Belief Makes You Stupid: Subverted, mostly, by the Church of the Flame, whose official doctrine adheres to an Enlightenment-friendly attitude that expecting the eikones to come down from the Twilight City and tell you everything about everything, or even just a subset of it that you “need to know”, would be completely missing the point, and that your job, Mr. Believer, is to run and find out, then go and implement, and then iterate until it’s perfect.
religion
Harmony with Their Will
Among the comforting things about living in the Transcend are that when divine commands are issued, first, you can be confident that they’re being issued by something with actual qualifications for the role, rather than externalized mental agents, brain dysfunctions, or particularly effective entheogens. And second, if you ask, you can usually get an explanation as to just why doing this particular thing is so important.
The difficulty, of course, is that having had a divine answer placed in your head is all very well for you, but so far as everyone else is concerned, a sense of surety backed up by something which you are confident you could explain if you could invent a new language, some creative mathematics, and perhaps some necessary cognitive surgery – but otherwise can’t – is functionally indistinguishable from taking something on pure faith.
Which is problematic when dealing with people who don’t understand the modern meaning of dei volunt.
– introduction to “What the Fire Said”,
Korris Serannis-ith-Sandre, acquiescent of Dírasán
On Your Feet or Not At All
“What is the meaning of this… display?”
The kneeling petitioner winced as my steel-shod flamestaff slammed into the flagstone by his ear, then winced again as, looking up, he caught a glimpse of my face. “Stand up, man, you and these others. We’ll have no such heathen prostrations here. You insult the Flame. Lord Elmiríën will not be pleased by this.”
They quickly scrambled to their feet, their leader white-faced and stammering. “Forgive us, ah, my lady – um, your holy -”
“Acquiescent.”
“My lady acquies-”
“Just ‘acquiescent’. Acquiescent Muetry of Elmiríën. What is your purpose here, postulant?”
“We are travelers, Acquiescent, from Indimór. We sought only to give thanks for the safety of our journey, and intended no offense. We ask forgiveness.”
“I see.” I sighed inwardly. One day, it would be nice to hear of a foreign god that didn’t expect people to plant their faces in the dirt. “Then know, postulant, that the eikones of the true faith desire no worshipful subjection, no flattering prayers or praise of their magnificence rendered meaningless by the praiser’s offered lack of worth. Such things insult the Flame that burns within you as within Them; as above, so below. They desire rather that you grow along Their path of principle so that you may stand in Their sight and have your worth be known.”
“They are the light by which we see the perfection of the Twilight City, and hope to emulate it in ourselves. To worship the light, to bow before the light, rather than aspire to the light, rather than seek the light, is to condemn your soul to a base nature, forever lost in shadow. Do you understand this?”
“I… not completely, Acquiescent.”
“Think upon this matter, postulant. If three days hence you still wish to seek the favor of Elmiríën Patterner, seek out cleansing at the House of Entélith, and First Instruction at the House of Aláthiël. Until then, this place is closed to you. Now go from here. Thus speak those who acquiesce to Elmiríën, the One Word of Truth.”
Saravoné’s Code
This is the Code of Saravoné,
the Just One, the Scale-Bearer,
by whom all Law is upheld.
To live is to exist
to possess
to act.
All that lives shares this wellspring:
existence, property, will; a single threefold truth.
All crime transgresses against this truth;
by using another for one’s own ends.
Murder, theft, slaving; the three Darknesses.
All are the same.
One alone may stand alone;
the many depend on each other.
A branch, a city, a House, a land, a world
Stands upon myriad pledges.
The obligations of Tárvalén are sacred;
to violate them is to violate the will.
All that lives and thinks.
All that reasons and knows itself.
All possess these things.
An attack on one is an attack on all;
an attack on all is an attack on each.
To defend another is to defend yourself;
when all are defended, justice is done.
The Law is eternal, the person is not;
to live forever is not to exist in eternity.
To trade the eternal for the ephemeral
is to sacrifice a greater thing for a lesser.
This trade has no worth.
Therefore act with coldness of mind.
Hatred and vengeance;
love and clemency;
anger and destruction;
compassion and forgiveness;
these do not serve the Law.
Can you restore the dead to life?
Remake the shattered oath?
Restore ash to unburnt wholeness?
All things have their balance.
All obligations must be met.
All debts must be paid.
This is the rule of mélith.
This is the Code of Saravoné,
the Just One, the Scale-Bearer,
by whom all Law is upheld.
Twilight of the Gods’
The dim red star at the center of this system is named Argyran. This establishes something of a theme; the system as a whole, being planetless, is also named Argyran – or Argyran Depository, after the corporation which owns it lock stock and barrel; Argyran Depository, ICC. And the drift which orbits just within its single belt, in a slight change to the nomenclaturical theme, is Depository Station.
The lack of imagination given to the naming of these things was almost certainly a product of the system population, which rarely exceeded a few hundred at its height, none permanent. The Argyran system had been sold shortly after its discovery to a storage corporation, attracted by the quiet star and sparse belt that made its local space conveniently low in particulates and radiation. The surplus materials, stored goods, time capsules, archives and cryonauts, each in their specialized packages, that orbited thus undisturbed required very few sophonts to tend them, or even to secure them.
The lesser of the two groups of these drifted at the fringe of the system, pacing Depository Cluster C9-1447 out in the cold orbits. The interdictor cruiser, CS Blitz of Liir, was not a corporate ship; rather an IN vessel assigned to guard this specific cluster due to the high risk – despite the crew’s boredom – of “unauthorized reclamation”.
The first of C9-1447’s drifting packages, its fractal sponge structure visible through the enswathing nanosheathing, was a ktelaki faction-hive, surely ancient enough to predate their emergence into space.
The second, tumbling next to it, a pair of antique stone obelisks, their carvings almost worn to invisibility beneath the sheen left by the thousands of hands that had touched the stone.
The third, and the largest in the cluster, a vast cylinder half the length of the entire cruiser, a perfect core of earth taken from a planetary surface along with the temple that stood upon it, snatched up as one piece; the Liirian Holiest of Holies.
And more. The oil-globed machine that had been the focus of a cult on Plavad Minor. The mad clone-prophet of Pevelisk, frozen in cryostasis. The diamond-encased reliquary whose container was woven through with quantum security mesh to demonstrate that, despite their captivity, the sacred relics remained unseen by sophont eyes. And yet more, the holy sites and artifacts of a dozen worlds, taken, secured, and left to drift on a long slow journey to nowhere at the fringe of Argyran Depository.
When their owners learn to play nicely with others, then they can have their toys back.
Tárvalén Awaiting (2/2)
“Many long years passed, as the faithful bandal waited before the gate,” the priest continued his story, “until with time and chance the man died too, and his spirit also approached the gate; and the spirit of the bandal bounded up and ran to meet him. Joyous was their reunion, and for a time, the gloom of the Fugue was lifted by the ring of laughter and happy barking alike.”
“But then at last the time came, and they approached the Twilight City together, and once again Ivrél stopped them at the gate, saying, ‘You may pass, but you alone; for Heaven’s law forbids the City to those spirits of lesser orders.'”
“The bandal whined sadly, and made to turn away, but the man stopped him with a touch, and replied, ‘In life we ran together. What just cause is there to part us now?'”
“‘It is Heaven’s law,’ Ivrél said again.”
“And anger furrowed the man’s brows, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his blade, and for a moment it seemed as if the clash of arms too would disturb the silence of the Fugue, but he knew well that Ivrél was sovereign in this place; and in a moment, they turned together and left that place.”
“‘There is no other way for you,’ Ivrél called after him, ‘for all souls called here must pass into the Twilight City.'”
“‘He stayed here for me,’ the man replied. ‘Mélith demands, by Star, Stone, and Flame, that I can do no less.’ Saying this, he sat down with his back against one of the leafless trees, the bandal curling up by his side, and wrapped his cloak around them both. And so their waiting began.”
“The years pass quickly in the timelessness of the Fugue, and as they waited the years turned to decades, and the decades to centuries, as they watched many souls pass through the Fugue on their wanderings. And yet they prevailed and remained, sometimes walking amid the white-barked trees or upon the bridges that crossed the dark mist-cloaked waters, but for the most part sitting together beneath their tree outside the City’s gate.”
“Thus it was that in the thousandth year of their waiting, they saw the City’s gate flung wide, and from within a shining figure emerge, light wrapped in light and casting no shadow; Elmiríën, the Patterner, the Bringer of Order, the One Word of Truth, and approach the tree where they rested. And seeing this, they stood to meet Him.”
“‘That you remain is something unheard of,” the Patterner said, ‘for those souls which remain uncalled dwindle until rebirth, and those which are called pass into the Twilight City. None remain, and yet here you stand.'”
“‘I hear the call,’ the man replied, facing the god upright as one ought, ‘but I will not leave this place so long as my friend is here; and he will not leave this place so long as I am here. Therefore, we remain.'”
“‘The chill of the Fugue cleanses the soul of those qualities which do not befit Our City. After a thousand years, you are assuredly ready. Come now within.'”
“‘My lord of Order, I cannot. Heaven’s law forbids my friend entry, and thus -‘”
“‘Heaven’s law forbids’, the Patterner broke in, ‘those whose souls are yet stained by terrestrial passions from entering the Twilight City. That you each remain here demonstrates your loyalty to be celestial in nature, not terrestrial. Come you both within; there is a place and a purpose for you there, and know that the Twilight City is open to his kin now, and all of his order who can reach such heights.'”
“And with these words spoken, after their long wait, man and bandal entered the Twilight City together, walking side-by side.”
A small voice rose from the crowd. “That’s the end? What happened next, after they waited so long?”
“Why, child, they abide there still.” He pointed to the statue. “The defining souls of Holy Tárvalén, the Loyal. One can, after all, only be called to the Twilight City by an eikone. Even if that call is to become that eikone.”
Tárvalén Awaiting (1/2)
The statue stood in the center of the temple’s atrium, a tall stern-browed figure, its left arm holding a bundle of scrolls while its right hand reached down to rest upon the head of, and scratch behind the ears of, the wolfish bandal sitting by its side. With the doors thrown open, the hundreds of fine glass chains fringing the statue’s robes tinkled quietly in the morning breeze.
“In the beginning,” said the priest, “of the First Legend, there was a man and a bandal. Their names are lost to history. Who they were is lost to history, as everyone tells this legend differently. In Selenaria, they say they were one of the first moon-priests, and one of their nighthound guardians. In Cestia, an Alatian mountain-man and a retired wardog. In the Crescent, a Telirvéss aman-ship captain and his water-dog. And on the steles that record the Hal!ast Fragments, he hunts with a lone wolven ancestor while the Winter of Nightmares howls around them…”
“And in the Deeping?”
“Here in the Deeping, we know that all these legends are true. Fundamentally.”
“Regardless, man and bandal lived a long and full life together, whether it was guarding the lost moon-temples of Iselené, hunting and mining, trading and raiding, or finding food and warmth amid disaster; true partners in life, sharing plenty and lack, joy and sorrow, mélith. But time gnaws at us all, and few shrug it off as our kind does, and with the passage of years, the bandal was the first of them to die.”
“And soon thereafter, amid the dark waters and leafless white trees of the Fugue, under its misty skies, the spirit of the bandal approached the gate of the Twilight City, and the exarch Ivrél, the guardian of that gate, spoke, saying ‘You have no place here, spirit; the Fugue is not for you, nor yet the city. Return to the Moil set aside for you, and rebirth.’ But the spirit of the bandal made no answer, and sat itself down to wait before the gate.”
“And Ivrél spoke again, saying, ‘By Heaven’s law, you may not enter here. Get you gone from this threshold!’ And the bandal‘s growl rumbled in the air, shaking the leafless trees and setting the still waters to trembling.”
“And Ivrél, whose strength was undefeatable for so long as he stood on the City’s threshold, did not press the matter further.”
Eldraeverse Subscriptions #4: Cosmos and Ethos
While I’m really running dreadfully behind with this series, #4 is off to my subscribers, giving a taste of what the mainstream belief systems among the eldrae with regard to, well, Cosmos and Ethos are all about.
For anyone coming to me recently – and this is the first time I’ve posted one of these on this blog – this is part of a set of nanofic/vignette works I’m selling on a subscription model; the original post is here.
A Sermon on Wealth
Wealth is not virtuous.
Wealth is virtue.
Does gold have value? Does silver, or polished kal-gems, cogs or brights or stones or staves, bars or bills, serren-shells or scrip, shares of stock or notes of hand?
Can shining metal feed you? Can a mound of scrip build a home? Will all the kal-gems in the world purchase an ounce of honor?
The worth of wealth is not in its substance, but in ourselves; for each bar and coin and note is a frozen promise, a claim on the goods or works of he with whom you choose to redeem it.
And only the finest of our goods and works may sustain our wealth, for none but a fool will purchase ash-crystal in the place of true fireglass; thus wealth is harmony.
And those who deal falsely find themselves shunned by those who give true value to wealth and their markets emptying around them, as those who enrich themselves by fraud and theft find their false profits will not serve them; thus wealth is integrity.
And those who hoard the symbols of wealth for their own sake find nothing but stagnation; thus wealth is right action.
Therefore honor those through whose hands wealth flows most, for in supporting this virtue, they are those who have served us best.
– Word of Covalan, Commentaries
A Taste of Eldraeic
So, over in the worldbuilding department, thinking about the Chant of Light from Dragon Age has inspired me to do some polishing of the holy books that exist in my universe, and specifically some of the more commandment-y parts.
And then, in thinking about them, I not only came up with the opening for that particular canticle, but also translated it. So, for you conlang fans out there:
el darav naratis an-saraivar elen fe essyref apnal
- el = individual description operator
- darav = person, sophont
- naratis = tense operator, now + ongoing into the past and future, i.e. now and for all time
- an-saraivar = inverted verbized form of “judge, weigh, assess”
- elen = mass description operator
- fe = possessive referring back to first entity in sentence
- essyref = form of “create” meaning “created thing”, “creation”
- apnal = standard portmanteau of “ap nall”, i.e. “and none”, “and no-one”
Or, translating as a sentence:
“A soph is judged by its creations alone.”