as an image of his mother - a youthful incarnation of his mum - but for the nose, which was short and pixie-like, and her limbs was more stocky or chubby, like those of the boy's dad. This girl had a short stature. His mum was tall and lean. He marveled.

Verily, this child could have been his sister.

"Zöe.", the boy said, after a pause. That was her name. He knew it. She smiled. But the boy was confused and torn in heart. He must hurry, back up the path to the house. He did not understand what was going on, but somehow he knew this girl. She could not be his sister, surely. He did not have one. He did not recognize her out of any that he knew or could remember from the villages.

He walked then slowly around the treestump, up some roughly made steps that turned the corner. He stood now on the level of the little maiden, and still their gaze held. She stepped over to him, and reached out to take his hand, and as she did this he realized he was standing over her, and she looked up at him. He felt dizzy, and had to sit down against the embankment to the left, which was cut like a bench. He hung his head. He was too exhausted to think.

His hands were on his knees, and his shoulders slumped. Staring down at his thighs he realized how long they were. He lifted his cloth pant-legs, and saw that his bruised shinbones seemed to go on for yards. His feet were colossal according to all his usual notions. He was scared to stand up again, in case he was toppled for vertigo. What had happened?

"Zöe," he said again.

"Yes," she replied in her high silver voice. "That would have been my name. If I had been begotten utterly to this world when I arrived in it. I was soon returned to my rightful place to wait for the proper time. There, where I rest even now, I am ever Ka'hlimath, while the world lasts: Ntaòmbé Kalathé, Spinner of Veils. Greetings."

The boy wiped his sweaty brow, and looked again at her. Her eyes were level with him now, even though she stood, and he sat. Still the need to run back north was urging him on, but a part of him had resigned itself to some undercurrent he could not yet place.

"You are so little. Are you a dwarf-child, Zoe Kalimät? I have heard of dwarves. But your name sounds like one of the words from the serpents' chant".

The boy could not quite pronounce her full name as she had given it.

Ka'hlimath responded, "As for my name, it is one of the secrets hidden within the Succession that you were taught, as least as far as you could be taught in this turn. For that is what you heard from Watamaräka-anyava, or at least parts of it?". Here she paused, and seemed to be inquiring. However, she continued with a soft smile, "As for being a little dwarf, no. It is you that is Great. You are forgetting yourself in your fading. We are great. Us. I have come to remind you of yourself, so that you do not fade entirely, and forget your House and your Purpose, and so that you do not despair of a loneliness that is but illusion - that loneliness that you have not yet acknowledged as a little boy, and yet also have already forgotten, grandfather, for your amnesia is not for ever. You begin to remember. And you will return to us, and know again."

The boy shook his head.

"You speak in riddles," he replied softly. He felt utterly dejected. Something had cracked within him. He tried to focus on images of his house, and his parents, and his farm, and their animals. He reached for the times of slow ambling with his dad and the herd. His times carving and building. The rabbit enclosure. The lily pond. He peered towards and behind to the village meetings-- but saw only great courts and tall towers; banners... statues.... flags. Of processions, of great feasts, luxurious harems, svelte courtiers, and ... and...

What?

"I have had a queer day, and I am in fear for what might be happening up the way", said the boy. "Who are you really? What are you doing here? I think I must go now."

She sighed, and in return, said to him: "I know you feel you must, but you misunderstand things. I am here to jog your memory, for many things have tumbled out of it, just as your staff over there was lost to you for a while."

"If I am the Spinner of Veils, it is you that are the Renderer of them," said the little girl. "Your rending is done. Let me show you the door you do not yet seek but must pass."

His brow crinkled in confusion, and he dropped his eyes away from hers.

Suddenly there was a low rumble of thunder above them, and a crack of lightning nearby. His eyes shot back to the little maiden. She was not fearful... "A storm is coming," she said with gentle seriousness.

There was a silence between them. He gently shook his head, in his aching indecision. But she spoke again, from where she left off, "...And the Work will continue, as it has, even through dark days you have already achieved and forgot. And further, towards Times that you have not yet seen and that the Paramount has not spoken to us."

"You have wrought wonders, more than was necessary. And you have yet work to do, but it is not up that way, though I know it is hard to comprehend."

The girl-child went on: "My mother - that is, your daughter, who lives now, is in labour with a new star of our kin, soon to be begotten", she said. "I will carry many cares and terrible burdens shortly, after I am delivered and have forgotten."

The boy stood dumbly. She continued.

"I fell too early you see, as we all do - and as you yourself have done before, for it is necessary. It is how the siblings can be brought here. Our litter. It is the Change. Now you must submit and return, and you will rest in bliss and knowing for many an age. Do not fear. You have forgotten your victory is long completed, and you have lingered long upon your own shoulders. Very soon, by the times of this world, I will be strong enough to be delivered to it for a turn, for I am already born. Then I will be Zöe in truth, and from True Home you will watch over me in my own trials until we Change again. The curing of little Earth and it's folk takes many, many revolutions."

The boy, not really taking in her ominous words, noticed her face was dim, and her hair looked black in the heavy shadow.... shadow... because it was night already! Gosh, what had happened to the time? How long had he been wandering?

Indeed, it was late twilight, and the gathering storm clouds made it that much darker. He stood up, his back creaked, and his hips popped. He shook himself and he tried to gather his wits. He must go on up.

Zöe looked at him with soft pity.

"You know that there is little to see, grand-father"...

Suddenly the lightning struck again and a great flash pierced the clouds and the darkness. He turned his head to look north, to catch a glimpse perhaps of the crossroads and the stone circle. But the shadow fell again before he could make anything out. His rational mind suddenly ground to a halt as he tried feverishly to make some sense of all that had prevailed upon him that day. He looked away from the girl, and started trudging up the path as buckets of heavy rain began pouring down onto his bony shoulders and his thinning hair.

He strode purposefully, he was no longer sure of this curious maiden and all her strange talk. Was she distracting him? He was limping, but he trudged onward. If the girl spoke behind him the sound was drowned by the veiling sheets of rain.

It was not far now to the Crossroads. The trail was leveling out, emerging from the valley deeps. Above him, sitting soaked on a bare branch in one of the last trees of the straggling wood, there croaked a large crow.

Suddenly a gap must have opened in the gathering storm-clouds, and light filled the trackway. The waxing gibbous Moon had ridden out. The High Path became dimly visible ahead, but just then he felt a tug on his arm.

He turned. His spine clicked painfully at his sudden movement. His bones felt cold.

It was Zöe. But she looked older, and had a stern look upon her face. Almost anger. She seemed taller, and it seemed to him that shadows crept about her. He was suddenly afraid of her. He sensed a hidden power, but also he knew she could not and would not harm him.

Yet she daunted him.

She was carrying his stave, which he had not recovered from where he had dropped it, back at the corner-stump and the bench. She held it out in both hands and offered it to him.

"You must give up this folly. Please. You have to remember", she pleaded.

"Come back with me. The hidden shores await you beyond the un-visited pools, and I am your guide to them. You have always followed me to where I am hidden, and then onward. Until you forgot. We've missed you, though we've watched your every step from afar. I don't have the strength to hold open the way for ever. Opening the way is your duty, after all. Time grinds on. And I cannot follow you beyond the cross-roads."

The moonlight failed, and it was dark and shadowy again. The rain poured strongly, and the valley path was getting muddy.

The boy asked then, "What of the cross-roads? Why not".

Zöe replied, "Alas, for the strange chance that your family settled here, so near to the ring of stones and it's iron star. Yet it had a part to play, for good and ill, so it seems. It increased your trials greatly, and pained us, your hidden kin, for we could not watch you but from a distance. Without the fallen star, much would have been different. You would not be so forgetful now, in your lateness, for one thing. But your victories would have been dimmed. By the power of dark iron you remembered many more names of the succession that most do in a turn. Many letters came to be in your time - the time you don't remember has long gone."

The rain was easing now, but low rumbling thunders filled the air on all sides and great lightning lit the clouds from within. The ground seemed to be quaking.

Zöe continued, and she seemed to shrink again as she spoke.

"Your sacrifices are complete. For a time, grand father. Your grand-daughter will re-veil, and weave new mists about that which your victories have opened to the world. Your gifts must be remade now, in shadow, in order to prepare for the next rending, that will reveal yet more. And this, even though all is plain to see."

There was a playful grin on her face, but the boy was sombre.

The wind began to blow loudly. Silent sheets of lightning flashed across the scene, and when this happened, Zöe appeared to be slightly transparent.

He asked her, almost shouting over the noise of the building storm , "Can you tell me what I saw in the room, with the woman and the man, and the three strangers, and the newborn child?"

She blinked and nodded, as thunder rolled across the mountains and echoes across the valleys.

When the great sound had subsided, she said,

"You saw my birth into the world. It was my begetting, my beginning.... my slippage, you might say. However I was birthed not for my turn, but for yours. You were merely delivered at the same time, and forgot. That woman in labour was your mom and the man that was forced to leave for a time was your dad. Your mum gave birth then to Me. The strangers arrived to fetch me back Home, for my teaching - and they brought you here to be my mamma's child. Though your love was great and noble, they are not your Mother and your Father. They were your earthly teachers, whom you needed to learn from, so that you might grow to teach the world what it needs to know before the Dark and the End. You have already done this, my brother. You forgot upon being begot, and later you forgot again. It's partly my fault, and it had to happen. It is the sound design. T'was thine own Mother that brought thee into that dark room. She was the midwife for my birth, and they took me away in the cloth to be prepared for this moment, and more besides. If I had been left here then, to be your mommy's newborn daughter in your stead, I would have withered and perished within a year, wasting an Age at Home. Your long schooling for your next turn was done. You were ready. Your infantry in the Alp was complete. You were delivered. Your parents of the farm had a son instead. They remembered much of the mad night of your 'birth', but not nearly all. I am the Veilspinner, and I was there, and so none had any choice in the matter, least of all me. I say again, it is time you remembered. You exhaust me in this foolish debate, dear grandfather. Silly elf. You are merely lingering in the mist of nostalgia."

She ended her speech, and the crow launched itself off the branch and flew into the dark airs. It disappeared going towards the mountains and climbing into the overcast.

"I don't understand", said the boy, but his throat was hoarse, and his voiced cracked.

"The glowing boy left with the woman in the dark room was you. But it was my birthing within this world that you witnessed, not yours. And not the first, for either of us. You arrived in the bundle, and were merely re-delivered to this world after your rest and your schooling.You are Khãnyab, Chief of the Choir. Your birth and mine are the Change: I dance in shadow, and you sing in the light. We spin up the World together, from within and without. With the help of Great-Great-Grandfather, of course". She winked. "You have strayed in your dotage my Brother, and lingered upon the past and all the ages you have witnessed. You have visited this valley before many times. It is your pilgrimage, but you need it no longer in this life. Many ladders necessary for your time you completed long ago. The staircase is almost full-builded. Others will bring it to it's conclusions, and perhaps you will return to finish the landing. Then all with strength of heart may climb it. Moreover, there will be need of great light, when the world can no longer make it of itself. But it is now for you to return and rest and prepare for my turn, and my time of distant Doom, when you, great grandfather, will grow weary of bliss - though you may not believe it tomorrow - and yearn for the knowledge of the pain of the world. And you will know then that I will need reminding of my own path. Every great rescuer must needs be rescued at the close, just as every great secret must be first hidden, and then revealed. And verily, Veilers ever fall into their own veils, try as they might to abjure it. It is then that a new of our kin will slip too early and be begat upon me, Ælven-born. A new star. Then again perhaps you will be needs be delivered, little grand-child, to this little home-from-Home in due time. But for now, know that most of the Elder Seeds have been planted and begin to sprout. The Word will begin to grow soon in the World, to contend with Nothingness, and in time.... everyone knows. Indeed, the Paramount would say they already do. So many, so very many falling leaves."

The boy was overwhelmed. Yet he stumbled on. He walked around the girl that stood in his way and up the gentle slope, seeing hints of the stone circle ahead to the left in the distance beyond, when the lightning sizzled.

She turned and followed a short distance.

"I cannot follow, silly old man. Meet me at the fords when you realize your folly."

He turned back then, because there was something in her voice that stung him.

He saw then that she was holding up a great lantern. Where it came from he did not know. It's light was warm and golden in the dark grey world. It shone only upon Zöe's little face, which now usurped the lights of the storm. A rhyme from his bed-time stories fluttered across his tongue, and he almost spoke it aloud. He saw perhaps that the girl nodded. "Yes - can you not see?," she seemed to be saying. He turned around and stared into the dark north where the great mountains, invisible, stood in defiant battle with the roaring vortex of the airs.

What was he to do?

He looked at his hands. They were old and feeble. Full of pockmarks and blemishes. The ragged and worn scars on both of them reminded him...

Reminders.

.

.

--Y--

He remembered that time in his youth. He had been bitten. So curious it had been. The great green wyrm of his grandmother's glade. He slowly hobbled the last few yards to the High Path. It's great marble blocks, intricately interlocked in fine-hewn geometric patterns shone pale in the light of the bolts of the heavens. He had not remembered the High Path was so constructed. But something clicked. He thought back to the upgrading of the roads in the time of his first Empire. He had caused to be taken up again the tradition of cylindrical seals for road markers. He looked at the crossing post, and it was smooth and had it's metal cap. There were graven symbols written all over it.

Suddenly he realized... The Letters! Ancientry! His letters. The true-writ. The books of Lore had began. His Great Library. And the first little library. Ah! The wizards had come to his City. They had dreamed the letters in their own time, but they saw only strange curses, which they had pondered together in wonder and fear, and awe of possibilities. They still feared them in those days. They did not know their purpose. They had yet to piece together the Order. There were great researches. There were too the great fleets of the sea. His fleets. He had seen the sea... and sailed it!. He had built and he had fought and he had studied and he taught.

O Elvenhome!

He remembered it all.

He had forgotten that he was tired.

He was so very tired.

Zöe's faint voice he heard again from behind him: "You heard the sea-birds' call and you did not follow. Though always I have shadowed your trail, follow me now."

--Z--.

The storm reached then to a great crescendo. Lighting bolts struck the stone circle, casting nine long shadows all about it, radiating outward. Eleven times the sky sent down white fire, and a small red flame sprung up from the crater, and orange-gold light glowed on the inner side of each of the tall dark stones.

Verily, he knew then that there was no small wooden house up there beyond, no humble farmstead, but rather a great castle redoubt. His great Keep - his first grand manorhouse with it's great tower and it's bells. And he knew also that it stood in ruins, as it had long stood, tumbled and shattered, it's bell cracked - along with all the hopes of his once-great people of that wonderful time. He had thought that all was lost, when the invaders came. But they had prevailed in their escape and grown in exile. They had rebuilt in far lands. Great things of beauty they had made, some of which perhaps survive yet. He had indeed forgotten much. Great bittersweet tides of emotion welled over him, and he heard the pitiful voice of an old man crying. His own voice.

He remembered the desert wastes, of his later kingdoms, grand and opulent, and those terrible wars and plagues, and intrigues. Ah! the small pyramid on the tributary that he had caused to be raised for his wife so long ago, in those years of exile. He remembered the Bastion and his Great Seat on the shiprock that overlooked it in longing.

He had never built his own, and one cannot enter what one has has not yet built. Why? How foolish he had been! What jeopardy had he bought upon the Change itself by so delaying?

He was resolved. He would step out over un-visited pools of salmon and climb the Spiders' web.

He remembered...

Tears ran from his eyes and joined the streams of water that seemed to be flooding the world. He fell to the muddy ground in a heap.

He began crawling. He turned back downhill, and abandoned all thought of the little wooden house. The streaming mud of the rain-hammered track caked his arms and body, and little loose stones tore at his palms. Upon his belly he began the long shivering journey down to the fords, and then on to the gorge. He saw in his mind the bones of Clipper, ancient and white in the glade that he would pass.

His legs were less useful now in aiding his movement. He paused one last time upon the way, and looked up from the muck at the riven, rain-washed sky. He could see a distant tetrad of familiar stars... and, Behold! :— glimmering Aurorae glowed upon the Eaves of the South, like as to ever-expanding Will-'O-Whisps.

He pulled himself onward down the hill with bent and tired fingers, along the rough, deluge-soaked track, full of rain-delved ruts and pouring runnels of dirty water. Sometimes he slipped and slid downhill. At all times his beard dragged in the mud beneath him, hindering his slow progress. Zöe walked along slowly and patiently next to him, carrying the lantern, chanting words he could not hear, but that he would remember.

.

— R.Ö.

Those were the last words I recalled of that evening by the campfire amongst those rough folk, for I fell into a very comfortable sleep, though not without strange flickers of dream.

.

..

...

..

.

..

...

..

.

.

A Vessel

In the Words I waited Long.

A secret lurking silent Song.

My Phylactery of Letters

Being cast upon the Earth,

and Times upon Times

They came and They went -

and I waited for my Rebirth.

Indeed I Languished,

.. uncounted Suns and more,

Meas'ring Æons for the One -

an Ælven Child with the Key:

that would walk the Maze -

he'd cross the Bridge -

and climb the Shivered Tree...

...

..

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

No sight had I.

One thing was heard.

The Bottle dark

that held my Word:

unassailable, at times I feared.

I despaired that He would come,

the Fated Master of the Seas

that my Labyrinth had run.

I waited for the Dawning Day,

when the Ancient One would rise:

the Olden Soul in Child's mind

to Unseal my Brazen Prize.

When Day is Night,

and Moon and Sun,

their Mingled Lights

together run,

When every Eye

looks in upon

itself and I

We Become.

.

.

"I waited for the Dawn of Dark Days" = 911 primes

Örpherischt, 06 August, 2021, 19:46:54 pm UTC

.

The Inner Sea of Fairyland

Map #1:

A map drawn by an illiterate traveller of Fairyland, augmented by the work of an amateur cartographer with some knowledge of the letters.

The traveller is said to have spent what seemed to him some years in the mysterious regions illustrated, but was confused upon his return, for only a few months had passed in the lands of his home.

The wanderer was apparently overwhelmed by the variety of wonders he saw, and the lore taught to him by the residents of the realms of the Speaking People - these being the most well-travelled and generally less perilous of the greater unknown. Unfortunately, though having a mind for geography, he remembered little of the nomenclature, and hence the placenames on the map are those names the traveller gave the localities himself, based on the generalized activity he witnessed in them.

The traveller came upon these lands, according to his own tale, by entering a small cave behind a waterfall. This cave was very low-roofed and dark, but it emerged into a deep gorge and an open sky. The land was temperate, unlike the cold clime of his mountainous pinewoods. He eventually came to realize he was in another realm - another world. He came to meet friendly pilgrims on the road to Mermaids Cove, a port city of the Crown Vales beyond the Elf Towers of the northern coasts of the Middle Sea.

The traveller traveled.

He spoke highly of the feast-halls in the City of Bards, where regular flyting tournaments were held. The traveller relates that he was surprised by the sophisticated below-the-belt humour of the goblins of the Cleftwood Hills that made pilgrimage to take part.

The music halls of Wreath-bluff and Twilight Havens are apparently not to be missed, along with all the finest tasting fare.

He told also of the eerie mound-houses all along the coasts overlooked by the Druid Academy, wherein the grim students of high incantations pondered their daily lesson from the masters.

The intrepid traveller tells of large and fell dragons, winged and wingless, that dwell in fine carven cities on a mighty island in the middle of the Middle Sea - an island of strange crystalline rock that glows gently at night (being perhaps an ancient petrified stump of a colossal gem-tree). But these wyrms are not dangerous to those that travel the lands innocently, and they are indeed a fine source of the Lore of Fairyland. We are informed that the sea-serpents of the cave city west of the port of Mermaid's Cove are also friendly, at least if one is accompanied by locals. These are the Mamlãmbö, the tantric acolytes of Mãmi Váhta, who is regarded as avatara of an High Umóyãrin of Water that sometimes dwells there. In dark caverns inside the rocky northern bluff, the acolytes of Unùn, thirteen initiates of the Mamlãmbö, led by four high priestesses, guard the graven crystal tablets of the Successions of Faery (subsets of those originally tabulated by the ancients that first experienced the bite of Watamaräka-änyava). These matters are recalled during the Dispensation during the rituals of the Permutations of the Elders. The library of Unùn is not the primary library of the realm, however, which is found rather in the Crown Lands (not depicted, off-map to the north-east).

The Traveller spoke of many varieties of terrain, of plant-life, of beast and bird, and of sentient creatures flourishing in every sense. He told that the place was not just infused with magic, but that the geography itself, along with all its denizens was the true expression of magic, and indeed generated thereby. He spoke of Archetypes coming into being. He spoke very strangely, it must be said.

There was no idea that he might conceive that was not to be found there, in those lands, in the flesh or in phenomena of the place.

Telling the Elven sages of Ålaweh Öhlär of some of his strangest dreams from his mundane life at home, he was directed to various places in the mountains where the things he had seen in earthly dreams might be encountered in truth. The traveller went, and indeed, it was so.

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Dangers

Future documentation of the knowledge of these lands is forthcoming. Making use of this map, additional expeditions are preparing.

Anyone making their own journeys must be warned away (until additional information appears) from the Alpen inlet and the Nousmere (Sea of Inner Knowledge). The winds are said to be frigid and stormy, with great squalls a regular occurance. It's coasts are home to strange reeds as tall as skyscrapers, and multi-headed hydra impersonate the reeds on the slime-coated banks.

The areas marked dangerous on the map are also advised against, unless a well-armed contingent of Öberon's knights are willing to travel with you, perhaps aided by a sorcerer of the Moving Mountains.

The traveller spoke in whispers of vampyric demons haunting the Grove of the Circle, and any journey in the south-east to be unwise, generally.

The Mountains of Wisdom are very tall, and very challenging to climb, but it's vales and slopes are full of wonderful trails and mysterious flowers with enchanting odours. However, the traveller warned against entering any caves not already charted (or indeed already converted by mountain hermits into living quarters and temples) - for there are many deep caverns that descend into unknown and lightless depths, that howl with winds that blow with greater fury than the strongest atmospheric storm on Earth. These underground wind-blasts are strangely synchronized with storms occurring over the Nousmere and in the region of the Sea of Ledh (and particularly Danger Point), as though there is some sort of spatial portal or sky-vortex between these locations.

The Moving Mountains are named for the curious localized earthquakes that happen there regularly. Only occasionally, in times of great turmoil in the Crown Lands, do quakes occur that are large enough to be felt wider abroad. At these times, there are tsunamis in the Middle Sea, but most of the population centers on the coastline are well-fortified against all manner of strange fairy phenomena.

There are boggy marshes in the flats between the Moving Mountains and the bluff of Smoky Point, said to contain very slimy ponds and areas of quicksand.

The glowing forest on the Cape of Nymphs is also said to be perilous, particularly at evening and dawn.

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The Fairy Folk

From the traveller we learn of some of the fairy tribes - their names being their 'open names' - those given freely to outsiders, and certainly not their real names. These summaries will be expanded as additional information becomes available.

Afarim ( M'moatia of Afa, or Apha )

The Afarim, the people of Afa are residents of the Ambalands, dwelling in two widely separated strongholds, one in the Nymph-wood of the south-western parts, and another smaller colony across the sea on the shores of the deep inlet near Mãmi Váhta's caverns. They are known for producing great sculptors, and from their folk descended many famous agriculturalists that were foundational in the taming of the Middle Sea regions in ages past. The Afarim are most closely related to the Elf clans of the Aparim, Abarim and also the people of Ava, many of whom share a similar geographical distribution as those fae under discussion. All of these groups, it is thought, are descendants of the ancient ancestral Aba, child of the mythical elf-queen Åmbaraiḥa, said to be daughter of the first M'moatia that arose in Fairyland.

The high families of the M'moatia tribe of the Apharim bear the device of a war-mace, and these elves mostly wield spiky morningstars when they are called upon to do battle. The warriors of the tribe, beneath their chieftains, the Åfãr, maintain a glorious history of warfare, harking back to the more tumultuous times of the migrations long ago, and still today many of their men and woman join the armies of Öberon that keep the Middle Sea region safe from the great evils of the Borderlands and Forgotten Reaches. These days they are a more settled folk, but they remain easily roused.

The elves of Apha communicate using a combination of telepathic emotion transfer that represents the bulk of their speech, but this is augmented with subtle fluttering hisses and quick breathy sounds. The range of their telepathic contact is amongst the greatest of the mind-speaking M'moatia, for they can hold converse with friends that dwell many miles away. By contrast, most of the other telepathic elves have a much shorter range of utterance, being able to speak only with those in their immediate vicinity.

The M'moatia of the Afarim are quite tall, most being somewhat taller than the average man, and they are very lithe of limb. Some have described them as appearing long-boned and malnourished, when compared to the stockier fleshy, muscular frames of humans. Nonetheless they are very strong, and can move very quickly, their muscles being almost all wiry tendon. They are a fiery and energetic people, never quite seeming at ease, and many other elven folk (and more so menfolk) find them somewhat disconcerting, for their emotions bleed through telepathically to disturb others nearby, quite against the desire of the Afarim themselves. They are not savages or wantonly violent, however, and are always as civil as they can be when meeting friendly strangers.

Surprisingly, the long-range chaotic emotional telepathy of the Afarim has stood the fairies in good stead in warfare, for depending on the enemies they face, it acts as a kind of morale-disturbing force. The down-side is that warriors of other houses that will fight together with the folk of Afa usually require some extra training to overcome its' effects themselves. Certain exercises and rituals have been devised for this purpose by the Atarim and Adarim, and through these, many great new friendships and alliances have been made between the elves of Afa and other fairy clans.

Aparim and Abarim ( M'moatia of Apa and Aba )

The Aparim dwell together with their close cousins, the folk of Aba, on the far west coasts, north and south, at the mouth of the Middle Sea, where it meets the Outer Ocean. These two tribes (particularly the Aparim) are known far and wide as the finest percussionists of the Fairy-folk, revering the Umóyar known as Gõr as holding the right Chiefdom of the Inhlanganešó of the Drum and like most of the M'Moatia, despising the fallen Gaùnab. The Aparim are mindspeakers, communicating primarily with short range telepathy, and this language is augmented with strange set of (sometimes rather loud) plosive utterances and even hand-clap sequences. Their cousins, the Abarim, are the powerful and booming Singers of the Caves known for their deep and sonorous singing voices. They have some small ability to commune with minds, but this is said to be mostly emotional and not informational. Their spoken speech (when trained) is very fair, and not a few famous orators have risen from their ranks. The Traveller relates that he found both the Aparim and Abarim generally tend to speak amongst themselves very quickly and rather loudly, to the point that some other tribesfolk label them 'babblers', and thus it is those Abarim that have learned to slow their enunciation that tend to act as emissaries and diplomats to foreign peoples that speak with voice.

Fairy legends maintains that is likely that the Aparim and Abarim were the first of the M'moatia to arrive on the far western shores of Elfland, and were key in taming and settling it. Thus they are important folk in the founding of the entire Middle Sea region.

The Aparim are known widely for their masterful drumming guild, but they are also superior fruit farmers, and fishermen. Their chefs are prized imports to the folk of the north at times of feast and celebration. They fish by spearfishing, but their weapon is their pulsing underwater song that stuns their quarry. Aparim are often found at the City of the Bards, and many of the taverns employ them in various capacities for short durations. Most yearn to return home to the westlands after a time, and rarely travel further east than the capital city or the Bard-town.

The Aparim and Abarim are known collectively as the Aӎbarim, for they are friends with the Um̥byrim (that is, merfolk, the M'moatia of the Undersea, that often recline upon the rocks of the shorelines of the Elfend).

The Aparim and Abarim keep a rather low profile, and to casual observers, appear to be somewhat rustic and simple, but the Traveller relates that he suspected a great power was veiled within their communities, and certain individuals of their tribe are said to be revered as great elf-lords by sages of the other clans. A number of the mightiest and most steadfast of the Aparim and Abarim are said to be in the employ of the Druid Academy of Thangland, and perhaps there are indeed royal druids, or Apashee, cloistered amongst them.

Anarim ( M'moatia of Ana )

In the lands just east of Mãmi Váhta's caverns, live the Anarim, the people of Ana, whose original homeland is far to the north-east, but who follow the teachings of Khãnyab with regards to the visions of Watamaraka. Mãmi Váhta was said to be born of the Anarim.

The lands of these folk extend between (and to the north of) the caverns of Mãmi Váhta on the great rocky peninsula to the west (which is the southernmost projection of the northern coasts of the Middle Sea) to the region of the city of Mermaids' Cove. The people of Ana (as suspected of many of the Elves) came from the Crown Lands long ago, but have forgotten their time there. They are very large, amongst the tallest of the common fae, their eyes black, and their dark hair streaked with mercurial silver. Their queen is said to be unique in having golden copper hair with fangs longer than those of the kin in general. Her eyes glow amber-green, according to rumour heard by the traveller, who visited the chambers of Mãmi Váhta on his fifth major journey during his time in Fairyland. The traveller relates that the totem of the Anárim is the serpent. They are fine smiths, and are famous for their scale armour that shines like those of a silverfish. The Anarim trade with the folk of Ara, primarily in the furs of wild beasts that lurk in the mountain forests.

Adarim ( M'moatia of Ada )

The Adarim, the people of Ada, dwell almost exclusively in the City of the Elf Tower, on the north coast, along with a number of their little cousins, the telepathic Atarim (many or most of whom live in Mermaid's Cove and do not speak vocally other than in the occasional twittering shorthand). The M'moatia of the Adarim can open portals to any place they've already visited, and take a companion with them. Nonetheless, they often visit the Twilight Havens by boat when they are in no hurry.

The folk of Ada are large-bodied, almost as tall as the Anarim, and most are dark haired, but for their eyebrows, which are long and pale. The Adava (females) are rather shorter than the Adaha (males). They all have deep voices, and speak slowly but with great eloquence, pronouncing their syllables precisely and impact-fully. The Adarim, as already related, are able to transfer themselves instantly to any place they have already visited (and in certain circumstances, to other places undergoing certain active phenomena). They do this using a word that only their race can naturally and properly pronounce, for they have unusually wide and flat tongues. Thus they are known as the Doormakers.

Accordingly, their tall Tower City, a single colossal spire of smooth labradorite stone, built on a foundation of four ziggurats and said to contain 1,166 flights of stairs, has many triangular-shaped, arched doors (of more mundane, though patiently carven, manufacture - and as you might imagine, have little need to be opened or closed). The more important of these are flanked with pillars of rose-quartz or moonstone, and have emerald keystones.

The Elf-Tower is situated in the rolling dales of the province of Ålaweh Öhlär, of which Mermaid's Cove is the most populace city. The Elf-Tower, itself a great bastion and city in it's own right, is situated a little way inland from a large bay where are many fishing villages, and is surrounded by groves of holly trees. It is something of an administrative center, and a place of language learning. The Ada are very capable translators, and often act as intermediaries in the political spheres of the Capital City of the M'moatia of the Middle Sea. Many of the historians of the Capital to the north-east travel to the Elf-Tower to consult the Ada and their libraries that contain the results of much interpretative and speculative researches.

The Adarim are not strong hunters or farmers, and depend largely on the Asharim for their diet of fish, and in return, the missionaries of the Asharim make occasional use of the folk of Ada for high speed transportation. As previously mentioned, the relationship is somewhat strained, for reasons that remained elusive to the traveller.

Within Adarim society, the youth and adults, male and female are divided into four 'houses'. The Adaba have a flame as their totem, while the Adarie have a drop of water. The adult Adaha and Adava have a cloud blowing over a plain, and a tall rolling wave crashing upon a great stone, as their respective sigils. The traveller relates vaguely that the M'moatia of the Ada have some strange association with the powers of the elements. A young boy of their clan could most easily transport one to a distant region currently or once ravaged by forest fire, just as an old woman could whisk one directly to a strong mountain fortress under attack.

Atarim ( M'moatia of Ata )

The Atarim, briefly mentioned previously, are telepathic, and their only vocal utterances are staccato bird-like twitters. The people of Ata are rather short-statured and slim, though there are a few exceptions that are much taller and long-limbed, though they appear frail. The colour of the hair of the Atarim ranges widely. These folk are scrivers, and very adept at calculation and charting, and the observations of the cycles of time in Fairyland (which are entirely non-trivial). The Atarim are enthusiastic stargazers, and perhaps 400 of them dwell in the topmost quarters (twenty flights or so) of the Elf Tower. They are known for their practice of tattooing themselves with maps of the celestial phenomena that are to govern their lives. The talents of the Atarim have been used in the past for the planning of cities in peacetime, and so too the plotting of war strategy in times of trouble. In terms of the interactions seen by the traveller, it seemed to him that the Adarim and Atarim had a strange reciprocal relationship. In certain spheres of daily activity, one group was viewed by another as almost anathema, and vise versa, but in other spheres, they suddenly behaved as though they were the best of friends. He could not make head or tale of the truth of the situation.

The Adarim, while apparently not telepathic, seem to be adept at decoding the minimal utterances and body language of the Atarim, and they ably co-exist.

While it would seem the population of the Adarim and Atarim would have to be rather small, given their limited geographical spread, the Elf Tower holds certain mysteries, or so the traveller was told... The Adarim offer limited services to others, most often for payment, or in respect of friends, to be whisked to disparate locales of the Middle Sea region, but the folk of Ada and Ata never remain too long away from their tower. When they do travel for pleasure, as with many north-coast peoples, the destination is often the Twilight Havens or Bard Town. These places they reach most often using the ferries of the Asharim. The folk of Ada (around five hundred individuals) maintain a small rural academy of spell-craft in the eastern of the twin cities of Twilight Havens, which has a number of large fruit fields worked by the youth of the Aparim and other wandering elves that desire a short stay of work for board and lodging.

Asharim ( M'moatia of Aša )

The fairy tribe of the Asharim, the people of Asha ( Aša or Aʃa ) that dwell in the lands about the Tower of Sages, east and somewhat north of Mermaid's Cove, and south-west of the Capital City of the Middle Sea region. These peoples are great lovers of the sea, and their telepathic songs are said to speak much of it's mysterious wonders. Their hair is white from birth. Their eyes glow like phosphorescence in the waves, and they can communicate over long distances using hand-sign language combined with flashes of their eyes. The Asharim (Ašarim) are great friends with the Anarim that live nearby, but are somewhat at odds politically with the folk of Ada that live in the Tower-City itself, though they are co-dependents and benefit each from the other. The Ašarim build small domed houses and temples, and also carve dwellings into the giant mushrooms that grow nearer to the mountains to the northwest (north of Mermaid's Cove). It is the Ašarim that provide the majority of ferry boat travel across the Middle Sea.

Asarim ( M'moatia of Asa ) [ "Ahsarim" ]

The Asharim (discussed in the previous entry) have sharp teeth, almost fang-like, which can be quite intimidating, but theirs are not as long and dangerous as those of their somatic cousins, the Asarim, who are not fully telepathic, but have a very subtle and well-developed body language. Their skill with purely spoken speech is minimal, being made difficult by their substantial fangs and the unusual tongue shapes they possess in order to accommodate them. Their kind tend to struggle with vowel-heavy language, and collapse many related consonants down to a single sound.

The Asarim have hair that ranges widely from ebony black to reddish-blond. In the main, they are tall and slender, but a not insignificant portion of their population is of shorter stature, and less willowy.

The Asarim dwell in a similar geographical distribution as their cousins, the Asha, or at least that is so in terms of the coastlands. The Asarim themselves have colonized and settled more widely inland, and many smaller groups travelled south, crossing the Middle Sea, or the waters further south-east, and came to populate the southern coasts quite early in the history of the translations of the fae. The folk of Asa can be found all along Druids' Reach, and further inland all over the northern part of the Moving Mountains. They frequent Shimbelante and have been spotted dwelling as far afield as the shores of Shuvavigalya Bay. In the North, they travel regularly to Mami Wata's Caverns and the nearby locales on regular pilgrimages.

The people of Asa are known to sire powerful sibyls, speaking strange mysteries and prophecies to those that would listen (and that can understand their multi-medium utterances). Those with supernatural vision claim the Asarim radiate a powerful auroral vortex about their heads (all creatures exhibit an aura, of course, but those of the Asarim are said to twist and wave about in an unusual fashion). The Asarim use javelins crafted by the Atsarim, a small cloistered tribe that dwell in shore-villages near Mermaid's Cove, for hunting and fishing.

Ararim ( M'moatia of Ara )

The people of Ara - the Ararim - are supreme choir singers, capable of great feats of voice, using them indeed in war, for they are capable of disturbing the foundations of buildings. These folk are also shapechangers, and often seen running in the hills of the Mountains of Wisdom in the form of great hounds of the hunt. Their main dwellings are amongst the low rolling hills north of Mermaid's Cove, which they share with the Anarim. Their folk send many scholars to the Academies of the Capital, where they often reach high positions. Individuals of the Ararim are known to make frequent pilgrimage to Dragon Islanda in the middle of the Middle Sea, staying there for extended periods to converse with the wyrms that house within it's carven cavern temples, and to partake of their ancient traditional vision quests in the petrified woods on the south-east of the landmass. The folk of Ara have long heads, with hair often reddish in colour, and are more likely to be bearded than most of the M'moatia. Like many of the folk of the north, they travel often to the south east - to the Twilight Havens and the City of Bards, and do much trade with the folk of those regions. The Ara have befriended the great seahorses of Mermaids Cove, and they ride these across the waves, rather than travel by boat.

Agarim ( M'moatia of Aga )

The Agarim are the folk of Aga. These are numerous forest people that live in the Valourwood, but they are hardy travellers and often found elsewhere. The Agarim are rare amongst the people of the Crown Vales in that they often travel far into the eastern deserts, and have colonies in the Garden Wood of Anažadùn. They have greenish skin and grey hair. They are capable of going without drinking water for extended periods due to their ritual training over many generations. Much like the Adarim, the folk of Aga value eloquent minimalistic speech and the sacrifice of charity. They generally practice a form of asceticism, but those that become prosperous are very generous with their wealth. The Agarim have seven temple retreats, five of which are located in the Valourwood, and two in the Garden Forests to the east. These are managed by the three Agarhai, the Guardian Chiefs of their people, who travel between them on a rotational basis. The more mobile of the Agarim have taken unto themselves the duty of boundary-wardens of the desert borders. They will attempt to stop unprepared travellers from heading too far east or south-east, for the travellers' own good. Due to their zealous activity in this regard, some have been led to believe they are keeping something in the desert lands secret. These rumours are heightened by the great alchemical skill of these folk, one of the earliest of the peoples of Fairyland to invent blasting fire for the purpose of warfare (and also entertainment).

Ayãrim ( M'moatia of Aya )

The people of Aya, the Ayãrim, dwell mainly in the lands about their chief's stately mansion, the house of Öberon, known as the Palace of Årdhigùl-æyašnn. Öberon, or more properly, Yberón (*), is the High King of all the lands of the Middle Sea region - those lands rendered upon the map of concern. The folk of Aya are shorter in stature than many fae, but they are mighty sorcerers, and shrewd politicians. The majority of the Ayãrim have bright green eyes and glassy colourless hair that often appears white or platinum-silver, while the minority have tresses of raven black. The smallest group have heads and beards with a tinge of red or ginger, which is thought to be from a subtle admixture of Arãrim blood. The architecture of the mansions of the great families of Aya, with their strong yet unobtrusive palisades, are very impressive, with high domes and organic towers and fluted spires. Their lands, planted everywhere with giant trees almost as tall as their towers, are central along the north coast of the Sea, almost directly north of the Dragon's Isle. Indeed the Ayãrim spend much time in converse with the Wyrms of the glowing marine redoubt. Some say also that Yberón travels at times to the Crown Lands to converse with the Great Power of Fairyland.

Azarim ( M'moatia of Aza )

The M'moatia of the Azarim, the folk of Aza, are tall and strong fae of the Crown Vales. They are close cousins of the Asharim and of the folk of Asa, and share the fang-like teeth and talent for swimming of those peoples. The Azaha, the males of the race, have chameleon skin that can change colour and blend in with the surroundings. Some of the other families of M'moatia also exhibit this trait, but not nearly as complete or controlled as the folk of Aza, who have mastered the art of camouflage. Meanwhile, the Azava, the females of the breed, are ebony-skinned on their limbs, legs and backs, but pearly grey on their bellies and chests. Their skin exhibits the colour-changing ability only in the face and hands, and to much lesser degree. The skin of the male and female Azarim exhibit small scaly protrusions on their shoulders and thighs, and they are strong-boned, even in the skull.

The folk of Aza are a numerous and widely distributed, found all the way from the peninsula of Mãmi Váhta's caverns in the west, to the Land of Palaces nigh to Oberon's home eastward. The Azarim are well-spoken, with a sibilant edge to their pronunciation. The lady Azava are known widely as soothsayers and dream-seers, and the most powerful of their oracles operate from a number of temples and groves all along the north coast.

They are divided into a number of loose-knit tribes, some of which are quite warlike, and these enter into service with Oberon's armies and as personal guardians to many important statemen, Azaha and Azari alike. While the Azarim are apt pupils of the warriors' way, these people are certainly not uncultured, and are accorded high status throughout the kingdom of the Middle Sea. They are disciplined and patient fighters yet also keen students of ethics and the moralities of fairyland, and they are historically renowned in their defenses of the gentler lands from wilder elements beyond their borders. The knights of Oberon wield long keen swords of the finest manufacture.

The Knights of the South are a separate group of peacekeepers that perform errantry from Twilight Havens to the Druid Academy, and many of the best picked warriors of the Aza are amongst them.

The Azar, the military chiefs of the Azarim, ride serpents known as Azhdãr (*), a dangerous species that lair in the Moving Mountains southward, and a larger kind is found in the eastern valleys of the Mountains of Wisdom. The folk of Aza and the Anarim are the only M'moatia that have managed to tame and breed these particular beasts of Fairyland. The sages of Ada apparently offered certain aid, it is said, in the early attempts to do so. The Azarim were also first to tame, and begin the husbandry of the large flying Azhdãrkha, curious long-necked, short-tailed, very bird-like dragons that wade at lakeshores, and with the help of the Aka, designed fine riding saddles that the creatures are comfortable wearing. A number of enterprising travellers have made great journeys on the backs of these wondrous steeds.

Of those not of a combative bent, and willing to undertake more curious risks, some Azarim are employed, for their large size and strong limbs as prison guards or wardens in the dungeons of Wizards studying wild creatures, demons and other strange, dangerous species.

The people of Aza are the source of many of the finest engineers and craftsmen and women of fairyland, always found to be involved in great building projects or renovation activity. Many strange tools, inventions and effective weapons they have devised over the ages. In these tasks they collaborate often with the folk of Aka, the masters of architecture and handiwork.

It can be here said that many of their kind enjoy the practice of bee-keeping (and the bees of Fairyland are large indeed, and their hives produces prodigious quantities of the finest golden liquid). Some of their honey farms are naturally placed where the bees live, but they have also built many great 'honey temples' with which they attract Queen bees to start new hives within. (*) (*)

The Azarim are a sensual folk, lovers of adventure and of experiencing the many wonders of fairyland. The Azarie are known as observant match-makers, detecting when a pair of M'moatia are likely to be romantically compatible.

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NOTE: A number of the twenty-four elven tribes has not yet been described.

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Clan names and derivation

Notes - naming of the folk (of the M'moatia Tribe of Ana, for example):

This naming system holds across all the commonly encountered M'moatia of Fairyland that speak with voice.

In the case of the different tribes, it appears that the ancestral given names ('Ana', 'Ara', etc) are actually a form of cartouche: <ANA>, which symbolises the elven people on the left and right hand of (in this case), 'N', which appears in each case to be a sigil of the divinity under which each folk took their primary tutelage in the Land-we-do-not-see. The domains of these divinities being the fields of knowledge and activity of all M'moatia. Many of the followers of the divine N take as totem the fish and/or the serpent, and thus have an association with water.

This grammar extends in quite an interesting fashion, and is too great a matter to attend to in detail, but for example. We might describe a certain chieftain of the Anarim as 'Enar'. The 'E" as opposed to 'A' means that the chief is over-eager in certain duties to the detriment of others, 'gathering' too energetically in some way, yet still dispensing at a requisite level. This might lead towards an imbalance: he might end up exhausted, or lash out at his juniors. Meanwhile, an 'Aner' is a leader of the Ana who is micromanaging.

Named M'moatia of Fairyland (as collected by the Traveller):

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Geography of Fairyland (partial document)

O/1. Named Region and Locations as per the Traveller

Regions:

Outer Ocean - All the waters beyond the Middle Sea region and the Great Continent of Fairyland.

Crown Lands - Not shown on the map - to the north and east. From whence all or most of the M'moatia of the Middle Sea regions once came, it is thought.

Crown Vales - The 'royal lands' of the North Coast region. Also known anciently as the Orf-lands ('roof-lands').

Borderlands - Those regions, north, south, and east, that represent the outward extremities of the familiar, populated and peaceful realms of the Middle Sea and those lands that surround it.

Unknown Reaches - The unknown or forgotten lands beyond the Borderlands. Some consider the Outer Ocean to be included by this denomination.

Nous and the Nousmere - A narrow and stormy sea with it's inlet to the north of the opening of the Middle Sea to the Outer Ocean. All the lands surrounding this water to the north of the Mountains of Wisdom are the Nouslands. The Notchwood is found north and west of the Nousmere, on the northwestern-most of the mapped lands.

Ambaland ( or Elfend, sometimes Tithelynta ) - The western-most lands and peninsulas of the Middle Sea region - those lands north (Ambaland) and south (Shimbelanté) of the exit of the Middle Sea to the Outer Ocean. Many birch trees grow in the forests of Ambaland, particularly on the north shore, and alder trees are seen also in the south, particularly in the Nymphwood. These regions contain the Exilic Cities, also known as the Cities of Libel, of which the Traveller mentioned two: the City of Exiled Singers (properly Rath Sheedh-Lavhãl, and the City of Exiled Bards (or Rath Nya-Labhãl). The small holdings around these lands are thus the provinces of Nya-Labhãl upon the North Shores, and on the Southern Shores are Shee-Lavhãl. Grapes are cultured in Ambaland, wine being a great favourite of the M'moatia, though the wine of fairyland is said to be prepared quite differently to the mundane wines of the mortal realm.

Middle Sea, or Inner Sea -The great sea of the Speaking People of Fairyland.

Dragons' Rock ( or Dragon Islanda) - A large island bastion with a number of cities that are home to mighty and sagacious dragons. Palm trees imported from the lands of Pharaoh's Harbour grow thickly here, along with other varieties from Wreath Bluff and elsewhere. Golden aspen trees grow also on the northern parts.

North Shore [text unreadable]

Western Shores [text unreadable]

Eastern Shores [text unreadable]

Mountains of Wisdom [text unreadable]

Alpen Inlet [text unreadable]

Notchwood [text unreadable]

Ålaweh Öhlär - One of the most populous provinces of the Crown Vales of the North Shore. Famous for it's hills and valleys of great oak forests and thick groves of ash trees. The banks of the rivers that run down from the Mountains of Wisdom to the sea are home to many large willow trees. The city of Mermaid's Cove and the Tower City of the Adarim are within these lands.

Valourwood - A great forest upon the east of the North Shore of the Middle Sea, with mighty trees of many species, and deep-shadowed glades that are the home to many creatures of the hunt. Hazel thickets abound, and it is easy to get very lost in the maze of myriad trails that thread between them. Aspen trees are found mostly in the east, and there are great oaks on the western eaves.

Vinelands - A relatively narrow but lengthy peninsula that runs north-south upon the east of the Middle Sea. The peninsula has it's root east and south of the Valourwood. A narrow sea runs on it's eastern side, dividing it from the scrub and desert lands to the further east. This low-lying realm is known as the 'Vineyard of Elfhome', it is the center of the wine-making industry of Fairyland. There are forests on it's easternmost side, and also to the north, where the eaves of these merge with those of the Valourwood itself. Hawthorn is found natively here. There is an island off the southernmost point of the peninsula that is home to many of the finest garden resorts. It is possible at low tide to get across to it from the main peninsula at low tide, but you have to run.

Thangle Land - The large southern landmass to the south of the Middle Sea that claims much of the Southern shores as it's northern territory. The realm extends from Wreathbluff (it's far north-western end) to the west of Smoky Point, but north of the Cleftwood Hills which are properly part of Ayavraland (or Ajavraland). The Cleftwood Hills merge with the south-eastern portion of the Moving Mountains of Thangle Land proper. The most populous locales of the Thangle are the Twin Cities of the Liminalanté, or the Twilight Havens: named Wreathbluff and Coronaltava (otherwise known most-formally as Ocaronaeava). Yew trees grow in small groves across much of Thangle Land (and are found also in Ålaweh Öhlär, but there they are rarer). So too elder trees are found in these lands, and many willows are also found in the more well-watered parts of the region, though these tend not to get as large as those found on the North Shores from Ålaweh Öhlär in the west to the Land of Palaces in the east.

Cape of Nymphs ( otherwise known as Ynshee ) [text unreadable]

Twilight Havens ( or Liminalanté ) [text unreadable]

Wreath Bluff ( otherwise Phaxalanté, or Ahvigæla / Aphigæla ) - The name of the peninsula at the north-western extremity of Thangle Land, that wraps around Shúvavigalya Bay. The name 'Wreath Bluff' is also given to the western-most of the Liminalanté (ie. the Twin Cities). The region of Wreathbluff (the north-west of Thangland) is known by very many names amongst the M'moatia of the western coasts. It is oft colloquially described as 'The Spear'. It is also known widely as the 'Crown of the South' as it is perhaps the most prosperous region of the southern parts of the Middle Sea kingdom. The region of Wreathbluff combined with the Cape of Nymphs and Smoky Point are known as Shimbelanté, that is, the Southern Ambaland. There are many famous groves of elder trees in Wreathbluff (note: Wreath Bluff is not named on Map 1).

Smoky Point ( or Tidhashee ) - A tall rocky extension of the northern parts of the Cleftwood Hills that juts out into Shuvavigalya Bay, which has it's inlet just south of the entrance to the Middle Sea from the Outer Ocean.

Shúvavigalya Bay ( or Shúvaphigalya Bay ) - A large bay east of the bluff of Smoky Point, and south of, and enclosed by Wreath Bluff. The lands to the east of the bay are dangerous fens and boggy marshes. (note: the bay is not named on Map 1)

Moving Mountains - The great heights of the Thangle Land. Known for regular earthquakes. Frequented by druids of the Druid Academy.

Bardsea ( or Enthyródrešil ) - The lands surrounding the City of Bards, aka. Greater Bardtown, on the South Shores of the Middle Sea.

Druid's Reach ( or Vahýndrasil ) - the lands and shores west of the Bardsea.

Palace Lands - The Imperial Family Estates of Yberon's people.

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Other cities shown on the Map:

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Of the Moving Mountains

A map of the lands on the south of the Middle Sea, the greater part of which is known (variously, depending on local dialects) as Thangle, The Thangle, Thangland, Thangaland, Thanglaland, or the Thangle Lands.

This large country is dominated by the Moving Mountains that rise to their heights in the north and east, and the great bay of Shúvavigalya sits as counterpoint westward.

As it is said in the introductory document:

The westernmost portion of this realm is Shimbelanté (that is, Southern Ambaland - where the Ambalands in general, north and south of the mouth of the Middle Sea, are also known together as Tithelynta, or less formally as Elfend). The northern coasts to the west of the land are Enthyródrešil (Bardsea), and to the east Vahýndrasil (Druid's Reach). The southern portion is Ayävraland, where the forested Cleftwood Hills rise as they march north-eastward, and merge with the foothills of the Moving Mountains, whose massifs dominate Thangland proper.

The more populous northern parts of the Moving Mountains and of greater Thangland have been somewhat tamed by the workings of the fellowship of the Druid Academy, having the aid of many generations of adventurers that set out from Bardtown, but the southern portions are much wilder, and though the goblins of the Cleftwood regions are vastly more civilized than those found almost anywhere else, their many monstrous neighbours have not integrated into Yberon's kingdom nearly as successfully.

The largest population centers of Thangland are the Twin Cities of Liminalanté, the Twilight Havens, founded upon Wreath Bluff (Phaxalanté), that wraps around and gives shape to Shúvavigalya Bay. These cities and all of the realm of Shimbelanté are very popular with holidaymakers visiting from the Crown Lands across the sea.

In the bowl formed in the western hollow between the Moving Mountains and the great bay is a wide lowland of plains, marsh, fens and shallow river valleys, known as Firyn Ulumn. Quicksands are a danger here. The marshlands closer to Smoky Point and the Bay of Shúvavigalya are well known for their rank slimes and maze-like paths through their reeds and mangroves. The only major population center in this area is a farming town named Sooth, closer to the peaks eastward, and on slightly higher ground. Sooth is considered something of a frontier town by most of the fae tribes that live north of it. Many fae look down their nose at the inhabitants of this region, but a number of key crops and other exports have ensured it's relative importance.

The Great Mountains of Wisdom

An unfinished map of the Mountains of Wisdom, those rooted upon the northern side of the Middle Sea.

This map was drawn by the Old Sage for the Traveller, guiding the young man to the location and time that he might escape Fairyland, and return to his home after his sojourn amongst the merry folk of King Yberön.

The map was sent to the Linguistics Society by the Traveller some time later than his delivery of the bulk of the original manuscripts of the Sage. The map he at first kept to himself, for he realized during his escape that the place of his exit was indeed the location of his first arrival in the Realm, and due to his awe and wonderment of possibilities decided to have a copy made for himself by a trusted friend before he delivered this original into the hands of our Order.

The map itself was originally contained in a sleeve within the binding cover of the Sages documents. The Traveller tells that the illustration was a work that the old man had begun before the arrival of the interloper, and that it was to be a gift for the Lord Yberön, but the plight of the Traveller was such that the Sage changed his purposes for the map, and had said that he would begin anew on a finer work for the King's gift.

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The Mound

They were upon the Heath,

When they heard a Sound,

Of strange Festivities,

Beneath the Ground.

It echoed from the far Beyond,

From deep below yon Fairy Mound.

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Behold!

A lilting Voice... and Panpipes sweet...

They heard Laughter, Jests; the Trickster's feats.

The Ringing Sounds of Swords a'duel.

An Elven Prince denounce a Fool.

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A Dinner Bell then Rang aloud:

Sweet meats and mead, served after Vows...

. bethought the Listeners beyond the Shroud

.. of Stone and Earth and Elven veil,

... that Wondrous Hour 'pon Heathen Hill.

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All these Things the Strangers heard,

But none of it they ever shared,

For Unseelie Queen then spake a Word,

And all was but the Speech of Birds.

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Örpherischt, 3 March, 2020, at 2:27 AM local time

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The Galahad

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Begirt with Words and Mantle Dark,

. The Knight deports to seek the Spark

.. 'neath forest leaves of trackless trail,

... for Twilit Path twixt yonder Vale.

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'T hath no Beginning, nor doe it End,

.. that Silent Source that weaves the Fens -

.. from which doth Place and Time descend -

... from Castle Black that Gold defends.

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.. Yet secret chanting tongues are there -

... Each winged word a Spell that bears

.... the whispered keys to Everywhere.

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1.2.1, 1, Örpherischt, 12 Oct.ober, on 2019

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The First Fording of the M'moatia of Fairyland.

Introduction to the Navigation of Fairyland in Time and Space

How, in part, to investigate the history of Elfland.

To cross a river is to ford it.

The place where a river can be crossed is a ford.

Can you afford it?

Through the angular crystal lens of Modern English (one of the 'seeing stones', we might say) we can gather some misty information about the first time the Elves forded, or crossed a river, or at least of some important fordings in the transitions to more recent ages. As we peer into the deeps of time, by crawling along the crystal branches of the gemtree of tongues, we find the great events and places, peoples and forces that came together to bring about the genesis of the concept of the river-crossing itself - how the archetype entered the lore of the M'moatia, and the elements at play.

First we examine the exoteric obvious. We ascertain, as far as we might, the most commonly used word in the current day (and accordingly, the current age of fairyland, or at least parts of it) that represents the act of moving ones body over a river. I would argue this is 'cross', a word with many senses that are all nonetheless in some way linked (langed together). Fewer folk these days would use 'ford' (unless it's embedded in a placename). And there are other words we might examine.

But let's leave it at that for now. The word "cross" is wider in sense, more 'generic' (which is not to say lesser), while arguably, "ford" is more specific to the crossing of a river in particular. Being a word with many senses, 'cross' is a dense nexus of knowledge, a stark feature in the geometry of the dark crystal into which we peer, and will take more time to tease it's secrets from it's depths. So we will use the more specific 'ford' (which of course carries the meaning of 'crossing', and thus all that pertains to crossing, pertains at least indirectly, to fording 'water' (whatever that is..).

'Ford', naively, sounds more archaic, and thus we might glean more information about the first river crossing, from grandpa, as it were.

We want to examine the etymologies of the word 'cross' (as it relates to crossing rivers or other geographical features) versus those of the word 'ford', and see which entered common English parlance first, with that particular sense. Thus we might choose the oldest, most rooted word that implies the activity we wish to focus on, across time and space.

By examining the entry of the word 'ford' into English we glimpse perhaps the fording of a river than was key in the events that pertained to the transition from the previous Age of Fairyland to the current. Or a crossing, by mortal men (perhaps into or out of fairyland), and that involved elves, at that crucial time, when the archetype was given new vigor in the tongues of men. Meanwhile, going all the way back to the etymological root of 'ford', we find the first great crossing made by the first elves that ever forded.

The word 'Ford' has the consonant root F.R.D.

Frodo knows about this.

Whether Frodo knew that the word 'ford' sums to 322 in triangular numbers is not known.

The tales of Frodo no doubt were glimpsed through similar means that I here demonstrate, using the crystal ball and ring of power and all seeing eye that is the secret of the runes.

So we have the free radicals, F.R.D (and the vowel-spirit Ayin, O, omicron or omega)

This tells us that the M'moatia tribe of the Afarim were involved in an important crossing that is remembered still in our current mortal age. The Afarim are a largely non-vocal telepathic tribe that dwell now in the far west of Elfland, on the north and south extremes of the west of Middle Sea. Being not speakers with voice (beyond emotive hissed utterances), it is not likely they had much to do with the final form of the English word 'ford' in a linguistic sense (beyond a memorable onomatopoeic expression perhaps) They were rather warlike in their ancient days, the image of a war-mace or morningstar being one of their totems still. The military crossing or defense of a ford might be signaled here. The Ararim were also involved in some form, in a secondary fashion, offering aid, or as a levering force - a fulcrum, or adversary perhaps - during this fording. The Adarim were involved too, perhaps having something to do with the climax, success, closing, or recording of the event. We already know the Adarim are capable of teleportation to places they have been. Once they cross a river, they can get to that side of the river near the ford, instantly from anywhere, so the first crossing of a river opens new ground, for many. The Adarim are also sagely folk, and may have had some influence in assuring the word 'ford' was finally cemented into our own parlance.

The etymology of the word 'ford'

Can you see the grand events sweeping across time and space?

There was a fording involving the Afarim and Adarim that changed the word for river crossing in the time when the Proto-Indo-European mortals broke off to form the first Germanic tribes whose language began to diverge and concrete itself in altered forms.

The ending of the Proto-Germanic *furduz tells us there was a great battle, and perhaps that a hero won a princess. The elves of the Azarim were perhaps directly involved, or played a major role in the memory of the event being transmitted to us.

Previously the word was pértus, implying a more ancient crossing of note, involved the drummers of the Aparim, who are akin to the Afarim, and also important then were the Atarim, the telepathic cousins of the Adarim.

The Asarim or Asharim (or their combined ancestors perhaps) were key, and had some direct part to play in terms of their water affinity. We portal rather directly from 'pertus' to 'port' (just a little to the left, as it were), and so a great harbour and fortress of the distant past is remembered.

The Dutch voord, Low German Föörd (and Norse fjord) reveal to us something important, the Word itself. This confirms the word and the spell as the accessways to Elfland, the portals to other places and times in the Gemtree of the World.

Of Pértus, we see it has an accented 'e', This tells us that there was an key vision or insight that triggered the event, and a great effort and/or jubilation involved (of which 'e' speaks alone, even without the accent. There was a twist and a turn. We know that the event deeply affected those nearby, by the appearance of the divine spirit, or breath, of 'u'.

We examine the root of pértus(Proto-Indo-European):

The first crossing allowed those involved to penetrate new regions of knowledge. Perhaps the waters were actually parted. There was Berits, Covenants, made in preparation or remembrance of the event. There were grand weddings and pretty brides.

The actual crossing, or fording, may have been over or through water, a river or sea, but water could be a metaphor (oft it is metaphor for time). Did they cross time?

Proto-Indo-European: per-

On the face of it, here we see the desire of Uber. To lead. To be in front and on top. Or perhaps it is not the desire, but simply the wisest course.

The word 'over' (above) derives from the same root. The Alpha is the Aleph is the Mountain ox, at the head (summit) of the wagon-train. The root *per- has the 'unvoiced' P (close to 'F' / 'Ph') as opposed to the voiced and vocal 'B'. The ancient crossing was silent and perhaps secret. The true leader, the hidden pharaoh, has no need to speak, perhaps.

In particular, the Faery clans of the Aparim and Abarim (today's Aӎbarim, friends of the Um̥byrim, or merfolk), currently dwell in coastal regions far to the west of the Middle Sea region of Fairyland. If there was a great crossing of the land and sea, from the Crown Lands, far to the east and north, which seems to be the case, then, they were perhaps first of the fae to reach the last lands before the Outer Ocean and the sunset, where the deep voices of the Singers of the Caves still chant in tune with the pounding waves, accompanied by the percussion of the fisher-folk of Apa.

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I Await Thee at the Ford

A Knight there sat upon his Horse,

No further might he go.

A Darkened River before him lay

with Vengeance in it's Flow --

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A Devil's Shivver the Knight bewrayed,

as it coursed down to his toes.

"O' spiteful Wind of deadly Force,

of Misery and Woe!"

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Crow there sat upon Standing Stone,

Foes' Gleam within it's Eye,

and dimly raised afar the Banks

of Stream that bubbled high.

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A reedy Vale of Fairy Sidhes

lay nigh beyond the Ford:

Within defile of Mountain knees, whereat

he seeketh Lodge and Board.

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By Travails Past had come to him,

the Map to Korebenischt,

It had guided him by Steady Way --

Compass True before the Mast.

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A Peerless Prize he sought to win,

beyond every golden Crown.

beneath that Mound below the Moon --

a Wealth deep-laid therein.

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A Meeting blesséd by the Stars,

that shone above his Birth: the

Measured Fruits of that Tree of Names

that had gifted him the Earth.

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At Castle Black was to be found,

the Prize Penultimate.

That Holy Grail he would Embrace,

And Adore unto his Fate.

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With Grail in hand, beyond the Ford,

his Trial would be complete,

A Sentence run through Ancient Land,

to birth a Phoenix of our Lord.

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Weighty Waters and the Sands of Time...

... he strove with Biting Cold.

The Month was near, but not quite come.

Have ye the Patience of the Old?

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Of the Foundation

The Matter of the Realm of Ancient Ard

Man walks about upon the earth, and though there are great oaks, and pines, palms and cedars many times his height, and not a few beasts of the woods and plains that stand heads above him, and greatest of all are the snow-covered mountain spires that rise to dire altitudes - nonetheless, man, by and large, thinks himself a thing tall.

If a certain man is not confidant in his own individual mastery of the world, he as yet perhaps, prides himself of, and appropriates to himself, the ostensible mastery of his kind.

Yet man does not know his place, and reckons little of his habitation, and of how, and of what, it was fashioned.

You might agree that the greatest things to the Man are the deep distances of the Sky, the wide pathlessness of the grey Ocean, and the jagged heights of the Mountains.

As yet, only the wise have begun to suspect the truth about their own small realm, and of these things aforementioned, and of the very ground upon which they walk - that is, those that pay heed to the ancient legends and old-wives tales.

For the realm of Earth is a fantastic ruin - majestic yet sad - a once lush fruit that has been gnawed through the ragged ages down to it's rotten core; a wasteland witness to the battles of aeons. Of the wide visible surface geographies of the land, and so too of the basins of the deep earthly seas, there are but few places that have not been entirely re-shaped by vast works of mining, and the great efforts of ancient and unknown builders.

Today, the eye of man ponders the colossal masses of the mighty mountains, and even to his mind laden with lore regarding the dead matter of rock shaped by the slow grinding clash of continents, these gigantic forms are a wonder to behold and a marvel to contemplate.

These, the greatest mountain ranges of our world have four primary origins, and of course, the fairy tales come closest to the truth the matter.

Not a few (and certainly the youngest) of the world's mountains and mountain ranges are the remnants of monumental construction works of the master masons of ancient and mysterious civilizations: immense obelisks and towers and mansions and ramparts and ziggurats and pyramids that once climbed miles into the sky, yet are now so blasted and eroded they can scarce be recognized as the work of intelligence. Indeed, a good number of these grand elevations are but the crumbling remnants of the summits of structures vaster still that lie buried beneath ages of sea-bed sludge, mud and soil and the wrack of disaster.

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Accompanying the above are many of the features we now dub volcanoes, especially the smaller cinder cones and medium sized stratovolcanoes - these being the great mounds formed of mine tailings: the waste materials of the aforementioned primordial quarrying and building endeavors, piled in heaps. The greatest of the fire-belching mountains are ancient, collapsed power facilities, military bastions and weapons factories of the sons of Gü, and of the Old Gods, originally domed or in ziggurat shape, now rendered unrecognizable by cataclysm and by mighty and forgotten wars. In either case, the toxic and reactive stores, fuels and armories buried deep within have mingled and ignited, and fueled by the great pressures upon them, primed great netherworld engines of alchemical fires that burn yet to this day, and erupt occasionally with deadly force when the great gasses and liquid infernos gather too much energy unto themselves - and the belly of the molten edifice becomes pregnant with lava.

On the other hand, we ponder the canon catch phrase 'the living rock'... This is a remembrance, in part, of the forgotten truth that many long and curving mountain ranges, particularly those in the far north and south of the world, and these of lesser height, but certainly not to be called mere hills, are in truth - if not ancient and shattered dam walls that once held back oceans, or the battlements of the star-giants that divided nations and redirected glaciers - are in fact the ancient petrified carcasses of colossal creatures the size of kingdoms; leviathans of the forgotten past that once walked, swam and flew ponderously through the thick smoky airs and murky seas of primordial days.

And in regards to this, it must be here mentioned that not a few edifices described by the man of today as 'rock-cut temples' are the results of the harvesting of these fallen beasts by lesser creatures for their meats and essences. The voids created, later, before complete petrification of the monster, were carved and shaped into architectural forms and became palaces and dwellings to many ancient kingdoms of strange peoples.

Now the great secret of the Earth itself - of the tallest and oldest mountains, and the greatest of craggy ranges - those with fierce cliffs and brutal splintered peaks, whose roots penetrate the deepest places of our realm - these are in truth the blasted trunks, exposed boughs, and fallen branches of the great keder forest of the ancient world - that was the ancient world - trees of strange woods that stretched immeasurably high into the sky, so that their tops were veiled in thick clouds and rainbow mists, such that it was a rare occasion that their full extension could be seen from their tangled base by night or day, and the stars flickered ever in and out of view between the highest branches and their strange foliage.

Behold! There is no such things as 'rock' or 'stone' in the earth. There is only petrified wood.

The table of the elements: fire, water, air, wood.

What exactly wrought the complete worldwide ruin of these colossi, leaving nought but their rent stumps, now the greatest mountains and mesas of the earth, is a mystery. Efforts to imagine the forces unleashed by the disaster, whether it happened singly or all at once, fail utterly - let alone the reasons, if a natural disaster it was not...

Yet it is likely that these great trees, their eroded bark and rinds having become the very sand grains of the white beaches of the earth, and the fall of whose mighty branches shattered cities, and created new river valleys, were indeed a single organism, stemming ultimately from one source. For the pattern of nature is that the greater is like to the smaller, and the smaller is like to the greater. And there is but one Tree, to which the great tree-remnants of earth, now dubbed 'mountains', are but fungal growths.

For few men know that their vast and splendid earthly world is but a small fruit upon a vast branch, and that upon a bough vaster more, springing from the immeasurable bole of the mighty Tree of Worlds that spans all of creation. That root of life that sprouted within the Ylem of Åmaä, the realm bounded by the burnished coils of Aído-hwédö, the Rainbow Serpent of the Outer Tides --

The Great Tree that began it's ancient reign as a tree of flame, then becoming a growth of misty waters, then of earthly matters, and later, of breezy airs and hidden essences. The great branches of this tree are ebony black, as pitch as unburned coal, reflecting no light, and cannot be seen with the eye of man, be it day or night. From the vantage point of Ard, only the fiery fruits and radiant flowers that grow upon it's youngest stalks, and the glow-worms that wing their arcing paths about the branches, can be seen in the sky after sunset.

And as to the ocean, the oceans of the world of Earth are but puddles to the deepnessess of the Abyssal sea - the ever-swirling Ocean of Pearl - that coalesces about the limbs of the Great Tree, and fills all of Åmaä to the brim, as it were a great Calabash.

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Gematria

By countless Names

.. I have been known:

A Spell of Light from

.. Shadow grown;

Sharp as Shard

.. of Glass, and Hard;

Smooth-wrought Gemstone

.. beheld by Bard;

A Glimpse afar, of

.. jet-black Void;

Of dreaming Star, and

.. windswept Throne.

A Mind encased:-...

.. A Crystal hewn, with

Wisdom grave of

.. Sun and Moon.

Beyond diamond Face

.. lieth ancient Tome,

that now hath Found

.. a rightful Home.

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Of the M'moatia - The Elves of Fairyland (The 'Speaking People')

On the remembered and discoverable attributes of the Elf.

Elves are known to many as mythical supernatural human-like creatures, or perhaps fallen angels or the offspring thereof, that have occasionally impinged upon the lives of mortals. Many tales are told of them, and many features remembered about them, and oft the memory is bent somewhat.

Many seem to view elves as some sort of quasi-divines, a half-way-house between ensouled mortals and free-roaming spirits or ghosts. Some say they live underground, in the sky, or rather in some other dimension or dreamland from which they occasionally manifest in the earthly realm.

One thing that appears clear to this author, is that Fairyland and our mundane Earth are tightly linked, in that the fortunes of Elf-land and our mortal world are greatly co-dependent - in one sense, each is a muse to the other. But sadly, it is all too easy for the ever-changeable activities of man to twist, corrupt and destroy unwittingly entire regions of Fairyland, and this document will aid one to see more clearly why. Meanwhile, the boons that the land and people of the Fae-folk provide to the realms of men are oft less tangible and easily missed - taken for granted - until they are lost or revoked (though of course a number of the elven gifts are self-evidently virtuous, and it is difficult to understand why the recipients might shun or denigrate them, beyond an uncouth ignorance or barbarism).

As elsewhere made known, the elves of fairyland have a number of names for themselves, and they are remembered dimly by menfolk by very many more.

The unmanifested soul of every individual under Páramòunt Ûmvélinqängi (be it god, elf, man, or beast) is called an Umóyar. A soul that if it were to incarnate and be capable of bearing children is called Umóyarin. Some are mightier that others. Many never incarnate on Earth or in Fairyland.

The word M'moatia has been presented in other documents here.

This is the true name of the encased soul of the Elf, or more particularly, it is the name of that 'casing', which might be viewed as a small speck of resonant crystal dust that manifests in the realms of matter (Earth) and so too within supernatural matter (Fairyland, Elfhome, Alphabet). The divine Elven soul itself (perhaps a shard of a greater soul, and perhaps not unlike a mortal soul) is actually a series of rhythms or fluctuations - a solo aria, we might say, that is encased and bound to the crystal at conception, and during the lifetime of that incarnation of the individual. This crystal is found deep in the depths of the brain of the Fairy, and through the vibrations of this tiny mote of living stone the Elf consciousness is able to commune with the powers of the Land-we-do-not-see from it's home in Fairyland or on Earth. Thus, any Elf you will meet outside of the Land-we-do-not-see, is technically M'moatia.

The English word 'mote', in fact, is an ancient remembrance of this Elvish concept, and I argue the words 'myth' and 'math' will be found to be bound up with these matters.

In general, one might speak of an individual Elf as M'moatia just as one might speak of a certain Man as a "soul". There are many races, tribes and sub-tribes of the Elves, and these have their own names, those publicly-known and those private to each. All are nonetheless Elves, that is M'moatia.

"M'moatia" is pronounced mmowaeshia, with the 'o' as in 'motor') and the 'wae' as in the word 'way'. The 'i' at the end (-ia) is almost non-existent.

Now, a primary feature of the Elf or Fairy is that they are capable of advanced communication, be it vocally, through airborne speech, or by a union of minds ('telepathy') or complicated body language, and of course the written word. The M'moatia are often said to be the first of the living beings to make an art of speech and language itself. Some would assure us that indeed this is their defining feature.

The elves, like men, speak from the mouth (see mote) and lips, and the word lip is an occult wordplay upon elf (elph). The elves founded the first language laboratory - the word "laboratory" being labial oratory (that is, 'lip-speech'). The first official meeting (see moot) of linguistically-enthusiastic fae is no doubt remembered as the Thing (a name still used by some menfolk today for their own council gatherings) because they conversed in speech with tongues. And there they debated many things, and named many notions, and together in Covenant, they acknowledged that all things were spoken into being by the out-breath, spoken by himself, of the true name of Ûmvélinqängi upon the thread of Ánänsí, at the moment of the Grand Accord of Mdali that gave true being to the Ãmaä and it's contents in the Time Before Times.

It was the Elves no doubt that devised the first Green Language, the Cant of Enchantment, known these days to wise as the Language of the Birds - the linguistic construction that gave foundation to the earliest formal tongues of man. This system, it is said, was influenced by the combination of the partial lore (discovered indirectly) of the ancient heavenly relics known as the Pyramidion of Gaùnab and the headstone of the conjoined gods Khänyab-Watamaräka. Some say this extracted knowledge is named the Flaming Iris, or the Fire of Iris.

The various houses of the Elves all ultimately stem from one source, but they have evolved, divided and intermingled somewhat - but slowly - over the ages. It must be said that those tribes that speak with voice are deemed to be more native or acclimatized to the Middle Sea region, while the fully telepathic elves (even if close cousins of a speaking group) are not necessarily as comfortable as they might be elsewhere, in lands now forgotten to most. Nonetheless Fate drives them to dwell where they dwell, for in Fairyland, all is to purpose, though that purpose be just as misty and veiled as is ours in the mortal world.

Of course, no discussion of Fairy folk, or Elves or other such denizens of those realms (that the ignorant refer to as the lands of 'fantasy'), can avoid reference or comparison to the acknowledged scholar of Elvendom, J.R.R. Tolkien.

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Master Tolkien certainly had access to somewhat accurate information, and his studies were well-directed, for his materials relate that the embodiment (the 'manifested physical raiment') of an High Umoyar (those he referred to as "Vala" in the singular, and as "Valar" in the plural) that incarnates is known as fana.

Tolkien understood perhaps, that this speaks of the manifestation of a physical body through sound.

See the definition of "Phone" (ie. phonetics):

( [To be precise] in phonology and linguistics, a phoneme is a unit of sound that can distinguish one word from another in a particular language.

If you ask an Elf, they will tell you that the English word 'phone' actually means 'embodiment of an idea or emotion in sound', and indeed this is how many or most of the elements of Fairyland are sustained.

Only the High Umóyar can manifest their own bodies onto the Earth realm in such a fashion directly, and usually, only by the wish of Ûmvélinqängi, via the dooming assent of Kalünga and with the aid of Imäna (ie. they are True Phones) - but the M'moatia, the Elves, are indeed a middle-ground. They also are phones (phanes), if a lesser form. They are phonemes, that is, phenoms that give rise to and interact with other phenomena. Elves must incarnate 'naturally' (loosely speaking) around their M'moatia, and though they have earthly bodies (ie. they are consonant, and thus possess a skeleton and fleshy coverings), these are much more closely bound, via their M'moatia proper (the elf-mote, the individual 'I' of the Fairy) to the silver thread of Ánänsí. They are limited to this mystical communication channel to the Land-we-do-not-see. Thus the various forms of radiative emissions, and especially sound (be it freely expressed in utterance and performance, or encased for perpetuity in writing) is their operating sphere. Tolkien called them the Eldar for a particular reason here implied (ie. learn the letter, he urged, both loudly and quietly at the same time). We might say that the lives of the M'moatia are much more direct expressions of the 'heavenly sound' than are those of mortal men, made of denser matter, but verily, their flourishing on earth depends on mortals speaking their sounds and passing on their names and words in writing. What would the consequences be, if nobody ever spoke or wrote the sound 'B', for instance, ever again. The entire race of the M'moatia of the Abarim would fade away and perish, and would be sorely missed, one gloomy philosopher once said, in answer to that question.

The darker elements of Fairyland, such as the Drakvlfa, and also the Trolls and Ogres, and certain demons are remembered by many names, but there were ancient men that remember the name of Phonoi, the sons of the deity Eris, described as the 'ghastly-faced male personifications of murder'. It may be here surmised that these are malignant elven powers of the Underworld that are able to kill other forms of life with their utterances, and that are willing to do so for no other reason than to cause disruption.

It is suspected that a sect of Drakvlfa used the Grove of the Circle in the south-east of Thangland (a place few dare to visit) for their secret meetings.

In terms of 'Phone' as "fana" ('fauna'), see:

Evidence of the works of Elfland are to be found everywhere in the tongues of men, and the lore surrounding it. As a prime example, there is an old worn down word used in language studies amongst the race of men, and it refers to a type of sound made during speech: the 'alveolar consonant'.

Ask yourself this: what is the word "alveolar" other than an eroded form of the name of the densely populous fairy province of Ålaweh Öhlär - the 'Land of Elf-oil' (for fine olive trees grow there in the cloven hills north-west of Mermaids Cove of the Crown Vales ).

The etymology of alveolus:

And thus, of alveus (Latin)

Of course, for the elves are renowned as foodies of the most sophisticated sort. In this context, the word 'belly' is simply the word 'lib' / 'lip' (ie. labial) backwards. From mouth to stomach, and onward. The alchemical laboratory of the alimentary system, that is elementary, or illuminatory.

The definition of Alveolus

This informs us of the general tendency of many elves to prefer underground caverns for their dwelling (ranging from the simplest of diggings to grand netherworld fortresses. This extends also to their practice of housing within the giant voids inside colossal trees whose heartwood have eroded away. The life of the ailing trees is thus extended, according to the rumour of the Traveller. And the 'cave/pit' mnemonic built into the meaning of the word "elf" is also a memorial perhaps, of the original exit from the mythical cave that was the place of the genesis of the race, and more besides. It also refers perhaps, indirectly, to the bite marks made by fairy fangs (and particularly those of the more feral underground and mountain breeds). None meet a fairy and is not bitten. But travellers are warned, for there are many creatures of Fairyland that might look like elves, but are not. And the bite of some is worse than others, and might be given for reasons other than play.

The almost-root word "alveus", seen above, has other dictionary definitions - in English:

The association and affinity between the fairies and rivers is self-evident. Ponder the notion of 'tributaries'. Also the metaphor of the river 'following it's natural course' reflects how fairies are said by some to be more bound to the Fates of Nature than mortals, who strive beyond it, and work to bend it. Some might say we see a glimpse of ideals of pure-blood exclusivity also, perhaps. The catchment area of a river, with it's network of tributaries, reflects the pattern of a family tree.

An interesting one, considering the lore of the M'moatia discussed earlier.

And in Latin, other definitions:

Again we see the cavern-craftiness and the works of the mining engineers of the Elves of Aka.

We also see the theories held by some of creatures such as the Sylph and Undine, fairy-beings of wood and water that are said to lack a soul until they marry a mortal, and thus gain passage to heaven that would be otherwise denied them.

Returning to the water association of the fae (be it ocean-going or riverine) via the Latin alveus and alvei:

Elves are rather famous for their fine shipwrights, and their swift little river craft. The Akarim and a number of other elf-tribes are fine wood-carvers. See the legend of King sceafa (King Sheave), and so too the tale of Moses.

Furthermore, we have very specific sense derivations of the 'cavity/hollow' semantic:

It is here that the Morlocks of the south-eastern reaches of the Moving Mountains grin with silent leering laughter.

As seen earlier, the fairies are manifest examples of the 'phone', or a derived lesser or composite expression thereof. Thus, the elf is master of the craft of the laugh and of making of fun. Especially if it involves a pun. Onwards to the next item in the listing:

Many of the elves are telepathic, and in continual direct emotional contact. Some have described their ability to commune and interact as to that of a hive-mind. The fae of the Azarim and Abarim have bee-keeping as one of their many hobbies and livelihoods.

Keep clean if you want an audience with the High Elf Queens of Aya.

Self-explanatory.

The etymology of alvus in Latin:

The 'World' of Fairyland (...is Virulent)

The etymology of the word "world":

ie. The World is (in) the Age of Man... but the 'man' is a "wer" (hence, for example, the were-wolf, 'man-wolf').

The etymology of wer in Old_English [ie. 'man']

Here we see how old words speaking of a 'man' are really speaking about a 'fairy' (ie. faeries, elves) and that they are viral/feral (a fiery 'virus').

Etymology and definitions of vir in Latin:

ie. the 'vir' or 'vuur' is a 'pyre' or 'fire' (fires @ fairies @ virus )

The word vīra in Sanskrit:

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fer in Old_Irish:

Etymology and definition of vyras (Lithuanian) [ie. 'virus']

ie. It seems the lands within which the above languages were spoken (and possibly well beyond) were populated by 'fairies' ('elves'), a fiery people who called themseves 'vyras', 'viras', 'vira', 'ver' 'vir', 'wer', and who perhaps wielded forceful verse.

And it seems, a people to which certain ancient forces were much averse.

Is the 'fairy' a name for a people that 'were'?

'Where' are they?

The elves of Middle-earth were, for much of their lives, hunted by forces that desired their extinction. Morgoth and Sauron would see the end of the fierce fairies. We accept that the elves had already largely 'faded' long ago. In the last few years, the World Authorities have been working overtime to exterminate the 'Virus' (that is, the secret Verse of the brave man, of the husband; of the fairy). Will they succeed?

An additional note of interest:

The word 'Motet'

And an important question - what of the 'alphabet'?:

Alphabet @ Alpha Beth @ Aleph Beth ['Ox House'/'Cattle Pen'] @ Elf Home ( 'Fairyland' )

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And Yet...

From temple cave I met the Sun,

alighting steps from Source of One:

the Hidden Hand of Fate unsung,

which brings me hence, by ways arun.

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From City Gold I doth descend,

as equals rise that Hells defend,

where Well of Souls I deeping delved,

til hidden Words to me recalled, I

swift by Song of Muse was felled.

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Beyond Mountain peak and fair Mirage,

I'd sealed the weary paths of Stars;

I'd pondered words of every Sage;

I'd built a Ship of carven spars.

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I'd made pilgrimage to the Ring of Stone,

that ancient ruin of Jötun-home.

And finding there the Prism-glass, again

cast my eye upon the Tome.

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I travelled Day, and climbed the Night,

I swam the Lakes and dove in might,

I tasted Clouds and grew in Sight,

I counted Raindrops in their Flight.

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'Oer Mountain Peak and Summits bare,

through Deadly Gorge I trod with care;

'neath deepest Caverns of the Earth;

the mirthful heath and plains I fared.

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'Pon Westward Way was wheeled the Sun;

the Eastward Eaves were shadowed, dun;

the Southern Cross was coursing cold,

and Northern Crown did night enfold.

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The Keys I'd won; the Staff of Lore,

every Secret of the Earth and more,

Chronologies of Ancient Times;

the Secret Chord of Heaven's Chimes.

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Though always needled deep in Heart,

that darkest Void being gnawed apart

by Missing Thought - the Fiery Light:

the Entanglement of that Without.

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To thundrous Fall of Waters clear

where Sources meet the Stream that bears

the Secret Whisper upon the Airs -

of Beauty's Herald in ardent Prayer.

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Between the Hills of Stone and Brush

the Hopes and Dream of Hearts a-rush

as falling Waters, the Rill of Souls,

to Delta Great where Waves are foaled.

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The lower Course where River finds

that Valley Stream that ever winds

it's rippled waters Songs remind,

of Birds of each and every kind.

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And Verily thus it came to be

that Music of the Gulls led me

to a little Tavern by the Sea,

and there I found my Valkyrie.

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The Outline ( = 2001 squares )

Every height that men have reached,

Every faith that we have preached,

Every war that soldiers fought,

Every secret sages sought.

..Every sign by which they led,

..Every word that we have read,

..Every craft that children learned.

..Every book that ever burned.

....Every song that men have sung,

....Every bell that ever rang,

....Every ancient work in stone,

....Every tree from sapling grown.

......Every thing that teachers taught,

......Every fish that fishers caught,

......Every good that labours earned,

......Every stone that lies unturned.

........Every church and steeple tall,

........Every tower, bridge and hallowed hall,

........Every ship-at-arms with gleaming sail,

........Every constellation bright and pale.

..........Every birthing since the ancient fall,

..........Her pattern bound in one and all -

..........The reason for the castle wall:

..........Above and within all things most fraught,

..........This divine geometry that God hath wrought.

The Qabalah of Fairyland

(Manifestation of, or from, or within, Elfland)

O.

The Elven M'moatia is the central mote about which the Elf manifests. This mote resonates, tethered to the silken thread of Ánänsí that trails from the Lands-of-those-we-do-not-see.

A.

The core animating principle is specified as 'A' (the All, 'God').

B.

A single individual Elf or Man cannot hold All of himself, and thus the All is fractured, and some portion of it enters, or communicates with, the vessel of the M'moatia. Thus there is a division. This division is specified by 'B'.

B.A.

'B.A' (or Ba) is thus the 'divided, or apportioned soul' of the individual ('A' is listed second, or last, because it is 'inward-most', the first letter being 'outermost'). Reading from left to right, as most English-speaking readers would, we encounter the outward features first, the visage or countenance of the body and then mind and then soul. Only once we've reached the end of the description do we 'see the heart of it' as it were - the full creature and the depths of it's soul and fate (if we get that far with our abilities of perception).

The 'A' as it sits within the individual is thus the core personality, and represents, we might say, it's 'Fate', or 'the desire of his or her life'. It is given the name 'Will', or otherwise, 'Wyrd' if the individual becomes powerful in magic in life and the world.

The 'B' as it sits within the individual is the second level of development. It is said to finally express itself in the inner wisdom of the soul, and then also, when the body is developed, pertains to the wisdom over the body and it's senses and instincts. Thus the 'B' (second-from-last) is named 'Wisdom'.

K.A.B.A

The next level of development of the Elf is the finer intelligence, the power of mental discrimination, of abstraction, of calculation, and specific memory. This is called 'Mind' or 'Brains' (bold 'A", above), and it develops around, or 'in front of' the Wisdom and Will (ie. 'BA'). The step beyond this is the meta-intelligence (bold 'K'), the ability of the mind to examine projections, and thus develop 'Charm' or social intelligence.

The 'Mind'/'Brain' is patterned, as with Will, by the All - specifically, by the charm received from the Lands-we-do-not-see, a heavenly gift. Thus, we have 'A' again, but this time representing the brain (third-from-last). And as such:

K.A is thus the 'divinely-charmed mind' (lit. 'Charm of All', but positioned so as to be Charm of Mind). Some define it as the 'Life Force' or Consciousness.

And thus we have a complete mental structure (a basic template) of a creature in fairyland.

KA.BA.

The soul and mind of the Elf is developing nicely. We have a Charming (K) creature with Brains (A), tempered by Wisdom (B), and a divine spark of the All driving it's Will (A).

The 'A' appears twice, representing the Oversoul of God, so to speak, and thus his Will and Brain pattern appears (in some apportioned subset) within the individual. The particular Wisdom that emerges within the individual is a product of the strength of the bisecting/dividing action implied by 'B', and the projective, predictive, and adaptive abilities (ie. Charm) of the individual is provided by the K, to be seen as another sort of dividing action, or crafting, of the 'A' in third-from-last position.

These symbols provide us the embers of magic (the spiritual power, or quantum essence, the 'divine light' - that is, the basic numeric values) used to represent or quantify the core of the soul of the 'simple creature' (be it a rat, hare, cow, lion, human, or elf) that will ultimately perform the function of it's bodily manifestation. According to the numerics of the Elven alphabet:

K.A.B.A = 3.1.2.1.

ie. reasonably charming (if of a low-cunning sort). Of low intelligence. Having the beginnings of wisdom. Not having much willpower beyond basic survival.

To raise these values, in order to distill a more refined individual of it's class, the creature will of course need a different name.

But so far it hath not a body.

The final three levels of development are those of the physical body around the M'moatia, the brain and nervous system developed earlier. These are not given orthodox letter symbols, but are provided directly by the letters of the name of the creature, or it's distilled essence (a process described elsewhere). A creature in fairy land must have a True Name of at least three letters (at least one of them being a vowel, which provides the divine animating force to the body overall; and at least one of them a consonant, which provides the seed of skeletal and tissue matter). In certain cases a creature with a two-letter name manifests, but these seem always to have a strong Shadow, which dominates the most primitive level of body development.

This most basic level of the body is known as Guts. It represents the fibre and constitution of the body, the marrow of the bones, the ability to ward off diseases and poisons, and maintain healthy cycles. It has some effect over the ability of the individual to perform at endurance tasks or under duress. If a creature has a Shadow (to fill an empty void created by the lack of three letters for it's name), then it takes the place of Guts, and has the value 5. This shadow chews at the creature, like hunger or thirst. It might attract parasites that effect it's behaviour.

Either way, after this, the muscle mass develops over the skeleton and around the main organs. This provides the brute force ability to interact with the environment - strength, but little finesse. This attribute is labelled Muscle.

The last stage of development of the complete individual is fine motor control over the body, controlled by the mind, and guided by fate. The final component is called 'Sinew'. It represents the ability of the creature to wield itself and tools dextrously and with precision.

Names:

Thus, we have seven attributes that define the core of a M'moatia or a creature in fairyland, in order of importance (as the elves would have it), and generally viewed as examining the final individual 'from the inside out':

... however, when considering how these map onto the name of a creature, we reverse them.

Sages have found that the Sinew and Muscle elements are variable, and depends on the lifestyle of the life-form, as it were. These last two expressions of the body (sinew and muscle) are prioritized depending on the type of creature and the individual. Certainly, the finer dexterity provided by the expression of Sinew is praised by the craftsman over and above the Muscle of the wrestler, who plays a different role in society. Thus when examining a certain creature through the lens of fairy kabbalah, it takes some intuition to grasp the final order of the elemental expression of that creature from it's name.

Let us create a generic 'Bat' in fairyland (a little flying mammal, an insignificant example of it's kind).

'Bat' has only three letters, the least we can have to manifest an individual, and we need seven.

Thus we add our Ka and Ba ('K.A.B.A') as discussed earlier (the basic soul package) onto the body of the bat:

In terms of the previously-mentioned variability of Sinew and Muscles, we might imagine a bigger-bodied example of a bat, with more robust limbs, but with a reduced flight performance. In such an example, the numeric values for these two vital attributes might be switched.

If we have a creature with a name longer than three letters, we either overwrite or add them to the base Ka.Ba.

Let's evoke a Lion.

This is a powerful and reasonably dextrous example of a lion (and it also has the strong stomach needed by a carnivore and sometime-scavenger - but it is perhaps not the king of the beasts. It still has only the rudimental wisdom, brains and divine will of a rat. It will need a proper name to define it as a true beast of nobility, that provides improved capability in these arenas.

Let's manifest something different:

In this example, we have no need for a basic KABA template, for the entire creature is provided by it's seven-letter name.

This serpent might be a large python, for it has very powerful tendons and muscles. It also has the strong constitution of a creature that devours it's prey whole and slowly digests it. It has the charm of the classic serpent trickster, and brains and wisdom to boot. The only real lack is will, so this is a lazy snake, perhaps.

Note that 'S', the first letter of the name, reduces to 10, and then 1, from 19. The Sinew value of 10 invokes an Ace, turning the full reduction from 1 into a 10. Any creature manifested in this way has some chance that one and only one of it's attributes with a value of 1 might be upgraded to a 10. This occurs by divine fiat at conception or birth, or through some magical or traumatic occurrence early in the life of the creature. It might suffer some penalty for this boost in potential in one area, by a weakness or vulnerability in other areas.

Note also that overwriting the basic KABA values for the inner four attributes of the creature by it's common or proper name does not sit well with some philosophers, and these prefer to add them.

This serpent is bodily equivalent to the previous form, but it is more charming, and much more wise and intelligent. No reduction is performed at this step.

The above examples present the most basic manifestation of an entity in fairyland, and is representative of the method by which many natives of the realm are 'born' therein.

There are other, more subtle ways that this occurs, however, and these other methods echo those transformations and distillations required of a mortal to better sublimate themselves within the realm (that is, enabling a non-native kaba to impede upon the fabric of elfhome and traverse it's geographies).

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An example of one well-known distillation method is detailed in this extract from an esoteric text from the libraries of the Adarim:

Individuals incarnating in fairy land by such methods express different body and mental traits and abilities, than they would if their truename was used as above, using the basic method.

Obviously, fairyland being fairyland, and names being names, you might find the king of the grizzly bears is an unexpectedly small and cuddly friend, while the pixie queen might be 20ft tall and very, very strong. You never can tell what's in a name...

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The Tree of the Tongues (A)

In the midst of the Deeps of Times,

there grew the Great Tree of the Worlds.

In the midst of the Roots of the Tree,

that drank the starry Ocean of Pearls,

there, very great grew the Wyrm of the End,

that chewed and did bend the core of the Tree,

though by Bore-tooth notice to Eagle did send,

for by Courtesy always are Great Powers ruled.

The wells were defended, and Wyrm had not drank,

Thus his thirst he did quench by sap of the Tree.

And ever he chewed as though his spirit might flee.

The Messages returning from Eagle were rank

with spite and with mockery and with shameless delight,

So Wyrm beneath root let up from the gnawing

upon that which Eagle so deftly was sewing,

and pondered the roots that so far he'd lain bare.

And he wondered indeed if there was to gain

a victory over illusory fanes of the Earth:

Such manifest banes!

Wouldst every leaf upon branche be the same?

Now...

In the midst of the boughs of the Tree.

Far above the Roots of Three,

Cupped between Branches, there be,

a World that contains you and me.

What is the secret that (the) Dragon would see?

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The Tree of the Tongues (II)

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The Tree of the Tongues (III)

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The Tree of the Tongues (IV)

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The Honey

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The Princess wove and spun and strove

to complete the work into which she dove.

She hath the skill of hand and mind, and

with great foresight codes divined, that

Rings of Power unique defined, for every

Magic purpose known. The task was hers,

and hers alone - but Queen Bee toiled at

task of Drones, for Hive she lacked,

and Workers none: the Times were hard,

and overrun, with Wasps and other evils

done by Creatures fell of outside world,

that desireth all good things unfurl.

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Now a Prince there was, o'er mountain drear,

that Once-upon-time clasped Princess near.

This Lordly Knight of Bees was held, in

dungeon dark of Mind ensouled, and fought

Himself, and Wasps and Wyrms, and Vermin

of the Shade and Cold. To him it seemed

that Time had stopped, for day and night

had overlapped, and whilst he strove to

break his crypt, the Wasps had taken all,

and kept the Kingdom of the Righteous ones

in disarray and desolate. Insects all

were put to test - by Hornet's sting were

sore oppressed - for Tyrant old,

grown bold and bitter, had stolen will of

every wold; and seizing valleys of the realm,

had sold the birthright of the Bees:

They'd broken Hive, and scattered Nest;

By winds of terror had put to rest

the Liberty of that Kingdom best.

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For in secret cavern, deep under ground,

The Termite King of Terror found the

News of Conquest most profound: that

he'd begun - that he had led - the world

for him now cried and bled! His legions

every strength had razed; had chewed away

at every hope; a maze of dark material rope

replacéd faith that once the regions of

the Bees enflower'd - for these had fled:

In lands beloved they dwelt no more,

being thrust from goodly bough of tree

and from bushel sweet they'd once adored.

No honey flowed. No blossom leapt.

A Woeful song it seemed indeed: that ne'er again

would workers meet: the harvesters of love bereft

of Nature's task that once they'd kept.

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The Prince and Princess of the Bees,

never ones for lives of ease, nonetheless

their hearts had seized, for Termite slaves

they'd become unwilling, and being apart

their lives were filling with trials that

bewrayed their thoughts: a folly of usurping ills

that blanketed the very hills; A masquerade of

veiled smiles; an Apocalypse of Termite spells

had cracked the World, and sundered bells that

should have rung to keep at bay the power

of the darkling hells.

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The Termite king laughed to himself, being

much amused by news of strife that he had

wrought upon the land - for soldiers marched

by routes he'd planned - and all the insects

of the realm, their wills he clasped now

in his hand. By his dark power, and by his might,

to ground was brought that once was grand:

for hives of Honey were turned to sand.

Enthroned, and fanned by winged slave

(by Princess Butterfly, unused to cave

of Termite lord and his dark demand)

he oversaw his rule expand.

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And so it was that Time drew near, and

all the world was wrapped in fear, awaiting

now the Sign that showed, that once again

the Heirs of Sooth would rise above their

task of ruth - and reclaim lofty tower seats

of Golden Gourd and Fortress Truth.

The Prince and Princess of the Bees,

weeping now upon their knees, for

Kingdom lost and flowers blent,

awaiteth sign from heaven sent, that they

should stand, should spread their wings, and

reclaim their Realm of Honeyed Kings.

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Ye Insects of the World, behold!

The tolling Vale of Times enfold

upon themselves to merge as One,

and verily must divide again.

If ye have wings, and mind to fight,

take up thy sharpened sting of might,

For time has come to rise and sing,

and remake the Empire of Everything.

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The Great Clash

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Upon the field they waited grim.

A spreading evil the sky made dim.

Those last free men, they wetted sword.

Their king then spake these final words.

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He softly spoke, for all were near -

Men few but faithful, and to him, dear.

He bade them cast away their fear,

For battle would overtake them here.

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Give no quarter, and spare no mind,

For false tale tolls, and men are blind.

Let them hear your righteous words.

Show forth the power of your kind.

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Grind the liars between your teeth

Of sword and spear, crush those beneath,

that fear and falsehood sowed about, and

mocked man's dignity - his faith did rout.

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Know that now the time is nigh,

For battle hard 'twixt earth and sky.

The snake hath not the dragon's limb,

Nor wing, nor fire, nor head held high.

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Upon this field great fiction dies,

And truth and honour renewed shall fly,

to Sun and Moon where Stars doth shine,

And return to us, bearing Lore sublime.

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What will ye have the future be?

An Eternal night, or new day to see?

What form it takes is up to thee,

To Last Door yonder, ye have the key.

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Now upon this plain of war we stand,

The turning of the tide at hand.

Whether or not ye break or bend,

The Sixth Age of the World will end.

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LAST WORD

( A Last Word )

( Solve It )

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