The Songs of the Elders - an epic

[athelstan]

Introduction: The Songs of the Elders form the first of the Five Sagas of Marnoz, the canon of Marnic mythology, prehistoric oral tradition, religious ritual, and early history. Of the five, it is the most mythologized, featuring the frequent intervention and involvement of the eleven Marnic Gods, and the heroic feats of a variety of superhuman men. The Songs detail the history of a tribe known as the Rauprig-mut, beginning with their enslavement in the realm of Old Injil, their rebellion and the fall of that decadent empire, and the period of their exile in the wilds. It continues to follow their history through their settlement along the River Rau (from which the tribe eventually takes its name) and their wars against the neighboring nations, ending with the Founding of Marnoz. However, it frequently digresses into pure mythology, hearkening back to creation myths, the various adventures of its epic and tragic heroes, and the escapades of the ever-present Gods.

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Of Yuhara and his Queen

Now, these were the days of Yuhara,
That unyielding arm of Storm-Cloaked Stomguñ,
And of Selladanzi his wife
Whose arms bore the weight of the Immortals.
Peace to all, children of Marnoz!
Let us sing their lamentations and praises.

Raging was the hate-churned sea
And weeping was the poisoned sky,
Scourged with streaks of ruddy light
That marked the way to ruined Injil.
All fallen, all dead upon the seas of Kjuptal
Who roared enslaved beneath the waters.
All the old fastnesses were become pyres
Of a debauched and bloodless race,
The mighty houses of Injil.
But the once-thralls went forth untouched
Under the rays of Fanrutis,
She with the burning mane
To whom offering is ever due
That She may feast during the starry quiet
And chase anew Her holy course
From the dawn to the dusk.
Though lined were their faces
And frail as dove-bones their pale arms,
The fathers wore the furs of kings,
The mothers were with gold and opals adorned,
And the children danced and laughed.
The living cascade went on:
Their caravans stretched beyond sight,
Those refugees of tenfold tribe,
Startled to glimpse the thunderous elk
And weeping to watch the risen moon.
From shrinking, their backs were bowed
And now they stood tall as oaks.
From whimpering, their voices were ragged
And now they howled like strong young wolves.
Their thousands swarmed out of blasted Injil
Like water from a sundered dam,
And the Immortals looked down in judgment
Upon these once-thralls, these nations,
That drank the mead of freedom.
For among them were those jackals
That hid in the skins of men
But had bathed in the blood of their masters
Too joyously to ever be made clean again.
And they were accursed beasts
That took the wives and children of their neighbors
Into the embrace which is unholy.
And they were accursed beasts
That ate of those things that all Gods forbid,
Delighting in their infamy.
But also beheld the Gods in Their dustless vision
The serpents, those that wisely wound
Upon the earth in their humility,
And did not bear anger but for protection.
Therefore the Immortals said to one another,
“We shall set the serpents apart from the jackals,
And We shall harrow both with six sorrows
Until only the untainted endure.”

With the first waning of the moon,
There was a thunder from the west,
And a somber cloud veiled Fanrutis.
The fearful nations sent forth their oblations
Of hawk and ox and incense fumes
But cold were the God-wrought heavens.
With the second waning of the moon,
The spring was stillborn
While all the forests put on mourning
And the grass lay limp, yellow and sad.
The fearful nations groveled in the dust
But the herds did not eat.
With the third waning of the moon,
The famished cattle lay down and died:
Their meat blighted and grey,
Their milk thick with reeking pus.
The fearful nations sang dirges,
But the herds would not return.
With the fourth waning of the moon,
Weakling babes were left on hills
And grandfathers walked into rivers
That the hunger might slacken.
The fearful nations whipped their backs with thorns,
But futile were their howled appeals.
With the fifth waning of the moon,
Fathers held their dying sons
And sons their dying fathers
While the frantic jackals gnawed upon the lost.
The kings knelt before the axe in homage,
But the sorrows came on and on.
With the sixth waning of the moon,
There was despair.

Then Yärnate, the Womb of the World,
Dark of skin and luminous of heart,
Cried, “It is enough. They are punished.
Let the torments end; let the serpents free.”
And the Boundless Mother of Mothers
Wept for her stricken children.
Straightaway was cool dew cast down
Upon the suffering masses.
Green-clad the trees became once more,
The grass springing up anew from ashen sleep.
From the hinterlands new herds wandered
So the living rejoiced to drink of milk
And to feast upon the fruits of autumn.
The Goddess’ succor made them fat and glad.
They were cleansed down to their marrows,
And they left the bones of the jackals behind
To molder after even vultures forgot them.

In time, they came to Geñkaryo,
That ever-rushing Father of Waters,
And on the red-stone shores the nations halted,
To choose anew their kings.
The priests worked the arts of divination,
Casting names upon the waters,
Reading the passage of crow and heron,
Seeking visions in the kasra haze,
Yet the Gods kept Their silence steady,
And no name was given forth,
But a mighty portent was read:
He who would be named King here
Would be crowned over all the serpents
Who had gone forth from Kjuptal’s hideous ruin
And survived the Six Sorrows of the Gods.
A great gathering was made upon the south banks,
The clan fathers and clan mothers all
Seated among their consorts and offspring,
Awaiting the famed contestants.

First was the hunter Azirnyul,
Whose arrows fled from his bow
Swift as the wandering falcon,
A man with hair and beard aflame
And a will so fierce as to frighten
Even the wild Duhumor.
No man could equal him,
Fleet Azirnyul son of Eikaur,
In stealth or in pursuit.
Before the gathering of the nations,
Azirnyul raised his coruscating bow,
Shaped from the horns of a white dragon,
And said in his murmuring way,
“I shall give mine arrow to ember-eyed Fanrutis.”
He raised his shaft towards the sun and let it fly.

Second was the smith Italkus,
Who could make gold from clay
And delve the mysteries of bronze,
Whose wisdom was untouched by his lameness,
And whose mighty strength belied a heart
Mellow as the taste of good mead.
No man could equal him,
Stalwart Italkus son of Hañgira,
In the shaping of beautiful and worthy things.
Before the gathering of the nations,
Italkus raised the scepter he had forged,
Made cunningly from nacre and silver,
And said in his rumbling way,
“I shall give my craftwork to green-haired Aġrali.”
He held the rod over the Geñkaryo and let it sink.

Third was the bard Ontyera,
Whose sweet tenor could bring the stones to tears
And put the wind to rest,
With a face fair as the shining moon
But a manly voice strong as mountain-roots
And fingers that danced like thought and memory.
No man could equal him,
Slender Ontyera son of Visuroa,
In the recounting of hymns and lays.
Before the gathering of the nations,
Ontyera raised his cherished lyre,
Strung with his own flaxen hairs,
And said in his melodious way,
“I shall give mine instrument to golden-skinned Rignyas.”
He lay his lyre upon the Geñkaryo and let it wash away.

And there was a conspicuous silence
Upon the great gathering.
The priests held their breath in awaiting
The judgment of the three Goddesses
But none would come forth:
There was no sign to be found.

Then came forth a boy in white,
A shepherd garbed all in wool,
From among the crowding masses
His step resolute and his bearing upright.
He did not look in dithering distraction
But stood before the clan fathers and clan mothers,
And knelt in the dust before the three
Who had sought the sacred office.
And thus he said: “Masters of knowledge,
Ye have understood just as they are
The workings of your crafts,
And so the Gods have clearly favored ye.
Clan leaders, ye have led us onward
From the burning blight in the east
Through the punishments of the Immortals
And at last brought us to a fairer land,
And so the Gods have clearly favored ye.
But I, Yuhara son of Hiräinta,
Say that none of ye knows the true way
To find the name of the King.
For that, ye must sacrifice more than an arrow,
A scepter and a lyre. The Gods demand,
And we, men granted only a little time, must give.”
From his belt, he took a dagger, cold and bright,
Saying: “Stomguñ, War-Screamer, Snow-Bringer,
Whose Name is the Wind! We seek your word,
We who are your mortal suppliants,
And do you accept the offering.”
And Yuhara plunged the dagger into his left eye,
Not trembling nor crying out in agony,
Though blood and humor roared down like tears.
And even as the masses cried out in amazement,
A blast like the very howl of winter descended
From the north, though this was still the autumn;
And the arrow fell spinning to earth,
The lyre was washed back upon the banks,
And the scepter floated to the surface.
In silence, the three craftsmen knelt
Before their half-blind King, laying
Their gifts at his feet, and they saluted him.

With harsh cautery and magical art,
In time, the priests healed the pit of Yuhara,
But the eye could not be restored,
For it had been claimed by Stomguñ.
When he was strong again and autumn was ending,
The King rose from his bed and took his seat
Before the assemblies of the nation
That was now one beneath his guiding hand.
Before him sat the three craftsmen:
Azirnyul leading the warriors,
Italkus counting the riches,
Ontyera speaking the proclamations.
As the frost shone upon the grass
And black were the lakes with a shield of ice,
The nation rested upon the shores of Geñkaryo.
Yuhara was a lad in the prime of his life
And though his eye was a ruin, his face was fair
And strong were his arms and deep was his breath.
Therefore, fathers went forward proudly
Thinking that their daughters would sway him,
That they might be the grandfathers of kings
In the slow twilight of their dotage.
But Yuhara did not seek such a wife
As would bind him to a lesser man’s hearth.
One evening, while a dusty snow was falling
And the King ate of venison in his tent
He saw a girl feeding the holy fire on her knees,
Ash spread across her hands and arms,
Her hair clinging to her sweating face.
But her bearing was noble and her eyes downcast
With humility and proper restraint,
And her voice like honey was
As she sang soft thanksgiving to the flames.
Yuhara went forward to her side.

When she saw him, she turned down her face,
For she had not the temerity to presume of her lord,
But Yuhara put his hand beneath her chin
And raised her to look him in the eye.
“What is your name, ash-palmed girl?”
He asked softly as he pushed the hair from her face.
“Selladanzi,” she replied, “daughter of Nisreva, who is dead.
I have neither parents nor husband, my lord,
No nobility to my name, no wealth.
I am unworthy of your affections.”
And Yuhara’s heart ached, for she spoke
Without pretence or dishonesty.
So he asked her, “And your honor?”
With blushing cheeks, she said,
“None has touched it, my lord.”
So he took her by the hand to his chamber
And made her his Queen then and there.

As the people went forth that spring
Along the shores of ever-rushing Geñkaryo,
There was a great blossoming all through the wood,
Fumes of wildflowers rising with the birds
And greenery bursting forth everywhere
The moss upon the low-lying stones
And tender leaves upon the trees.
In a fair copse of birches Selladanzi wept by night
For the sons that she could not bear.
She had failed her King and was of no use,
But she dare not take the yew-draught
And leave Yuhara a ruined man.
She cried out, “O ye Gods, aid your handmaiden.”
And night-haired Liovniru, sly spinner of dreams,
Descended from the Moon, his boat,
And in his thrilling whisper he said,
“Thou canst not bear any mortal man a son,
Thou art barren by birth. But my seed
Is more potent than One-Eye’s.
Take me into your arms, and I swear,
Little Queen, that you shall bear a son
Whose name shall be remembered in story and in song.”
And Selladanzi said, “For my husband’s sake,
This child shall be called his.”
Liovniru said, “May it be so, sweet Queen,”
And laid her upon the forest floor.

As the Queen’s belly slowly swelled,
The tribe wandered onwards along the river,
Until they reached the bitter country
Where the game is fleet and thin,
The trees bitter-barked, with fruitless boughs,
And only Duhumor dare range when the wind awakens
The choking grit and hurtling dust of the land.
Yet still Yuhara led them forwards,
For he had learned a secret thing that he told none:
Stomguñ led him onwards to glorious war
And a safe crossing of the ever-rushing Geñkaryo,
To a fairer country than he had ever known.
Yuhara was full of joy to see the quickened womb
Of his Selladanzi, and late at night while she slept,
He lay by her side with his ear to her belly,
Waiting for the day when his child would stir.
Yet the night grew more fearsome for the nation,
For there were beast-shapes in the darkness,
And soulless laughter echoed against the rocks.
They had reached a darker country
Than any could have guessed;
And they would meet a fiercer foe
Than any could have known.
For here were the old hunting grounds
Of the Duhumor, the laughers by night,
Man-hearted and beast-faced.

Yuhara, loud in joy and silent in hatred,
Then went forth with his bondsmen,
Heroes garbed in shining armors
Wrought by the hammers of downfallen Injil.
Upon chariots of silver they rode
With coursers of the blood of Fanrutis,
Golden of mane and pale of eye.
They went down into the valleys
But the valleys were empty of foemen.
They went up into the hills
But the hills were empty of foemen.
And they went out upon the plains
But the plains were empty of foemen.
The warriors murmured together,
“Where can the foe have gone in hiding
That no trace of them appears on earth?”
Yuhara raised his hands in homage
And spoke thus: “O ye Gods, hidden
Is this knowledge from our view.
We seek foes that like mist escape us,
Traceless as the passage of a bird in flight.
You have seen fit to keep this glory from us
For some wrong that we have done unto ye.
But we, your people, must go onwards
And this we can do only with your aid.
Let us make the sacrifice that brings favor.”
Quietly Yuhara awaited the divine answer
The bolt of wisdom that strikes the heart
From the silence that is Their primal abode.
When the answer came, he did not shrink
From the heavy law that was laid down
But took on his rightful burden.
He turned about and faced his men, and said,
“Storm-Cloaked Stomguñ has seen to answer:
His promise is to grant us knowledge of our foe—
A boon that would save our nation
And scatter the foe before us in fear—
But we must pay him a heavy toll.”
He took out his knife and said,
“It was not given me to question the Immortals,”
Whereupon the frailest of the men,
Dägyerza the son of Ertuedva,
A lad with beard freshly sprung forth,
Knelt to his fate as does the stallion of Fanrutis.

When Yuhara had done his bitter duty
And washed his blood-caked hands,
He rose among his bondsmen and sang,

“When from our mother’s wombs we come,
The heavy treads of fate approach.
And though our hearts may proudly thrum,
Yet still the veils of death encroach.
Immortal Heaven sees our lives
In but a moment passing by
Through years of grain and years of knives.
Yet deathless fame awaits on high
Those men that master earthly lust—
As they are given, so they do give—
And these then shake off sorrow’s dust,
And they in glory ever live,
To dance among the Lords of All
For heeding duty’s urgent call.
While here on mortal Earth below
All men can only struggles know.
So wipe away the salt of tears
For those who now shall know no fears;
Remember not their flight beyond,
Recall instead our honor’s bond.
The war awaits your blood, my sons,
The Gods await your names, my sons.”

Whereupon they arose from their gloom
And let forth the wild song of war
With Yuhara racing in the van.
Led on by Stomguñ’s hard-won secrets,
They found their foe and pursued them
Into the narrow rocks along the river.
With flashing fang and dagger’s edge,
They wrenched their mighty triumph
From their foemen, and they cut the hides
Of the fallen Duhumor away from the flesh,
Making from these battle-scarred pelts
Armor and raiment that might mark them
As blooded warriors, consummate in skill.

So it was that the night-stalking Duhumor
Did not challenge the nation
That ranged throughout their hunting grounds.
But vanished as if they had not been.
On the thin grass the cattle ate
Through the arid sun-scorched summer
Of that harsh country of dust and stone.
As the autumn came and the wind blew harsher,
They came to rest in a wooded vale,
A sweeter land than elsewhere found,
Where berries were thick and deer roamed free.
With Fanrutis shortening her daily race,
The people set to rest and gentler work,
But Selladanzi was borne heavily down
With the weight of her God-begotten son
That Yuhara adored in ignorance.
In time, she came to the moment,
And she screamed and roared
As the mighty soul was freed from her.
Yuhara held the boy he called his son,
Gazing in his cloud-grey eyes
And calling them a sign from Stomguñ.
So this child was named ‘Hauraza’,
‘He who is a sign.’
From Selladanzi’s nurturing breasts
The child did drink his humanness.
But from his whirling infant dreams
The child did drink his godliness.

Ten years they ranged upon these lands
Among the cattle herds and game.
Yuhara was their steadfast King,
Libation-spiller, blood-letter.
Hauraza the Prince did grow,
His hair as black as the shadows,
And his skin as pale as moonlight.
All who looked upon this child stirred,
For there was a light upon his face
That they had not known before,
And there was a fire in his eyes
That they had not known before.
And when the people slept,
Hauraza went forth from the camps
Into the starlit emptiness
To sit upon the jutting rocks
And sing his love of Heaven
Though never knew he why.
When he did sleep, it was prophecy
Unbidden that filled his mind,
And as he looked upon his friends
He felt the work of fate unfolding.

Soon, Hauraza came to speak what he saw:
To save a hunter from the mother bear
Or to uncover the truth behind a quarrel.
The people began to murmur in their tents,
“This boy is not blood of Man alone,
For the light of the Immortals is on him,
In his face and in his dreaming sleep.”
But Yuhara was wroth to hear such talk,
For he thought he knew the son for his own,
And cherished Hauraza dearly
For no other child had Selladanzi borne,
Her barrenness a secret to all, living or dead.
So the One-Eyed King said to all his people,
With the Immortals as his witnesses,
“That man who calls my son a godling
Shall be whipped as a liar and cast from the nation.”
But Liovniru looked down on Yuhara
And said: “What! Does One-Eye think
That prophecy is in his blood?
Does he presume to father the true-seeing?
I shall send down a truth to him.”
And that night Yuhara dreamt
That the cunning god did laugh at him
And say, “Proud fool! You think to whip
Those that speak so-called falsehoods
When you deceive yourself alone!
Look upon the face of your son
With the eyes of a man unhindered.”
Yuhara went forth to his son’s bedside
And looked upon his moon-pale face
And saw that it did not seem to gleam alone
But shone with the life and light of Heaven.
Yuhara went straight to his sleeping wife,
Shaking her awake and crying,
“Who is the God that you took, woman?
With whom did you betray our troth?
O creature, why did you let me think
That this godling was ever mine?”
And he wept in anger and in shame.
Selladanzi was stricken with horror,
But she stood upright before him and said,
“Liovniru, the Dream-Spinner,
Met me in the forests and told me
That I was a barren ground for Man
And only godly seed could grow.
I asked that the son be called your own
But he gave me no right reply.
Now I stand before you, revealed,
Adulteress with an Immortal partner,
Though only the once did we mingle.”

Yuhara wiped away his tears and said,
“O wife, truly you are no creature,
But only deceived by the Grinning God,
The master of trickery and of rogues.
He used his cunning to sway you away
From our wedding-bed into his arms:
No mortal could resist such seduction.
But the boy is born of adultery,
Though godling he may truly be.
I cannot allow him to stay among us:
He shall live in exile from our nation.”
Selladanzi cried out, “O lordly husband!
Do not turn against my only son
Whom you had cherished as your own!
He is but ten summers old,
A lad who has not shed a man’s blood
Nor taken a wife to her bridal bed.
He cannot go alone into the world
An exile and a weary wanderer.”
But the heart of the King was hardened
Against this son of Liovniru,
And as Fanrutis entered the heavens,
Hauraza was called to Yuhara’s court,
Where the son of Hiräinta spoke thus:
“Let my people all know together now
That Hauraza is no son of mine,
But born of the seed of Liovniru,
Who tricked my wife with specious talk.”
The people all stirred and muttered,
Some amazed and others satisfied
To know this heavy rumor to be true.
But Hauraza stood silent and steady
Amidst the assembly of the nation.
As the King pronounced the banishment,
The boy knelt before Selladanzi,
Saying, “My mother, the fate before me
Is far greater than this shame alone.
I shall return to you once more
And Yuhara will call me heir.”
Then he bowed before Yuhara
And said no more to the people
As he took up his sling and pack
And departed the nation of his mother.

...

Yuhara raised his hands in sorrow
Towards the anger of the Immortals,
And thus he sang:

“So all of Heaven turns against my name,
And Liovniru’s horrors haunt my dreams.
He seeks to paint on me the mud of shame,
For casting out his prophet-son, it seems.
What else should I have done that day?
The God’s own mocking laughter filled my thought
As she, my wife, with heavy shame did say
That by the God’s own webs of cunning caught,
She chose to give me falsehood as my heir.
Hauraza now is fled away from me,
And Selladanzi grieves with ceaseless care.
My nation split asunder: four are we,
The Kings elected by the deathless Gods.
Azirnyul keeps the western shores his own,
Ontyera makes from southern trees his rods,
Italkus sits in northern hills of stone,
Yuhara mourns in eastern vales and plains:
My mighty people cloven, kin from kin.
The blood of fratricidal war by rains
Is washed away, but cleansing for the sin
Of discord never comes from Heaven high.
The sacrifice has given me the same
Response a dozen times: before I die,
My final guest, even a beggar lame,
I must anoint my true and godly heir,
And yield my people’s fate to his command.
So every dawn I pray for help none dare
To give. There are no heroes in this land.
O Liovniru, lord of lies and night!
How you now laugh at this abject defeat
Of insolent Yuhara’s storied might.
Alone, I brood upon my kingly seat
Not hoping that a worthy man might come,
Nor thinking that a sweet succor is soon.
No, I await the slinking, sinful scum
To perch about me, lusting for the boon
And knowing not of sacrifice or love.
The King is fading fast from bitter life
All ashen gray with hatred from above
And worn to grief with seven years of strife.
The strong abandon me and weaklings stay,
The very cattle seem to loathe the sight
Of me. O Heaven, glad are you this day
To witness your work: sorrow, gloom, and plight
Upon the man you once had called your friend.
Why should I keep your ancient laws alive
When all you seek is my despairing end?
This pain is given me: in its depths I’ll dive.

So did the One-Eyed King lament
In the frozen solitude of the night
For himself and the warring Rauprig-mut,
Brother against bitter brother.

Of Hauraza

Now, these were the days of Hauraza,
The little crow of Dream-Spinning Liovniru,
Breaker of nations, lore-thief, King,
Swift, soot-maned master of victory.
Peace to all, children of Marnoz!
Let us sing his godhood and slavery.

So went he forth in darkest winter
Out to the haunted wilds, alone,
With all the spanning world before him.
Westward from the halls of his people
Across the vastly stretching plains
And under mighty halls of cedars:
Hauraza, exile-son of Selladanzi,
Who followed not a human course
But walked instead a subtler path
That came to him with nightly dreams.
At times he sat by chill mountain streams
And drank deeply alongside the wolves,
While other times he wandered in the woods
And ate the blameless foods of ferns and berries.
He made his clothes from soft spring bark
And the hides of old beasts he found
Lying in lonesome forest glades.
Wild grew his crow-dark hair
Into a long and flowing mane behind him
Tangled with brambles and snarling knots.
By night he sang the praises of Heaven
While looking upon the god-wrought land
From some mighty mountain height.
He did not sorrow, for when he slept,
His indulgent father comforted him and taught him
Knowledge beyond the ken of mortality.
Liovniru, the Grinning God, did love
His son dearly, and gave him many gifts
Of true dream and twilight vision.
Yet in the daylight, Hauraza was alone.

One day, while climbing in search of eggs
Upon some foggy, fearful cliffs,
Hauraza heard the sounds of human voices
And he was enthralled to hear such,
For it had been two long years in solitude
Since he had left his mother’s people.
The lithe young boy scampered up the stone
Swift as a chamois stag leaping
Yet his feet silent as a furtive lynx
Until he came by the height of the cliff
And peering out upon the heights
He saw an encampment, all of men,
Some wearing hides and others garb of cloth,
With spears of stone and swords of bronze.
They carried many banners, fearsome to see,
Showing lions with bloody mane, or else
A man outstretched and skinned alive, or else
An axe with edge all rimed with hoarfrost.
Warriors, then, Hauraza knew them to be,
Yet they were not like the old heroes
That he had met among his people,
For there was a cruel strength to these men
A palpable power, an absence of restraint,
An infinite possibility of brutality.
And Hauraza realized that these folk
Whom he had hoped at first to see
Were truly wicked beasts and bandits
Who preyed upon men as men do upon deer.
So thought the little godling boy
To race back down the cliffs and flee,
But he did stumble as he went, and fell,
And broke his leg upon a stone,
And could not stifle his stricken cry of pain.
Iron hands grasped him, and carried him up.

They cut away his tangled locks
And washed him with freezing waters.
These men knew nothing of godliness:
They gave not, and were given not.
They paid no homage and knew no prayers
But paid reverence only to themselves.
So they saw nothing in Hauraza, their slave,
To tell them of his birth or blood,
And they gave him many heavy labors,
Of washing and cooking and sewing,
Woman’s work that they cared not to do.
Though Hauraza was struck with shame,
He did as was asked, and was not beaten.
Though Hauraza was sick with resentment,
He did as was asked, and was not beaten.
And though he loathed his master’s very lives,
He did as was asked, and was not beaten.
For a year he did the work of the slave,
Always seeking the chance of escape,
But never seeing it: when the bandits rode forth,
They chained the slaves down against the earth,
And when night came, leashed them like dogs.
Ivkyert was their sinful master, the King
Of these jackals that wore the faces of men.
A man like a birch was he, pale and gaunt,
Towering tall, with a crown of golden hair.
He was wild and fierce, swift to joy
Yet swifter still to raging hate.
Ivkyert drank often of wine and mead,
Becoming repugnant and lustful as he did so,
Seeking out his satisfaction like a wild creature.
He loved neither man nor woman nor child,
And had no wish to sire sons in a mighty line.

When Hauraza rested from his labors,
He murmured prayers to his father,
Never straying from that intuition
That the god was ever with him.
The other slaves were most amazed
At this subversive daring of his,
For they had been forbidden from calling
On any God of Heaven or of Earth.
But they did not betray him, for the boy
Gave hope to them, and prophesied
Many secret things from their dreams.
In time, he came to win their trust,
And none dared to betray him
For he could see the future unfolding,
Foretelling that filled them with wonder.
He met a lad from northern lands
With knotted scars upon his shoulders
Haunted by many ill dreams of death,
Of plague and endless sufferings.
His name was Lainna, and his hair was red.
So Hauraza sat beside this boy
When Fanrutis ceased Her solar course,
And as sleep came upon Lainna,
Hauraza lay beside him and called
Upon Liovniru to give a gentler dreaming
To his sore-afflicted friend.
It was answered, and Lainna slept
Without crying out in fear or in pain.
So they became dear to one another,
And not in the way of brothers merely.
Each night they shared the same bedroll,
And they shared each other’s warmth,
Though even Lainna knew not
The godly birth of his dear one, nor that
A mighty doom would call them soon.
The other slaves saw it, and saw it was good,
But in time, the jackals came to know it, too.

Perverse Ivkyert heard then of this trust
Between his slaves, Lainna and Hauraza,
And his blackened heart was filled
With bitter envy and lamentation,
But his flesh was filled with unholy hunger.
So he said, “Bring the moon-skin boy to me,
And if the scar-scored boy should weep,
Tell me well of it so that I may laugh,
For he makes such a silly sound in crying.”
Then Hauraza was taken away from his fellows
And made the slave of Ivkyert alone
His armor-bearer and his victim:
For Ivkyert saw no need to brook
His endless, hungering passions,
But sated them all with his slave
Despicably, with no shame at all.
But Hauraza submitted quietly
And let his honor be stained,
Though in his heart was not but hatred.
For he had always a cunning plan,
Did the godling son of Liovniru.
In time Ivkyert came to trust his slave
To submit to him in docile silence,
And so he began to take of drink
And made himself all wild and unwise
To better savor his wanton lusts.
The boy still submitted ever,
But smuggled he a knife of stone
Beneath his pillows, and sharpened it keen.
And as Ivkyert tarnished his honor,
Hauraza thought of poison and death.
But Ivkyert suspected nothing,
And by day would lead his bandits forth,
With Hauraza staying behind at camp,
Tasked to tend to his master’s affairs.
So one winter morning took Hauraza
The wine that his master so often quaffed,
And mixed into it poppy milk and sap,
To dull Ivkyert’s senses to any danger.

That night came iron-eyed Hauraza
To the fur-cloaked bed of Ivkyert,
Who drank the poppy-tainted wine,
And laughed, senseless as a dog,
As he stripped away the modesty of his slave,
And threw his naked self upon Hauraza.
And as the bandit spat on honor
With all of his wicked exertions,
Hauraza lay back and feigned delight.
When Ivkyert had lost his sense to pleasure
And all that came from his mouth
Were the hideous grunts of some lesser beast,
Then Hauraza reached beneath his pillow
And grasped the knife of keen cold stone.
And as Ivkyert threw back his head in bliss,
His life-blood spewed from the cleft in his throat.
Righteous Hauraza kicked away the dying shape,
And raised the knife to claim his virtue’s vengeance.
He threw his trophy upon the fire.

Then cried out Hauraza in mighty voice,
“Waken, ye sin-blackened beasts!”
And by the will of Heaven,
All the jackals heard this voice
As if coming down in thunderous storm,
And they rose from their haunted sleep,
Crying out in terror and in awe.
And Hauraza stood before them,
Bearing the bloody knife and saying,
“Behold the rewards for your work!
Behold what Heaven has set aside for ye!
Accursed are ye among all men,
Ye who sacrifice nothing,
Givers of no hospitality but only war:
Corrupt, perverse, cruel, and lost!
You forsook Heaven, and so shall
The world forsake you in turn:
These are the words of the Immortals,
Sent to me by Liovniru my father!”
And Hauraza having spoken thus,
The bandits cried out in great affliction,
As their skin did stiffen and their blood froze,
Their hearts halting, voices fading,
Until at last they were turned all to stone.
Out in the wilderness of Vrotispal,
They have stood there to this day,
Proof of the insuperable justice of Heaven.

The slaves then broke off their chains,
And cried out to Hauraza, “Be thou our King!
Thou knowest the God: it is fitting.”
But the son of Liovniru raised his hand,
And said, “My beloved friends, not yet.
I have unfinished matters that call me east,
To the nation of my mortal mother,
And her husband, who is their King.
The God has sent me no dreams of them,
So I must go and learn what has become
Of Yuhara and Selladanzi.
If ye should wish to come with me,
Then let us set forth together.”
Then there was a silence, for the slaves
Were sorely afraid that if they went forth,
They could be caught and enthralled anew.
But Lainna came forth from among them,
Standing by his dear one’s side,
And he said boldly, “I am with you,
From this day forth, for life and beyond.”
The slaves were filled with shame
To see such strength as they had not shown,
And so they then rallied forth,
All the twenty of them together,
And knelt before Hauraza and Lainna,
Making that selfsame pledge to them.

By foot they wandered down,
Amidst storm and nightly mists,
Along deer paths and shepherd trails,
This ragged band of freedmen,
Feeding on whatever they found.
At times they met hunting bands
Or else lonely herders wandering.
In time they came to lowland fields,
Always pressing onwards,
Following Hauraza their captain,
Who sought news of Yuhara the King.
He heard in time of the terrible struggle,
The fourfold split of the people,
Who had named themselves the Rauprig-mut:
Four were their kings, Azirnyul and Italkus,
Ontyera and Yuhara. Hauraza thought
In silence to himself, “I am young:
The time is not right for me to return
And show myself before my mother’s husband.”
So he prayed and offered to his father,
Until the knowledge came: Three years
To wait before he could return,
Or else disaster would come upon his work.
So he said to all his fellowmen,
“The time is unripe for what I had sought.
We must await the sign of Heaven.”
But Lainna said to his dear one,
“What of the three other kings?
What if we were to seek them out?”
And Hauraza thought long on this,
Till he said in earnest truth to Lainna,
“Let you go to them with pretence.
Each, you will tell a different tale.”

So they came first to Azirnyul,
Who ruled at the head of the Rau,
Flowing from the Tlankuram.
Before the king knelt Lainna,
And the flame-haired boy said,
“If it please your lordship,
You should know that I have come
From beyond the southern woods.
On our way here, my friends and I
Saw that the people of Ontyera
Were claiming that they had found
The torn body of Hauraza,
Eaten by a wild bear many winters past.
Do whatever you think should be done.”
And Azirnyul was greatly troubled,
But thanked Lainna for his words.

They came next to Italkus,
Who ruled upon the northern hills
From a mighty fort he had raised there.
Before the king knelt Lainna,
And the scar-shouldered boy said,
“If it please your lordship,
You should know that I have come
From along the western shores.
On our way here, my friends and I
Saw that the people of Azirnyul
Were claiming that they had heard
That Hauraza had become a king
Over some wild warring folk,
And he is coming in the full strength of war.
Do whatever you think should be done.”
And Italkus was greatly troubled,
But thanked Lainna for his words.

They came last to Ontyera,
Who ruled within the southern woods,
In the meadows and spacious glades.
Before the king knelt Lainna,
And the cunning-eyed boy said,
“If it please your lordship,
You should know that I have come
From beyond the northern hills.
On our way here, my friends and I
Saw that the people of Italkus
Were claiming that they had learned
That Hauraza had left these lands
And travelled into the Ancient West,
Never to return to this country again.
Do whatever you think should be done.”
And Ontyera was greatly troubled,
But thanked Lainna for his words.

Then the slaves all said to Hauraza,
“Why have you spread these deceits?
Why would you lie to these kings
Who could bring about your swift death?”
But Hauraza laughed and said,
“The God is with me, my friends,
And he leads me not astray.
You shall all see what will come of this,
Each assumption warring with another,
But come, let us leave this warring country.”
Then went they into the southern lands,
And vanished from the Rauprig-mut
Not to return until four years had passed.


…

[athelstan]

Reserved.

[athelstan]

Reserved.

[athelstan]

Reserved.

[athelstan]

Glossary

Aġrali – the Marnic goddess of rivers, lakes, seas, and rain.

Duhumor – the gnolls, or hyena-men, of the Dustplains. Although not necessarily malevolent, these creatures often competed with human tribes for hunting grounds, making them cultural enemies of the Rauprig-mut by necessity.

Fanrutis – the Marnic goddess of the sun, horses, and fire.

Geñkaryo – the longest river in the known world, draining most of eastern Kerlonna, flowing northeast from the Vrotispal Range and eventually emptying into the Last Seas.

Injil – here, the name refers to Old Injil, the wizard-empire of the ancient past, destroyed from within by slave uprisings and defections of its mages before the beginning of the story of Yuhara.

Jackal – an epithet for the wicked, as well as the figure of evil in Rauprig-mut / Marnic mythology.

Kasra – a drug of uncertain composition used by the priests of the Rauprig-mut and their predecessors to bring on “God-visions”

Kjuptal – the immortal emperor of Old Injil, a corrupt wizard of terrible power. During the fall of his realm, Kjuptal was not slain, but bound by the mages that had betrayed him, and cast beneath the sea, where he still lies imprisoned.

Liovniru – the Marnic trickster god, steersman of the moons, lord of the night, spinner of dreams, and guardian of slumber and sleepers.

Rauprig-mut – the protagonist tribe of The Songs of the Elders, and earliest known worshippers of the Marnic Gods. Descended from slaves fleeing the ruin of Old Injil, the Rauprig-mut did not formally take that name until they settled in the valley of the River Rau during the reign of Yuhara, their first King.

Rignyas – the Marnic goddess of autumn, love, and the arts.

Serpent – the holy animal of Marnic religion. Also used as an epithet for righteous people.

Stomguñ – the Marnic god of winter, storms, war, and rage.

Yärnate – the most important Marnic goddess, patron of slaves, low people, and the oppressed, and the bountiful earth mother of all living things.