A Song, a Rose, a Star, and
a Dream:
The Arkati and House Loenthra
Introduction.
Some people, unfamiliar with the complexities of Elven culture, have encountered the document known as “Elven Dogma & Theology”, and, after perusing it, have declared, “The Elves have no gods.” Although common, this belief is a fallacy. The Elves are not numbered among those sadly deluded few, the “athiests”, who hold that the Arkati are nonexistent and that all manifestations of the Arkati stem from wild magic or hallucination. The Elves are quite aware of the existence of the Arkati; when manifestations of the Gods walk the lands so freely, how could the Elves be ignorant?
My own exploration into the relationship between Elves and the Arkati began with a desire to learn more of the Elven-Arkati relationship—specifically, I wished to know, if the Elves worship no deities, why do they have Arkati patrons?
I soon learned that it was a matter of definition. While the Elves believe that the Arkati exist, they do not believe that the Arkati are gods. This was initially very confusing to me, as, when I first learned the word “god” in Common, I learned it as a term synonymous with the name “Arkati”—to me, it was akin to saying, “Scarlet is not red”. Several Elves tried to explain the difference to me, but it was opaque until I remembered a night during the Frostacres Winter Festival of 5101. Taken sick with the Jackal’s fever, a Faendryl man looked at me that night and said, “There are no Gods.” I asked him what he meant, and he said, “The Arkati are not gods, for gods are all-powerful and undying.” Although this confused me greatly at the time, I have come to understand that everything rests in this matter of definition. The Elven-language concept of “god” seems to incorporate the ideas that a god must be immortal, all-powerful, and all-knowing, and that true “gods” were the creators of this world and are therefore immediately and unarguably worthy of worship—an idealized concept, in sum, without any basis in existence. The fact that the Elves once believed the Arkati to match this concept of “god” may account for the vehemence with which some Elves react to non-Elven confusion over this matter of definition.
In my research into the relationship between Elf and Arkati, I came to focus on the beliefs of House Loenthra, and, within House Loenthra, to focus upon the Bardic Lord and the Somber Lord, for those are the two Arkati with whom my deepest alliegances are laid. Although the blood within my veins mingles that of House Faendryl with that of lost House Ashrim, my features are those of an extremely pureblooded Faendryl, and my research was regarded with suspicion and mistrust by certain of the other Houses whom I approached. Through invoking the name of the Loenthran archivist Athrawes Gwyrdd, and through discussions of shared attitudes and shared affinities, I was able to convince those of House Loenthra with whom I spoke to accept me as a kindred spirit despite my lack of blood-kinship. To thank each and every one of my informants by name would take far too long, but I hope that even those without words cited here will know that I am profoundly grateful.
I extend my thanks to my translators as well—Bevan Ravenswing, my father-by-blood, and Jacinto Quetzal, my First Guard. My understanding and fluency in the Elven tongue is quite limited, and, without their aid, I would never have been able to communicate with some of my non-Common-speaking informants. I am very appreciative.
House Loenthra and the Arkati.
Although House Loenthra agrees with the rest of the Elven Houses that the Arkati are not gods and are not automatically worthy of subservience, the Loenthrans are a people with a great love of romance, beauty, and ceremony. As a result, the people of Ta’Loenthra are more prone to casual religious observance than any of the other Elven Houses, where religious ritual is typically directly linked to wanting something or to wanting to avoid something. The beauty of a ceremony is sufficient in and of itself to grant pleasure to the participants without overmuch concern about the Arkati involved, runs the Loenthran view; the Arkati know when honor is being done to them, and what is done to honor an Arkati will probably please that Arkati, but the Arkati’s response, in many ways, is not the primary reason to hold such ceremonies.
As a result, few Loenthran practices stem directly from legend or lore, but stem from a communal appreciation of ceremony. Loenthran religious practices begin not on the lips of an exalted priesthood, but from individuals or small groups who decide to enact a ritual or begin a custom that gradually spreads to many. The communion between the Elves of Loenthra is as important if not arguably more important than the communion between the Elves and House Loenthra’s patrons among the Arkati. As a result, religious practices are quite free-form and individualized as well as placing emphasis upon community.
Nevertheless, the Arkati are not unaware of House Loenthra and Loenthran religious ritual—almost every one of the Loenthrans with whom I spoke related one instance or another, some in recent history and some quite far-flung, when one of the Arkati paid an unexpected visit to a traditional Loenthran ceremony honoring the Arkati. Those who discussed the matter with me said that the Bardic Lord was most noted for manifesting in Loenthra and for taking an interest in mortal events. Some added that the Dream Lord’s hand is almost as common as the Bardic Lord’s, but that He does not manifest—the Loenthrans reacted with the same bewilderment at the thought of encountering a manifestation of the Dream Lord abroad in waking Elanthia as a Landing resident might feel at the idea of encountering the Storm Lord in the middle of a desert.
I was unable to travel to Ta’Loenthra, and I would have lacked permission to examine the Loenthran archives even had I done so. Therefore, I found the extrication of valid religious lore from fictitious to be quite difficult—for example, while all of my informants agreed that the brighter Dancer was once a Loenthran elf, I heard no less than seven accounts of the tale of His ascension. When I pointed out the contradictory tales, it did not seem to bother my informants—indeed, they accepted others’ tales as cheerfully as the ones they themselves had given me, quite to my initial confusion. They spoke of “the essence” of a deity, and the general impression I received was that the historical truth of tales told about one of the Arkati did not matter so long as the Arkati was depicted in a manner appropriate to the Arkati’s spheres of power and general demeanor. As paradoxical as this seemed to me at first, I began to understand the situation over time: to the Loenthra, the words are only a way of describing the heart of a matter, and, if the heart is true, it is not as necessary for the words to be accurate. This is characteristic of House Loenthra in all matters, I have begun to suspect, and not merely in their religious pursuits… but I have not examined that matter fully, and cannot speak definitively to it at this time.
Throughout the rest of this document, while it is not my custom to do so, I shall refer to the Arkati by their given names. The Loenthrans with whom I spoke were quite free with the names of the Arkati, and they reacted to my customary circumvention with anything from pity to mirth to distaste.
Religious Rituals of Ta'Loenthra.
Due to the shifting nature of Loenthran religious customs, as discussed
above, compiling a full list of Loenthran religious ritual is essentially
impossible. As a result, the rituals listed here are rituals that more
than one person described to me and that seemed to be relatively pervasive
within Loenthran culture. While I attempted to focus upon rituals honoring
Cholen and Jastev, I discovered this to be nearly impossible—almost every
ritual involves more than one of the Loenthran patrons, and some are loose
enough to honor any, all, or indeed none of the Arkati, depending upon the
manner in which they are performed and the significances pertaining to the
same.
Singing Down The Sun:
Of all the Loenthran religious rituals, this ceremony is performed most often—upon any given eve, this ceremony is performed multiple places inside and outside Ta’Loenthra. It is one of the only two patron-honoring rituals mentioned to me by every one of the Loenthran Elves who discussed the subject of religion at length with me. The ritual serves to provide a deliberate transition between the cares of the day and the peace of the night for the often-busy Elves, as well as honoring all of Ta’Loenthra’s patron Arkati.
“Whoever has the most authority to lead the ceremony, will do so,” Phaelintyr
Marridane Loenthra told me, but he experienced great difficulty in explaining
the concept of “authority” in this context to me, and I in understanding
it. It is a combination of social status, geographic precedence (the
owner of a garden, for example, holds greater authority while on his property)
and the successes and failures of the day; the best analogy I could find
dealt with the ocean, wherein social status would be akin to the movement
of the tides while authority would be akin to the lapping and retreating
waves.
People gather in an outdoor location for this ritual—a location outside city
walls with a clear view to the horizon is best, but a garden or rooftop can
certainly suffice. As the first hues of sunset begin to tinge the sky,
those present form a circle, and the leader of the ceremony pours a libation
of red wine, saying, “Accept this libation in Thy honor, Cholen, and lift
[my] voice to honor all our patrons.” (The wording is variable depending
upon who will sing.) All present recite, “In Thy honor and in Theirs,”
and drink a toast—if no wine is actually to hand, both the libation and the
toast are pantomimed.
Having toasted Cholen, the gathered Elves link hands, and either the ceremony
leader or one designated by the ceremony leader sings a short song to the
sunset. The song is always five verses long, and, while there are some
traditional sunset-songs, singers are encouraged to write their own.
When the song is completed, the group breaks hands, and the ceremony leader
announces, “If there is one you love [lit: “have romantic passion towards”],
think of that one now, to honor Oleani. If that one is present, take
his or her hand; if you are vowed to one another or wedded, kiss the one
you love.” Once this is done, the group is free to disperse or remain
as it will, but the Elves must do so in silence; those who remain at the
site of the ceremony may not speak until the sun is fully set and the stars
have come out.
Phaelintyr was willing to sing one of the traditional Singing Down the Sun
songs in my presence, but informed me that under no circumstances was I to
attempt to translate it into Common myself. He informed me as well
that, as a religious song, I was forbidden to sing it except in the ritual
of Singing Down The Sun, and I agreed to honor his request, as I hope those
who read this text will also do. Here is the translation that he gave
me.
Night Coming
(traditional—translated by Phaelintyr Marridane Loenthra)
The lingering pools of sunlight’s touch
give way to lengthened shadow.
We stand here, hand in hand,
and we are not alone,
within the darkness.
Twilight’s deepening violet-blue
draws layered silks across the sky.
Mystery, harmony, romance and tragedy—
words speak, but silence also speaks,
within the darkness.
One by one, the silver stars emerge
in brilliant constellations.
Our futures blaze across the sky,
and we are all linked in community,
within the darkness.
Laughter and merriment by firelight,
revelry and flirtation,
Or long hours in dreams and contemplation—
all these paths are valid
within the darkness.
We are separated, but we are of one soul,
we are ourselves, and we are more than ourselves.
Dream thickened dusk fills the sky,
and we are sheltered till the dawn
within the darkness.
Lastday Celebrations:
Like many of the rituals held in Cholen’s honor all over Elanith, Lastday is essentially a Loenthran excuse to hold a large party. This may be why this ritual, like Singing Down the Sun, was mentioned to me by every one of my Loenthran informants. The ritual is held monthly upon the last day of each month. The ceremony begins one hour after sunset, and it is normally held indoors. Invitation is by word-of-mouth, but refusing anyone entrance to a Lastday ceremony is considered extraordinarily poor judgement on the part of the host. (For obvious reasons, having a fairly large home is essential to routinely holding a Lastday ceremony.)
Until the ceremony begins, the guests are required to wait outside the place where the ceremony will be held—either actually outside on the front steps or garden, or in a lobby or sitting room. When all is prepared, the host will go to his front door, open it, and call out, “Cholen, Tilamaire, be welcome to this gathering!” If there are any more doors between the outside and the room in which the ceremony will be held, they will be opened with the same invocation. This is the guests’ cue to come inside.
Somewhere in the room will be one chair marked with some sort of wreath hanging on the back—grapes in season, flowers (wild or greenhouse) other times. This chair is not to be sat in or used by any guest—it is reserved specifically for Cholen if he should choose to attend. No similar chair is reserved for Tilamaire; when I asked why this would be, Castaele Thaerys Loenthra laughed at me and told me that Tilamaire would be too busy dancing with all the ladies to spare the time to sit down. More than one of my informants told me of Lastday celebrations that had indeed been attended by Tilamaire or Cholen, though none of them had been personally present at such.
Music, laughter, song and wine are the hallmarks of a Lastday celebration.
Before anyone sings or plays, he or she toasts the empty chair and the gathering,
and praises the fortune of the month for bringing them together; afterwards,
his or her glass is refilled as thanks for the song. The goal is to
throw the best of all parties—at the end of every month. It comes as
little surprise that many Loenthrans honor this holiday so eagerly, and little
surprise as well that the day after is a day of rest.
Firstday Ceremonies:
The Common word “month” is linked to the Common word “moon”, but the Elven word for month is linked to the Elven word for “stars”. This may have something to do with why the first day of each month is a day particularly auspicious for divination—or, it may not; the Loenthrans did not care to discuss astrological significances with me, knowing that I divine by other paths than the stars. Lastday is followed by the populace at large, but Firstday is followed by a more select set of Loenthrans—many Loenthrans live with an attitude of, “what shall be, shall be,” and see no purpose in prying into the future in advance of its existence.
On Firstday, no matter what the person’s ordinary inclination may be, it is considered very poor form to rise before noon by a person who intends to participate in a Firstday ritual. I suspect that this custom emerged when Lastday celebrations of the night before made it an absolute necessity, but the Loenthrans told me (those who followed the custom) that extra time in Ronan’s realm is necessary on a Firstday in order to clear one’s head properly of everything that happened in the prior month and to force one’s vision clearly towards the future.
When Firstday celebrants do rise, they go into small, secluded rooms in their homes which are reserved for the purpose of painting. These rooms often include large windows made of glass or glaesine, because there may be no candles lit or other artificial light. The celebrants may work alone, or in groups as large as eight. Wine is a necessity to celebrate Lastday properly, but wine is forbidden in Firstday ritual; participants in Firstday may consume only a ceremonial broth containing certain herbs until sundown. The participants light tall sticks of blessed incense and leave them burning in the studio; the incense will not be extinguished until sunrise the next morning. Until there is no longer enough light to see by, the celebrants paint in the small, incense-heavy rooms to earn Jastev’s approval.
When there is no longer light, the celebrants light candles, take their
paintings, and go outside beneath the stars to let the fresh air sweep away
whatever dizziness or thickheadedness they may be experiencing. They
invoke Jastev to see their work and to open their eyes in exchange for their
creations, and they gather in groups in gardens or on rooftops (the same
sort of sites as are appropriate for Singing Down The Sun ceremonies) to
divine one another’s fates and their own fates by whatever methods they deem
most suitable—stargazing is most popular, though card-reading, runic reading,
divination sticks, and simple meditation are also common. One of my
informants told me as well that prophecy can be divined simply by proper
study of Firstday paintings done by particularly skilled artists, though
others were quite derisive when I raised the suggestion.
The Jastatos Murals:
Very few honor this particular ritual, and many of those who do are accounted as “fanatics who would chop off their heads if neck-blood made glossier rubies,” one informant told me (though the Elf in question asked not to be cited as the source of the quote). In the Landing, we might account those who complete this ceremony as being particularly devout clerics of Jastev. Across the DragonSpine, where the Arkati are normally honored without being accorded direct worship, it is considered a mark of true artistic determination (though often also a mark of true artistic dementia.) Originally, Marrlekian Elinsar Loenthra told me, the ceremony was titled the “mural” ceremony because it was undertaken only for the purpose of painting murals ceremonially on the walls of buildings intended to honor. He was fairly disgusted to note that it had changed within his lifetime to become a task that any artist might undertake. (Unfortunately, I dare not venture to guess at Marrlekian’s age; this might describe either two hundred years or two thousand. Marrlekian carried himself with an attitude of agelessness that I can only hope to master in the coming centuries of my lifetime.)
Those who undertake the Jastatos Mural Ceremony labor artistically under the same conditions as the artists do upon Firstday—for an entire month. During the days, heavy incense smoke fills their painting-rooms, and the artists drink only the ceremonial broth as they work. During the nights, the artists take their easels outside and continue to paint in pitch darkness—trusting Jastev to guide their brushes. When they are too exhausted to paint, they sleep beneath the stars, and, upon rising, immediately take their paintings back inside, relight the incense, and begin to paint again, elaborating upon whatever strokes they made the prior night, deepening them into form and picture. Throughout the process, they focus their minds in meditation upon Jastev, seeking to gain talent akin to His and to gain his goodwill. The resultant pieces are usually quite large—ten feet tall by thirty feet wide is not uncommon—and quite chaotic and complex, intricate in symbolism, light, color and form.
Although none of the Jastatos Murals have ever left Ta’Loenthra, the communities
across the DragonSpine have had the opportunity to view work inspired by
the Jastatos Mural Ceremony. The Ilyan Cloud displayed a number of
exquisite pieces, which were stored for a time as well in Solhaven’s temple
to Jastev. Several of these paintings were inspired by the Jastatos
Murals.
Dreaming Heart Ceremonies:
The Elves of Ta’Loenthra can be quite casual about romance, but they take marriage quite seriously. When two Loenthran Elves are joined in marriage, it is said that their futures as well as their hearts are permanently intertwined. The impact of their birth-stars upon their lives are permanently diminished, and it is more accurate to do astrological divinations through observation of the constellation in dominance upon the wedding-day. (On a side note, some particularly popular constellations to wed beneath in Ta’Loenthra include the Mistress of Adoration, the Guardian, the Sun God, the Paladin, and the Spire. In contrast, some particularly unpopular constellations to wed beneath include the Wagon, the Trident, the Gates, and, oddly, Jastev’s Crystal.) Loenthrans love often, but marry rarely, for this very reason: even if their ways part, their fates are still bound, and the two Elves will be bound even beyond the grave.
The Loenthran Dreaming Heart ceremony calls upon this bond to help foretell
the future of two-lives-made-one. Like Singing Down the Sun, the Dreaming
Heart ceremony honors all of the patrons of House Loenthra. Upon the
eve before a marriage anniversary, Loenthrans who practice this ritual come
together beside a living rosebush. Standing hand in hand, they individually
recite an invocation to Oleani and Cholen before each drinking from a cup
of wine held communally in their free hands. Here is a translation
of this invocation, as provided by Nareithe Elinsar Loenthra:
In my hand, I hold my heart,
In my heart, I hold my joy--
Cholen, see the joy I feel!
My heart is feathered, Oleani,
Lifting skyward on true wings.
See my love as I see [him/her],
Know my love as I know [him/her],
And bless us in our joy.
Having recited this invocation, the couple sets the cup aside and unlinks
hands. Each selects a rose, and, gazing into each other’s eyes, they
cut the twin roses from the bush. Each holding a rose, they raise their
gaze to the skies (if they are outdoors; if they are in a greenhouse, they
must first go outside.) Under cloudy skies, they look up at the glow
of Liabo; under clear skies, they gaze at the constellation presiding over
their marriage. Without looking away, in unison, they recite an invocation
to Jastev and Ronan:
In dreams, my heart is open.
I seek the realm of dreams
With [he/she] who has my heart.
I seek to know my fate.
Jastev, fill my dreams with starlight;
Ronan, fill my dreams with starlight.
My [husband/wife] and I are one.
As one, we open our heart, and we open our inner eyes.
Reveal to me the coming days within this coming night.
Once the second invocation is complete, the two part without speaking to
one another or touching one another. They sleep beneath separate roofs
if it is winter, or in separate gardens if it is summer. Whatever dreams
they have are said to be symbolic of their shared fate in the coming year.
For one night each year, they are as spiritually close as it is possible
for two people to be while completely separated from one another’s presence.
Courting Tilamaire
The various legends of Tilamaire’s ascension to godhood are deeply ingrained in Loenthran ideas of romance. (I have related one such story later in this text.) The custom of “courting Tilamaire” stems from the idea that Tilamaire is a teacher at large rather than merely a teacher of those who evince sufficient talent. Many Loenthran legends about Tilamaire depict the young god as a romantic and flirtatious figure, who, like the Wavedancer, can be swayed if his standards are met—though his standards do rely very much upon voice and grace of movement. Courting Tilamaire is a tradition officially intended to win Tilamaire’s favor and improve a bard’s voice and grace for the rest of the year—even possibly to acquire teaching from Tilamaire himself. In practice, it acts rather as a time for young elven women to relax among one another and bond with one another prior to separating and spending time with their partners on the Day of Voaris and Laethe. This ritual is a custom of adolescents and young women, practiced little by those past courting-age or by those who are wed (and it is a source of shame to a husband if his wife should court Tilamaire).
On the day one week before the Day of Voaris and Laethe (Fashanos 7), a girl who practices this custom will put off her everyday clothing in exchange for flowing dancing skirts and tightly laced bodices over scoop-necked chemises. Silks and gossamers and very bright colors are the rule of the day, with particular emphasis paid to the blue and gold of Tilamaire. Participants also let down their hair, like maidens, and wear wreaths of flowers—typically blaeston blossoms and rosebuds twined with gold and blue silk ribbons. The overall effect is rather gypsy, though quite pretty.
Having bedecked themselves in this fashion, participants in this custom act as if Tilamaire were watching them at all moments. Rather than walking from place to place, they adopt a swaying, sashaying gait and actually dance through their normal day. While they will speak normally to one another, participants will often break into sweet, wordless song at various points in the day—there is an actual maidens’ code of cadences and tones used to impart information to the watching god, but none of the Loenthrans were willing to teach me any part of this code (and some of them seemed rather embarrassed to know of its existence in the first place.)
Some among the participants choose to spend their nights alone; others gather together in gardens or public halls to make merry. There is much dancing, reading of poetry, and singing in the maidens’ code, and libations flow freely as the women implore Cholen to send his servant to them and turn Tilamaire’s gaze their way. Those gathered in groups are usually less serious about the matter, using it as an excuse to speak freely and celebrate in a female-only gathering including none of their elders. Those who retire alone for the eve are far more intense and formal about the matter, treating it more as a religious ritual and less as a party.
Two of my informants indicated to me that they have known of times when
Tilamaire has responded to rituals of this sort. One said that she
was actually present at one of the rituals, and she also hinted sidelong
that Tilamaire came among her group disguised as a woman. However,
as both of these Loenthran women were well past the age of participation
in such ceremonies, both were quite reluctant to discuss the events and their
personal knowledge of such matters.
The Rose Dance
The Rose Dance is the Loenthran approach to ensuring that elves who are neither coupled nor courting can still attend and enjoy dance-parties, so far as I could tell. However, since it is indeed related to religion, it seemed appropriate to mention it herein.
In the Rose Dance, all elves present who are not married or engaged divide by gender and go to opposite halves of the dance hall, where two different vases filled with roses stand, one on each side. Each rose has a different-hued silk ribbon wrapped about the stem, with one of each color in each vase. Each person draws a rose from the vase, and, when all people have roses, they return to the center of the dance-hall and each find the person with the matching ribbon. Rather than being one dance alone, the Rose Dance is a series of dances; the number of leaves remaining on the roses’ stems indicates how many dances the couple will share. If the number of leaves is the same on both stems, they will share one dance, and, if not, they will share as many dances as the difference between the number of leaves on the stems. The music for a Rose Dance is always highly romantic and slow, and the couples dancing for the roses’ choice always carry the roses in their linked hands (the man’s left linked with the woman’s right) or wear the roses in their hair to signal that they are still participating in the Rose Dance.
It is said that Oleani’s will controls which people will come together in this dance, but that it is not necessarily indicative of love blooming. Sometimes the roses’ choice reflects secret love and passion as-yet unspoken—but sometimes it introduces new friends, sometimes it begins a new romance, sometimes it brings someone shy into the open or brings a healing heart to dance with someone wounded… or two people at odds together to speak about the conflicts between them. While the reasons for the roses to choose as they do is not always clear, it is always presumed (when the dance is seen religiously) that Oleani’s greater will and benevolence guide the roses, and that they will always choose correctly.
One particularly touching element of the Rose Dance comes if two people who are already in love or already a couple draw the same color ribbon. In this case, they braid the ribbon into one another’s hair and dance together for the rest of the night. If they tie the ribbons around each others’ wrists, instead of braiding it into each others’ hair, it means that they have decided to wed.
If there are an odd number of people, or if the ribbons and people do not match together, then those who have no chosen ribbon-partners wait out the dances until the last couple dancing the Rose Dance has completed their assigned number of dances. At this point, those who were alone during the Rose Dance may choose any partner they wish from among those who are not married, engaged, or wearing Rose Dance ribbons in their hair. If there is more than one person at this stage, they also may not choose one another to dance with, as it is held that the roses would have chosen them to dance if it were intended.
In recognition of the fact that not all people are romantically drawn to people of the opposite gender, there are some versions of the Rose Dance in which all flowers are mixed in the same vase, or in which people divide based upon preference rather than based upon gender. However, this has not become popular among most of the Loenthrans, and currently remains an unusual variant.
Loenthran Legends of Cholen and Jastev.
Jastev and the Wolves
When I spoke with those who honored Cholen above the rest of the Loenthran
patrons, we spoke first of music and poetry and performance, and often of
my search for lore concerning Terrwyn (though I encountered none who had
heard more than a fragment of such, and nothing that I had not already heard.)
When we discussed Jastev, we discussed methods of future-reading before we
settled into discussing matters of religious legend and ceremony. I
knew something of most of the techniques that we discussed, but Tessamariel
Rhalen Loenthra took me by some surprise when she asked whether I knew anything
of divining through wolfsong. When I expressed surprise and confusion,
she related the following legend to me.
There was once a day when Imaera wished to speak to her son, Jastev. She sought him in her forests, and she sought him beneath the earth, and she sought him in his studies, but she did not find him until she turned her attention to the shore of one of the six great seas of Elanthia, where Jastev stood speaking with Charl and painting.
She had no wish to anger Charl—the sea can devastate shore-caught forest, and Imaera bears a very deep love for all her creations—but she grew worried. She did not trust Charl, knowing him to be unreliable almost to the point of disobedience, and she wished for her son to have other companionship. She sought about, but this was a grim day in the world, with little trust and little good in mortal hearts, and she did not wish the companion she found for Jastev to be mortal, for he would only return to his former ways when the mortal passed beyond the Ebon Gate.
So Imaera went into the heart of her forests, and went to a place where clear water ran beside a bank of clay, and she lifted the clay in her hands and began to shape it. She shaped the clay into a form with four legs, that it might follow her son no matter how swiftly he moved, with a head and eyes to sense and breathe, with a tail and ears that could express a thousand ranges of emotion. She gave it ears sharp enough to hear the scent of the wind and a nose that could track even the immaterial passage of divinity, for her son had become chaotic in his comings and goings, and she did not wish this new companion to be abandoned for its inability to follow her son. She wrought its eyes from sunshine shafting through a thousand dappled leaves and wrought its fur from the patterns of frost that form on tree-trunks at the end of autumn, and she knew that it would please his artist’s eye. She gave it a heart that would know loyalty and love more deeply than anything she had ever crafted, and she whispered the name of her son to the creature, and she bade it to be his friend. Its first name is unknown, but we who follow after would say that this beast was the first of the wolves.
Imaera taught the first wolf the scent of her son, and she sent the wolf out to seek him, watching from afar. Jastev showed no surprise when the great beast padded up beside him, but he gazed on the wolf long and long, admiring its beauty, before he travelled to his mother’s side. He had not, of course, needed to look; he knew where she stood, no matter how well she tried to remain hidden. It is Jastev’s way.
“Of all the things you have ever crafted, this is the most beautiful,” Jastev told Imaera, “but you have crafted it flawed. See—here, in its heart—“ and Jastev pointed to what Imaera had not seen: the tiny webwork of frost that had formed in the beast’s loving heart when she covered it with fur born out of winter. There was a weakness there, and it would take the wolf in time. Through the frosts of winter, Lorminstra had touched the beast, and deemed it to be not immortal, but mortal. It would perish, and it would die, and the wolf did not have the intelligence to complete the rituals that incite Lorminstra to grant her favor to mortals—its heart was too true and too passioned to be bound up with the complexities of intellectual thought.
Jastev went away, then, dismissing his mother and dismissing her creation with scorn as cold as the frost itself. He went to Gosaena and spoke at length with her, where Imaera refused to follow him. Imaera stroked the soft fur of her wolf, and she thought about her son, and she tried to decide how her creation might be repaired.
After a time, she made of one wolf two, and of two, four, and of four,
eight, and she built the first pack of wolves. She gave the wolves
the ability to reproduce themselves with one another, so that, where one
fell, others would live and go on. As well, she linked the souls of
all the wolves in the pack, so that the memory and the love of the wolves
would carry on even after one wolf fell. Then, Eonak came seeking Imaera,
and she left the wolves to wander, forgetting them for a time.
The wolves loved Jastev truly, but they were crafted by his mother, and they
were mortal. They could not follow him into Gosaena’s realm.
As the shadows lengthened, and as Jastev did not emerge, the wolves began
to be afraid. Because Imaera had crafted the wolves’ eyes out of sunlight,
they could not see in the darkness, and they were afraid that Jastev would
never come to rescue them. Their noses were filled with his scent and
his trail, and they did not know how to find another trail to follow.
They were also very hungry, for no grass grows near the outskirts of Gosaena’s
realm, and Imaera had taught them to crop the grass like horses rather than
eating meat.
It was night, which is Sheru’s realm as much as Ronan’s, and Sheru sensed a new, pure, innocent fear of a kind he had never known before. He came to see what it was that was so desperately afraid, and he found the wolves. Sheru tried to disguise himself as Jastev to them, but they were blinded in the darkness and knew that he was not by his scent, and they were not fooled. The wolves were even more frightened by this, but they did not know enough to be suspicious, so, when Sheru said that he was not Jastev, but that he had been sent by Jastev, the wolves believed him. Sheru guided the wolves back into the forest, and, with the universal senses of night, found a pregnant doe. He told the wolves that Jastev wished them to feed in a new way, a way that would give pleasure to him, and he taught them how to kill. The wolves’ teeth shifted in their mouths as they listened to Sheru, becoming the teeth of flesh-rippers, and then, at Sheru’s command, they killed the doe and sated themselves on her flesh.
When the doe lay dead and torn, and the glutted wolves lay about panting and licking blood from their muzzles, Sheru played his greatest trick on the wolves. Imaera loves deer, and she often manifests herself as one of these most gentle of creatures. Sheru let the night-blinded wolves, for the first time, know the form of what they had destroyed—and let them believe that they had killed their creator, the mother of the one they existed to love and serve.
Four of the wolves went mad from the shock. They yelped and cried, yipped like puppies and ran around in circles, chewed at their paws and frothed at the mouth, and Sheru reached out and took them as his own. He cast amber light into their eyes, teaching them to see in the darkness, and he took them away with him. These were the first jackals, and Sheru was delighted in the twisting of Imaera’s creation. Sheru took the jackals as his sign, and their pawprints show his presence in the dreamland.
The other four wolves were racked with deep shame, but all fear left them beneath the weight of that shame, which preserved them from Sheru. They were ready to accept any punishment, any burden, to pay the price of their crime—they were creatures of honor. Imaera had not taught them to weep, but they went back to the edge of Gosaena’s realm, heads bowed and tails between their legs, to lie down and wait for the morning and for their master.
Jastev returned from Gosaena’s realm with a few hours to spare before dawn, and he found the four shame-stricken wolves awaiting him. The wolves could only speak in barks and whines, lacking mortal speech, but Jastev knew what had happened. He was ashamed that he had abandoned the helpless first wolf, and he explained gently to the wolves what had occurred, and showed them how they had been deceived. Although he still had no wish to take the wolves as his companions, he touched them with his power, and he turned their sunlight eyes to starlight eyes, so that they would no longer be blind and helpless by night. As he did so, something of his own nature slipped through, and he granted the four wolves his gift—the gift of prophecy. As they gazed up at the stars and read their fates, the wolves threw back their muzzles for the first time and let their long, resonant howls flood through the air—the first time wolves ever sang. By the stars, the wolves read what had been and what would be, and they sang with a beauty and a power that astonished even Jastev. They read the stars with the same eyes Jastev read them, and they became filled with grief and joy for all the years to come.
As dawn came, the wolves went away, for they knew in the paths of the
stars that, no matter what gift he had given them, their true master wanted
them no more than he had wanted the first of them at their creation.
The wolves went wandering out to the world for all the paths that they might
follow, and they bred and spread across the continents of Elanthia.
Many fell away from their star-linked soul. Some, seeking masters,
fell away from their first heritage and became hunting-hounds and other breeds
of dog; some became too enamored of pranks and danger and became coyotes;
some became moon-maddened hyenas, touched by Zelia, eternally laughing at
a world too large to comprehend; some fell under Luukos’s grasp and became
wolfshades and ghost wolves. Through it all, however, the true core
of wolves remained. They consumed flesh, because they did not know
how not to do so, but they hunted the old, the sick, and the weak among the
deer, and they never harmed a pregnant doe again.
The story of Jastev and the wolves is fairly well-known in Ta’Loenthra, but,
in the eighty years of her life, Tessamariel said that she had only twice
met a true wolfsong-diviner. She said that a wolfsong diviner must
know Imaera as well as he or she knows Jastev in order to interpret wolfsong,
and there are very few among House Loenthra who honor Imaera. She said
I would be better suited to learn more of such things among members of House
Ardenai, or even—though she was quite hesitant to suggest it—among certain
of the giantkin clans. Although my curiosity was eating me alive, she
changed the subject quite suddenly, and I did not feel I could safely press
the matter.
The Ascension of Tilamaire
One and all, the Loenthrans I spoke to held that Tilamaire had been a
living member of House Loenthra prior to being elevated to divine status.
They cite the commonly accepted symbol of Tilamaire—a yellow quarter-note
on a field of blue, close kin to the colors of Loenthra—as evidence enough,
if myth, lore, and shared heart did not suffice. Although I heard seven
different tales as to how and why Tilamaire was elevated to godhood, I know
that I can hardly relate them all here, for vellum is expensive and I would
not wish to try my audience’s patience. Therefore, I will relate the
version of this legend that appealed most to me, and leave it to the serious
student of divinity or Ta’Loenthra to follow in my footsteps and unearth
further tales as he or she might wish. This version was related to
me by Heishan Jariethei Loenthra.
There was a day when Tilamaire’s name was not Tilamaire, but a name that
has been taken from time. He was the second son of the patriarch of
House Loenthra, and, for political reasons (House Nalfein may be masters
of politics, but all Houses know something of the dance), Tilamaire was betrothed
to the first daughter of House Vaalor.
While the match was politically sound, it was heartbreaking to the young Loenthran. He knew nothing of battle, nor did he wish to learn; his heart was a heart of music. His hair was the hue of sunlight, and his large eyes were the blue of the sky; he could sing to court the birds from the very heavens, and he could dance with the grace of a stag or with the wild joy of a dolphin’s leap and dive. In ten thousand years, the masters of House Loenthra, had not seen one akin to Tilamaire, and now they would lose him to the vagaries of political striving. There was nothing to be done.
The daughter of House Vaalor was not ill-favored—indeed, she was a beautiful, noble, impassioned creature that any man would have been proud to name his own, and Tilamaire found himself very much in love with her. His two loves battled within him, love of music and love of the Vaalorian, and, at last, he determined that he would leave her, and escape this marriage somehow. At her side, he would seek war, and it would undo him. No matter how he loved her, she was a creature of Vaalor, and he would not take that from her—indeed, she was every bit as much a part of the soul of her House as he was of his own, and he could not condemn her for that.
On the eve before his wedding night, he sat down and wrote her a goodbye letter—but, as he wrote it and rewrote it, pulled apart the words and put them back together, it ceased to be a letter and became in time a poem, and then became a song. He had written the first sonnet ever, in a style which later became known as the Loenthran sonnet. (The name exists to differentiate the form from the Turamyzzrian sonnet, which invented by a Turamyzzrian poet, and from the Tilamairean sonnet, which actually has nothing to do with Tilamaire but which was invented by a cleric of Tilamaire and thus came to bear His name—or so Heishan informed me. I have never done an in-depth study of the history of sonnet forms to be certain, though I know that the names do exist.) More accurately, the second son of House Loenthra had written sixteen sonnets, and he memorized them.
When he stood before the daughter of House Vaalor, with dignitaries and heads-of-state surrounding, with the wedding ceremony half-underway, he began to recite to her. The officiants broke off and fell into silence, and there was nothing but the sound of his voice rising and falling. As the words came, his voice shifted into song, until he was singing his heart to her, until all the world could hear all that he was and all that he sought to be and all that he never would be with her combined with how dearly, desperately much he loved her. His voice and his craft entranced everyone present—they could not move to interrupt him. For a short time, the world was his.
Oleani had been invoked to witness the ceremony, and She became aware of the passion of the young Loenthran both for his House and for his love. Her heart was deeply touched by his passion and his music alike, and She summoned Cholen to hear the song of the youth. It was clear both that Tilamaire could not return to Ta’Loenthra and that his heart could not survive at the military pace of Ta’Vaalor. As Tilamaire completed his last sonnet, swearing his love and his heart to his bride no matter what would befall him, the air began to shimmer brilliantly around him, and he vanished entirely. Cholen had taken Tilamaire to be His aide, servant, and companion.
The chaos was terrible. Both Houses blamed each another for the groom’s disappearance. (According to Heishan, Tilamaire’s ascension was the source of House Vaalor’s dislike of Oleani and Cholen.) To preserve the almost-bride’s honor and to avoid direct war between Houses, both Houses finally declared to the rest of the world that the wedding had taken place (though it had not) and that the groom had been mysteriously killed (though he had not) and that Tilamaire’s would-have-been-bride was now an honorable widow. The alliance was officially cemented, though it fragmented almost immediately into discreet and not-so-discreet feuding.
Rocked by the power of Tilamaire’s love and by his music, the daughter of House Vaalor took up music during her period of mourning. In that time, she hired a music tutor to educate her in such matters, and, with the tutor’s aid, her skill flourished incredibly. Beneath the hooded cloak, her tutor had eyes as blue as the sky and hair as tawny gold as the sun… Tilamaire come again to be with his love, and to stay with her until she met an honest, mortal death at an old Elven age. She did wed again, but never set aside her music lessons, and it may well be that the blood of a Loenthran runs unknown through the line of House Vaalor, though Vaalor would spit to hear it said.
And Tilamaire went on without her, remembering her joy and not her grief,
remembering the things that brought delight and not the things that brought
sadness, and He is still Cholen’s companion today.
Heishan’s version of Tilamaire’s ascension appealed particularly to me because
there is indeed a Loenthran 16-sonnet cycle that predates any other known
sonnets written in Ta’Loenthra. Although Heishan speaks Common, it
is not his first language; he gave me a literal Common translation of the
first sonnet of the cycle and demanded that I adapt it to the Loenthran sonnet
form in Common. We wrestled with the matter of word choice and phrasing
together for nearly two weeks until I satisfied him—he still holds that it
is nowheres near as beautiful as the original Elven, but that it is acceptable.
While he summarized each of the sonnets for me in Common translation,
he flatly refused to permit me to attempt to rephrase any of the other sonnets
or to transcribe his Common summaries. He informed me that it was well-nigh
sacrilege to paraphrase the Tilamairean sonnet-cycle outside its form, and
told me as well that I was far too gloomy a person to be permitted to “mangle”
any of the other sonnets—that only the first would not suffer from my “great
love of all things dying horribly and messily, in iambic tetrameter, no less!
How can you live with yourself?” (For an Elf, Heishan is an extremely
devout worshipper of Cholen; he found much of my writing to be “skilled,
for Common” but highly distasteful.)
From the First Loenthran Cycle
(author unknown, but attributed to Tilamaire—translated by Heishan Jariethei
Loenthra, and rendered by Tanager Skydancing CorFine)
Upon the plain of midnight, vast and bleak,
Like horsement, silent stars above me ride;
Within the hall waits my rose-cherished bride.
Her skirts of gilt-edged red caress the teak;
Beneath her smile’s caress, my will grows weak.
She beckons me to seek her silk-sheathed side,
But dreams wash over, bright, euphoric tide;
A hunting-horn is not the song I seek.
A nightlark calls, a whisper on the wind
Seducing me towards thoughts of blue and gold;
My joy here’s tattered, strung apart and thinned
By faenor gauntlets fisted tight of old.
All holy force, I pray, this fate rescind:
To perish blood-soaked, silent, scarred, and cold.
Epilogue.
This document scarcely encompasses the full of Loenthran custom and legend.
In particular, I have hopes to chronicle the darker practice of Graveside
Divination, the romantic custom of Marriage Singing, the legend of Jastev
and Syyraine, and the legend of the Night of the Dancers. Unfortunately,
I have not managed to gather as much information on any of these matters
as I would wish to do, so their addition will have to wait until a revision
and update of this document. I hope that the information encompassed
already within has been of interest to the reader.
May the stars guide and light your path, and may laughter and friendship
accompany you wherever your path may lead.
By my hand, heart, and soul,
Tanager Skydancing CorFine.
Written this ninth day of the month of Ivastaen in the five thousandth,
one hundred, and second year since the end of the Age of Chaos.
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