So yeah, general AMA and storytime thread for the Mithe culture and their homeland, Ch'shkwil', the Everwhite. Let's do this!
Also available in black cherry flavor!
"The Last Morning" they call it. The start of the final day before winter, when the suns rise for a mere 2 hours before setting again, bringing a night that lasts three whole months. The pink sky is dark, barely lit, and covered by the the sweeping dark shadows of the dead heading south to the Hall of Kwa'kwa'cq'aay. It is not a day of celebration: We spend the entire year preparing for it, stockpiling food and supplies to keep in our homes deep inside the mountain, so we can huddle around the fire until it's over. It is a day when we mourn those we have lost over the previous year, and hope that next year will be better.
Just before the final sunset, we release paper lanterns that suspend themselves through heated air. On the sides, we write our dearest wishes, in the hopes that they come true. Then we sing songs of sorrow and grief and watch them float away, like new stars drifting in the wind. The animals go into their dens to hibernate. When the suns finally set and the lanterns die out and fall into the forest, most of us retreat into our homes until winter ends.
For in winter, the forest is ruled by spirits, monsters, and fossils like me, too old to live and too stubborn to die.
I make it a point to collect the fallen lanterns every year. Each and every one. The bitter wind carries them to the base of the Kwthnuucx glacier, at the foot of massive carvings in the ice. A child cradles the two broken suns in her hands close to her heart, clinging to them for life, surrounded by spirits comforting her. A relic of an era mankind has forgotten. My eyes haven't worked in nearly 30 years, but I am awestruck by its beauty every time; The hundred-meter tall carvings have details smaller than a baby's fingernails. They're the work of someone rejected, lonely enough to pour her very soul into them. Her name as been long forgotten.
As I gather the lanterns, I read them with blinded eyes. "Let my daughter return safely from the south", one says. "May Grandmother recover from her sickness", says another. I can feel the tears dripping off of each one. I pray for them. I really do. But if wishes were all it took to keep children warm, fed, and safe, the world would have no need for people like me.
Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
Last edited by Micamo on 02 Apr 2015 20:20, edited 2 times in total.
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gestaltist
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Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
Subscribing.
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
Is that a dragon language or alien language? I remember making a dragon language with Americanist orthography with upper and lowercase. I like this story, especially because your conlang uses Americanist!
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
The whitelings north of the curtain, or "mithe" as they call themselves, are a squat, cowardly people who fear sunslight, honesty, and righteousness. Their skin and hair are pure white as the driven snow, their eyes are red, violet, or indigo, and their faces are covered in pockets of fat, sure evidence of their origin as hybrids with the savage, white-furred giants that rule the Everwhite. Delicate like flowers and easily dispatched by a true warrior in a fair fight, they wear coats of white fur from head to toe in order to protect their sensitive skin from the sunslight, and to camoflage themselves so as to more easily take our warriors by surprise. Never fear, children! The northguard that watches the passes leading through the curtain are ever-vigilant, and no godsfearing citizen need fear the whiteling raids and incursions that were once commonplace.Birdlang wrote:Is that a dragon language or alien language? I remember making a dragon language with Americanist orthography with upper and lowercase. I like this story, especially because your conlang uses Americanist!
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
It was early autumn, and the sky-shadows were returning. The suns hung low in the southern sky, to the left of Kwan'aach, the striped purple-blue giant that dominated the sky. An adult could hold out their hand and stretch their fingers as far as they'll go, and the rim of Kwan'aach would just barely be touched by the tip of the thumb on one side, and the pinky on the other.
The great cłxan trees rustled in the steady wind, stretching their long branches to soak in the dim sunslight, weighed down by heavy cones and already losing their thin green needles. Their trunks were so thick that two men could not wrap their arms around either side and touch each other's hands. They were warm to the touch, especially in spring, when they used their own heat to hasten the breaking of the ice around their roots. It was a nice day, just below freezing, and a stream cut through the shadowy, icy forest floor without making a sound.
No more than 50 feet away, I spotted a fox bounding through the snow. It stopped and stood on its hind legs and scan its surroundings. Its fur was pure white, save for a single black mark on the middle of its forehead. Its unusually large ears perked and rotated. Its little chest beat rapidly. It was fleeing from something.
Slowly and quietly, I grabbed an arrow from my belt, raised my bow, and knocked, holding the arrow between my two forefingers. I pulled the arrow back to my ear. The fox was still, and so I took my time. Steady, steady, not going to get a second chance.
"S'am'is" a muffled voice called.
I jumped. My bow arm jerked and the arrow loosed about two inches away from its intended target, zipping right past the fox. It darted out of sight. I looked around. No one.
I cursed myself, walked over, and put my arrow back in my belt. It was time to be getting back to the others anyway. But where did that voice come from, and why was it calling my name? I shuddered as I thought of the many spirits that grandmother's stories had spoken of, out here in the woods, and listed the possible suspects as I walked back to camp.
The camp was in the usual spot; A frozen pond with thin kamc'm trees sprouting up from the bed. The pond's surface was smooth cyan, and reflected the trees above it. It was where my uncle brought my brother and I for training three days a week. I hated it. I went around the frozen pond - I was not so foolish as to try to cross - to the fire where my brother and uncle were, getting ready to wait out the mid-day eclipse, which at this time of year lasted about 4 hours. In the distance loomed the broken silver spire of our home, Wec'mqwałk' Kwaan.
As I came closer to the camp, I could hear three voices. Two male, one female. I went for cover and listened carefully. They were chatting. The male voices were my uncle and brother's, and the female voice seemed strangely familiar somehow.
I came out of the woods in sight of the camp, and my uncle and brother jumped. They both drew their bows; My brother at me, and my uncle at the girl's. She looked to be 10 or 11 from behind, about my age. I raised my hands and looked downward at the ground.
The girl looked from my brother, then to my uncle, then back again. "Was it something I said?" she replied. Reluctantly she held up her hands as well, slowly got up, and turned around. Finally, I could see her face.
It was mine.
The great cłxan trees rustled in the steady wind, stretching their long branches to soak in the dim sunslight, weighed down by heavy cones and already losing their thin green needles. Their trunks were so thick that two men could not wrap their arms around either side and touch each other's hands. They were warm to the touch, especially in spring, when they used their own heat to hasten the breaking of the ice around their roots. It was a nice day, just below freezing, and a stream cut through the shadowy, icy forest floor without making a sound.
No more than 50 feet away, I spotted a fox bounding through the snow. It stopped and stood on its hind legs and scan its surroundings. Its fur was pure white, save for a single black mark on the middle of its forehead. Its unusually large ears perked and rotated. Its little chest beat rapidly. It was fleeing from something.
Slowly and quietly, I grabbed an arrow from my belt, raised my bow, and knocked, holding the arrow between my two forefingers. I pulled the arrow back to my ear. The fox was still, and so I took my time. Steady, steady, not going to get a second chance.
"S'am'is" a muffled voice called.
I jumped. My bow arm jerked and the arrow loosed about two inches away from its intended target, zipping right past the fox. It darted out of sight. I looked around. No one.
I cursed myself, walked over, and put my arrow back in my belt. It was time to be getting back to the others anyway. But where did that voice come from, and why was it calling my name? I shuddered as I thought of the many spirits that grandmother's stories had spoken of, out here in the woods, and listed the possible suspects as I walked back to camp.
The camp was in the usual spot; A frozen pond with thin kamc'm trees sprouting up from the bed. The pond's surface was smooth cyan, and reflected the trees above it. It was where my uncle brought my brother and I for training three days a week. I hated it. I went around the frozen pond - I was not so foolish as to try to cross - to the fire where my brother and uncle were, getting ready to wait out the mid-day eclipse, which at this time of year lasted about 4 hours. In the distance loomed the broken silver spire of our home, Wec'mqwałk' Kwaan.
As I came closer to the camp, I could hear three voices. Two male, one female. I went for cover and listened carefully. They were chatting. The male voices were my uncle and brother's, and the female voice seemed strangely familiar somehow.
I came out of the woods in sight of the camp, and my uncle and brother jumped. They both drew their bows; My brother at me, and my uncle at the girl's. She looked to be 10 or 11 from behind, about my age. I raised my hands and looked downward at the ground.
The girl looked from my brother, then to my uncle, then back again. "Was it something I said?" she replied. Reluctantly she held up her hands as well, slowly got up, and turned around. Finally, I could see her face.
It was mine.
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gestaltist
- mayan
- Posts: 1618
- Joined: 11 Feb 2015 11:23
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
Micamo, when are you going to publish your first novel?
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
gestaltist wrote:Micamo, when are you going to publish your first novel?
![[+1]](./images/smilies/plusone.png "+1"){kind=small}
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Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
I like it very much!
It reads like she already published lots of novels!gestaltist wrote:Micamo, when are you going to publish your first novel?
My neurochemistry has fucked my impulse control, now I'm diagnosed OOD = oppositional opinion disorder, one of the most deadly diseases in totalitarian states, but can be cured in the free world.
Śād Warḫallun (Vrkhazhian) [ Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
Nope, I haven't. Just made... a lot of mistakes. Had to learn some things the hard way. Still have a lot to learn, really.Tanni wrote:It reads like she already published lots of novels!gestaltist wrote:Micamo, when are you going to publish your first novel?
You should: They're one of my chief wells of inspiration.Ahzoh wrote:I keep thinking of Inuit when I read this...
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
A Qw'sey'ee, a face-stealer, had fooled my brother and uncle while I was away. Her hood was down, and I could see my long white hair, light grey freckles on my nose and cheeks, and deep lavender eyes. My grandmother always said those eyes would break someone's heart one day; I doubt she'd thought it'd be my own.
My little brother was shaking. He was four years younger than me, and his hands were barely big enough to hold his bow. "Uncle" he said, "What do we do?"
"Easy" my uncle said. "We have a little archery contest. Winner lives, loser dies." My brother and I looked in horror. My doppelganger was unfazed. I watched my uncle's chay'xhw sword hang from his back. Four feet long, curved, sharp enough to cut through bone like butter, and made by dozens of layers of folded steel, it was the mark of an accomplished warrior. He got it from his own uncle, and the uncle before that, and the uncle before that. He wanted my brother to inherit someday. He would never consider giving it to me.
He took out a disc from his pouch; A golden one, with a face on one side and a hummingbird on the other, he took off the body of a southern ranger he defeated. A strange thing they used in the south for money. He held it in his hand and raised his hand up as high as the top of his head. A standard exercise: Fire as many arrows as you can, as close to the center of the target about 80 feet away as you can, before the coin hits the ground.
The Qw'sey'ee went first. She grabbed a fistful of 5 arrows, and raised her bow. The coin drops. One, two, three, four, five shots. She thrusts the bow forward with the bow arm while simultaneously pulling back with the draw arm. As it looses, she resets the position of both hands, putting another arrow between her first two fingers with her thumb while her arms move, having it ready in time to draw and loose again. All the parts of her body must be perfectly synchronized for this to work. It lands. All five are in the center red ring, less than an inch in diameter. Perfect. She turns toward my uncle and bows deeply.
Her head falls off her shoulders to the ground in a spray of blood. In a single movement, my uncle whipped out his sword and beheaded her without a moment's hesitation. I watched the light in my eyes fade as she died, and the spirit's body turned into a shadow and faded, blood and all. An owl takes wing from a nearby branch, and flies off. He wiped his blade and sheathed it, unamused.
"H-how did you know it wasn't me?" I said.
"You could never have pulled off a volley of shots like that."
My shock faded. My mouth filled with ashes. My teeth ground together. I stared him straight in the eye, his bearded face towering over mine. "How do you know!? You never even let me try!"
"I've been training you for years, S'am'is. You're just not very good at this."
He removed the arrows from the target and motioned my brother to step up to the shooting point, and repeated the exercise. One, two, three, four, five shots. All in the center ring. Perfect, yet again. My brother was a prodigy. He looked down at my feet in apology, ashamed at his talents. My heart ached. Why does he let uncle's cruelty toward me hurt him too?
"THAT is the performance of a worthy Mithe warrior, and he's barely stopping suckling from his mother's tits. You? You're slow. Inaccurate. Pathetic. Those fat, lazy shitheaps from the south could out-shoot you any day of the week."
I stomped forward to the shooting point and readied my bow.
"There's no point in even trying" my uncle said.
"I don't care. Perform the test." I said. He sighed and removed my brother's arrows, then prepared the coin. It drops. I draw just a little farther than I need to to penetrate the target. My hands aren't back into position at exactly the same time. I'm still trying to get the next arrow ready when it's time to draw. One, two, three, four-
"STOP!" he yelled. The coin hit the ground before I fired my fourth arrow. Only two of the three shots hit the center, the other had landed in the second ring. I held back my tears.
"You see?" he said, proudly. "You're horrible! Who would want *you* watching their back in a fight? I'm not bringing you out here anymore. Have your aunt teach you how to weave blankets or something. You're done out here."
The tears came. I took my bow and ran off into the woods. Somewhere, a muffled voice was laughing at me.
My little brother was shaking. He was four years younger than me, and his hands were barely big enough to hold his bow. "Uncle" he said, "What do we do?"
"Easy" my uncle said. "We have a little archery contest. Winner lives, loser dies." My brother and I looked in horror. My doppelganger was unfazed. I watched my uncle's chay'xhw sword hang from his back. Four feet long, curved, sharp enough to cut through bone like butter, and made by dozens of layers of folded steel, it was the mark of an accomplished warrior. He got it from his own uncle, and the uncle before that, and the uncle before that. He wanted my brother to inherit someday. He would never consider giving it to me.
He took out a disc from his pouch; A golden one, with a face on one side and a hummingbird on the other, he took off the body of a southern ranger he defeated. A strange thing they used in the south for money. He held it in his hand and raised his hand up as high as the top of his head. A standard exercise: Fire as many arrows as you can, as close to the center of the target about 80 feet away as you can, before the coin hits the ground.
The Qw'sey'ee went first. She grabbed a fistful of 5 arrows, and raised her bow. The coin drops. One, two, three, four, five shots. She thrusts the bow forward with the bow arm while simultaneously pulling back with the draw arm. As it looses, she resets the position of both hands, putting another arrow between her first two fingers with her thumb while her arms move, having it ready in time to draw and loose again. All the parts of her body must be perfectly synchronized for this to work. It lands. All five are in the center red ring, less than an inch in diameter. Perfect. She turns toward my uncle and bows deeply.
Her head falls off her shoulders to the ground in a spray of blood. In a single movement, my uncle whipped out his sword and beheaded her without a moment's hesitation. I watched the light in my eyes fade as she died, and the spirit's body turned into a shadow and faded, blood and all. An owl takes wing from a nearby branch, and flies off. He wiped his blade and sheathed it, unamused.
"H-how did you know it wasn't me?" I said.
"You could never have pulled off a volley of shots like that."
My shock faded. My mouth filled with ashes. My teeth ground together. I stared him straight in the eye, his bearded face towering over mine. "How do you know!? You never even let me try!"
"I've been training you for years, S'am'is. You're just not very good at this."
He removed the arrows from the target and motioned my brother to step up to the shooting point, and repeated the exercise. One, two, three, four, five shots. All in the center ring. Perfect, yet again. My brother was a prodigy. He looked down at my feet in apology, ashamed at his talents. My heart ached. Why does he let uncle's cruelty toward me hurt him too?
"THAT is the performance of a worthy Mithe warrior, and he's barely stopping suckling from his mother's tits. You? You're slow. Inaccurate. Pathetic. Those fat, lazy shitheaps from the south could out-shoot you any day of the week."
I stomped forward to the shooting point and readied my bow.
"There's no point in even trying" my uncle said.
"I don't care. Perform the test." I said. He sighed and removed my brother's arrows, then prepared the coin. It drops. I draw just a little farther than I need to to penetrate the target. My hands aren't back into position at exactly the same time. I'm still trying to get the next arrow ready when it's time to draw. One, two, three, four-
"STOP!" he yelled. The coin hit the ground before I fired my fourth arrow. Only two of the three shots hit the center, the other had landed in the second ring. I held back my tears.
"You see?" he said, proudly. "You're horrible! Who would want *you* watching their back in a fight? I'm not bringing you out here anymore. Have your aunt teach you how to weave blankets or something. You're done out here."
The tears came. I took my bow and ran off into the woods. Somewhere, a muffled voice was laughing at me.
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
Thashax', the brighter of the two suns, went behind Kwan'aach. It would only be a few minutes before Miseen, the dimmer, passed behind it as well. The shadows thickened, and the birds grew silent. The pink sky turned crimson, and the world was bathed in a dim, orange light. I wiped a frozen tear. I had been running through the woods alone for the past ten minutes, not really caring where I was going, just so long as I was away from that awful old man.
A hand was around my mouth and an arm was around my throat. I tried to scream, but could hardly make a sound. Two more came out from behind the trees, one with an arrow on me and another looking like he was about to drop his spear and piss himself. Tilkwaanan. Clanless. Invaders from the south, who often attacked little girls alone in the woods. Very stupid, S'am'is, you should have paid attention to your surroundings.
The one behind me tried to shush me and whispered something in words I didn't understand while the one with the bow yelled something at him. I bit his hand. Two fingers and a gush of warm blood filled my mouth. His screams left my ears ringing, and he let me go just long enough I could take the knife off of his belt and jab it into his neck.
Searing pain. The other one loosed his arrow and it got me right in the left thigh. I held back the tears and the shouts long enough to dive down out of the way of a spear and grab my bow, then fired two shots before even I could blink; One in the archer's head, and the other in the shoulder of the scared one. He was pinned to a tree. Shrieking as he tried to wrench himself free. Helpless. An owl perched on a high branch flew off.
I got up and pulled the arrow out of my leg, and spat the blood and fingers onto the snow. No tip; The Tilkwaanan didn't make proper arrowheads, they just carved the shaft down to a point and hardened it over a fire. Good thing too, a real arrowhead would have torn a bigger wound when I removed it. I knocked the blooded arrow and pointed it at the man pinned to the tree, and thought of my uncle's words.
Hesitation. His black hair whipped wildly in the wind, his bangs covering his brown, terror-filled eyes. His pants were wet, and not with blood. To my surprise, he spoke in Mithara: "They make me! I not want go! I have family! Little girl like you! Please! Spare me!"
I didn't.
A hand was around my mouth and an arm was around my throat. I tried to scream, but could hardly make a sound. Two more came out from behind the trees, one with an arrow on me and another looking like he was about to drop his spear and piss himself. Tilkwaanan. Clanless. Invaders from the south, who often attacked little girls alone in the woods. Very stupid, S'am'is, you should have paid attention to your surroundings.
The one behind me tried to shush me and whispered something in words I didn't understand while the one with the bow yelled something at him. I bit his hand. Two fingers and a gush of warm blood filled my mouth. His screams left my ears ringing, and he let me go just long enough I could take the knife off of his belt and jab it into his neck.
Searing pain. The other one loosed his arrow and it got me right in the left thigh. I held back the tears and the shouts long enough to dive down out of the way of a spear and grab my bow, then fired two shots before even I could blink; One in the archer's head, and the other in the shoulder of the scared one. He was pinned to a tree. Shrieking as he tried to wrench himself free. Helpless. An owl perched on a high branch flew off.
I got up and pulled the arrow out of my leg, and spat the blood and fingers onto the snow. No tip; The Tilkwaanan didn't make proper arrowheads, they just carved the shaft down to a point and hardened it over a fire. Good thing too, a real arrowhead would have torn a bigger wound when I removed it. I knocked the blooded arrow and pointed it at the man pinned to the tree, and thought of my uncle's words.
Hesitation. His black hair whipped wildly in the wind, his bangs covering his brown, terror-filled eyes. His pants were wet, and not with blood. To my surprise, he spoke in Mithara: "They make me! I not want go! I have family! Little girl like you! Please! Spare me!"
I didn't.
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
I wiped the blood off of my chin with my sleeve and sat down. I started to undress, but saw the cold, dead eyes of one of the tilkwaanan staring right at me. I turned around, and reflexively looked to make sure nobody else was peeping on me. I pulled my bloodstained coat aside and pants down to my knees, feeling the bite of the coming winter on my skin, so I could get a good look at the wound. Could have been worse. Thankfully I still had my pack; I pulled out some t'lshi' moss and rubbed it on the wound, wincing from the burning sensation as it cleaned out the dirt. Then I took some bandages and wrapped it around tightly, working as fast as possible. Frostbite rushes to set in this time of year. Hopefully will be enough to stop the bleeding.
As I finished bandaging the wound in my leg, I saw a hulking shadow lurking through the trees. Heavy breathing filled the air, and I could swear I saw eyes watching me from the woods. I darted up, ignoring the pain in the wound, and within a second had one arrow trained where I saw it and two more in my palm. I tried not to let my hands shake.
"I see you there! Whatever you are, you'd better come out!" I said. From between the trees came a huge black wolf, 9 feet tall at the shoulder, with swirling patterns and spots on his fur that glowed with a faint midnight blue. It was a xhw'shxh'aa, an ageless, mystic predator, king of all wolves, the Terror of the North. Able to tear a man in a steel suit in half with a single bite, outrun the winds in a hurricane, and follow a scent a thousand years old.
"Oh, hey P'ikwshan." The wolf raised his head and wagged his tail playfully. He was standing right over a corpse, as if it were nothing. I scowled at him.
"Where were you when I was being attacked by these idiots?" I pointed at the bodies, their blood staining the snow. He cocked his head to one side. "What do you mean you were watching!? You think this wound tickles? What would you have done if I died, or worse?" He barked happily. "Well I appreciate the confidence, but next time I'd prefer you help."
I met eyes with the tilkwaanan pinned to a tree. His mouth hung open, his pleads for mercy still on his tongue. I shuddered. "Let's... go somewhere else, okay boy?" I limped at his side until the dead men were out of sight, and turned to him again. I looked around the forest to the left, then to the right. We were alone.
"Did my uncle send you?" He shook his head no.
"Are you lying?" P'ikwshan nodded yes, then held his head in shame and cried pitifully. I limped over and gave him a hug anyway, smiling. He lowered his head and I gave him a kiss on his forehead. He rolled onto his back for a belly rub. I couldn't resist giving him one. As much as I hated my uncle, I could never be mad at the big furball.
The wolf kneeled down expectantly. "I don't wanna ride you right now." He pressed his nose against the wound in my leg, still bleeding through the bandages. "Yes, I know. I'll walk anyway." As soon as I got on him he'd take me back to uncle whether I wanted him to or not, and I intended to enjoy my solitude a few minutes longer. The sight of the dead men refreshed itself in my mind. I failed to suppress it.
A shape darting through the trees. I froze. It was the white fox again, with the big ears and the spot on its forehead. Before I could pull my bow out, it was off again. Alone, I'd have no chance of catching it.
"What do you say? Think you can track that fox for me?" Any excuse to get further away from here. He curled up in a ball and nestled his head into the snow.
"I know I know, the eclipse is starting soon." He raised one eyebrow.
"Hey, I'm not afraid of anything out there if you aren't! We'll catch the fox and then we can curl up and wait out the rest of the eclipse together. Promise." Reluctantly, he got up and stared trailing the fox, and I limped behind him. Keeping my bow at the ready, to be able to shoot it as soon as I saw it again.
The world grew dark. The eclipse was even darker than at night, as Kwan'aach and the other moons shed no light. This was when the half of the world ruled by the spirits dominated; It was their forest now, and I was a trespasser. I stayed close to P'ikwshan, using his soft blue glow to guide my way, and tried not to think about that.
As I finished bandaging the wound in my leg, I saw a hulking shadow lurking through the trees. Heavy breathing filled the air, and I could swear I saw eyes watching me from the woods. I darted up, ignoring the pain in the wound, and within a second had one arrow trained where I saw it and two more in my palm. I tried not to let my hands shake.
"I see you there! Whatever you are, you'd better come out!" I said. From between the trees came a huge black wolf, 9 feet tall at the shoulder, with swirling patterns and spots on his fur that glowed with a faint midnight blue. It was a xhw'shxh'aa, an ageless, mystic predator, king of all wolves, the Terror of the North. Able to tear a man in a steel suit in half with a single bite, outrun the winds in a hurricane, and follow a scent a thousand years old.
"Oh, hey P'ikwshan." The wolf raised his head and wagged his tail playfully. He was standing right over a corpse, as if it were nothing. I scowled at him.
"Where were you when I was being attacked by these idiots?" I pointed at the bodies, their blood staining the snow. He cocked his head to one side. "What do you mean you were watching!? You think this wound tickles? What would you have done if I died, or worse?" He barked happily. "Well I appreciate the confidence, but next time I'd prefer you help."
I met eyes with the tilkwaanan pinned to a tree. His mouth hung open, his pleads for mercy still on his tongue. I shuddered. "Let's... go somewhere else, okay boy?" I limped at his side until the dead men were out of sight, and turned to him again. I looked around the forest to the left, then to the right. We were alone.
"Did my uncle send you?" He shook his head no.
"Are you lying?" P'ikwshan nodded yes, then held his head in shame and cried pitifully. I limped over and gave him a hug anyway, smiling. He lowered his head and I gave him a kiss on his forehead. He rolled onto his back for a belly rub. I couldn't resist giving him one. As much as I hated my uncle, I could never be mad at the big furball.
The wolf kneeled down expectantly. "I don't wanna ride you right now." He pressed his nose against the wound in my leg, still bleeding through the bandages. "Yes, I know. I'll walk anyway." As soon as I got on him he'd take me back to uncle whether I wanted him to or not, and I intended to enjoy my solitude a few minutes longer. The sight of the dead men refreshed itself in my mind. I failed to suppress it.
A shape darting through the trees. I froze. It was the white fox again, with the big ears and the spot on its forehead. Before I could pull my bow out, it was off again. Alone, I'd have no chance of catching it.
"What do you say? Think you can track that fox for me?" Any excuse to get further away from here. He curled up in a ball and nestled his head into the snow.
"I know I know, the eclipse is starting soon." He raised one eyebrow.
"Hey, I'm not afraid of anything out there if you aren't! We'll catch the fox and then we can curl up and wait out the rest of the eclipse together. Promise." Reluctantly, he got up and stared trailing the fox, and I limped behind him. Keeping my bow at the ready, to be able to shoot it as soon as I saw it again.
The world grew dark. The eclipse was even darker than at night, as Kwan'aach and the other moons shed no light. This was when the half of the world ruled by the spirits dominated; It was their forest now, and I was a trespasser. I stayed close to P'ikwshan, using his soft blue glow to guide my way, and tried not to think about that.
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
The fox had led us to a huge tree, like a cłxan but with silver bark, and no cones or needles. Its long, winding branches each supported thousands and thousands of moths with glowing wings in every color. Most of them were content to sit on their perches and stare at me, but some were flying around the forest floor, painting the snow beneath with a patchwork of rainbows. Shadows of beings that weren't there, both man, beast, and otherwise, danced among the colors, swirling towards the great metal tree. The fox ran into the tree, passing through it like a ghost, and vanished.
I stepped toward the tree and reached out, my hand just inches away from it, covered in bright colors like the snow beneath me. A thousand voices whispered in unison from all directions: "Not ready." I touched the tree.
The world melted away, replaced by the bright lights of the moths. Soon those too faded, and all was a swirl of colors. I could see things, really *see* them, with clarity. Memories of a distant life, laid over each other like layers of ice over a frozen pond, and I could see my reflections in each of them. I stared into them and found myself absorbed in each one.
I'm on a bed back at home, my legs spread and my sheets covered in blood, looking in shame at my latest child. Another stillborn. I'm already 40, and have yet to conceive a child to survive the womb. My husband left me to search for another wife, one who would give him what he wanted. I head out alone with P'ikwshan, my childhood companion, into the woods on the last morning, and collect the paper lanterns. I still have my eyes, back then. I search the forest for a spirit who can give me an answer to why I am cursed this way. I would find no such answer, but what I do find changes my life forever.
Years later I approach the entrance of a cave on P'ikwshan's back, holding a bundle tied in a blanket in my arms. The baby huc'ew' reindeer kicks its little legs desperately, its heart racing under its thick, white fur. It knows what's happening as I dismount and walk into the dark maw, as the shadows squirm on the wall trapped in thick, white gossamer. Lost souls, fallen victim to Shelxw'xthkw', the Spider. I place the sacrifice on the ground and watch with blinded eyes as seventeen furry, white legs skitter out of the black recesses of the inner cavern. It ignores the gift and scurries over to me instead, and I stand motionlessly as it circles inches from me, examining me from every angle.
"Foolish human" I hear it thinking. "Does she not know an animal's soul is nothing, compared to a human's?" It springs to attack, but I do not move. As it touches me, the amulet I'm wearing under my coat shatters, and the spider flies backward, clutching its legs to its abdomen in pain.
I quickly get to work, making a ring of specially prepared ashes around its writhing body. Within a second after the ring is completed, the spider has recovered. It attacks again, but is repelled as the tips of its legs immediately burst into flame upon crossing the ash circle. It backs off to the center and stares at me, unblinking. It remembers how it lost its eighteenth leg, and knows I have another pouch of the ashes. I am being merciful. I pay the spider no mind as I go around and cut all of its webs, freeing the souls trapped within. It swears vengeance in its mind as I grab the squirming bundle leave the cave, still stranded in the circle.
Now I'm an old woman, over 100, on the top of a great mountain, sightlessly staring at a wall of silver with P'ikwshan at my side. It's in the shape of a woman's face, and she begins to speak, voicelessly. "You insult me yet again, by coming here?" she thinks. I do not understand. "Of course, you wore a different skin back then, didn't you? Let me show you..."
I can see a memory within a memory within a memory, stretching back in a chain hundreds of generations. Great silver ships fill the skies, blasting the ground with beams of colored light, heating the ground below them until it turns to slag. I hold a silver staff, point it skyward, and speak the command word. All the ships suddenly explode like fireworks, and begin to fall from the sky. All but one explodes again into nothing before it hits the ground. The last ship hits the peak of a tall mountain, shaking the ground for miles but staying intact.
My broken body is propped against the side of a wall of ice, high on a mountain facing the southern sky. It glows faintly upon the battlefield below. Hundreds of bodies, burnt, frozen, and dismembered. I had won, but my wounds are fatal. P'ikwshan lays his head on my bloodstained lap, and cries. "Your shadow will always walk with mine" I say to him, weakly, as I lay my hand on him. The words are a distant echo. A part of me has said them countless times before. "I will be with you for all of my lifetimes. This is not goodbye."
The suns rise on the southern horizon, after three months of darkness. Spring. My last winter is over.
Finally I'm S'am'is again, at the top of a stairway of rainbow-colored light. "Not ready" the voices whisper. The ice has melted into a still pool, where I can see everywhere, everywhen, all at once. Infinite worlds, beckoning to be explored. Then a voice calls out to me, new, but more familiar than my own. My *true* voice, not the one I've had since I was born. "They're not ready for me" I say. "Turn back."
I dive in.
Also, a reminder that this is an AMA thread! I really enjoy answering questions about my stuff, so please ask some.
I stepped toward the tree and reached out, my hand just inches away from it, covered in bright colors like the snow beneath me. A thousand voices whispered in unison from all directions: "Not ready." I touched the tree.
The world melted away, replaced by the bright lights of the moths. Soon those too faded, and all was a swirl of colors. I could see things, really *see* them, with clarity. Memories of a distant life, laid over each other like layers of ice over a frozen pond, and I could see my reflections in each of them. I stared into them and found myself absorbed in each one.
I'm on a bed back at home, my legs spread and my sheets covered in blood, looking in shame at my latest child. Another stillborn. I'm already 40, and have yet to conceive a child to survive the womb. My husband left me to search for another wife, one who would give him what he wanted. I head out alone with P'ikwshan, my childhood companion, into the woods on the last morning, and collect the paper lanterns. I still have my eyes, back then. I search the forest for a spirit who can give me an answer to why I am cursed this way. I would find no such answer, but what I do find changes my life forever.
Years later I approach the entrance of a cave on P'ikwshan's back, holding a bundle tied in a blanket in my arms. The baby huc'ew' reindeer kicks its little legs desperately, its heart racing under its thick, white fur. It knows what's happening as I dismount and walk into the dark maw, as the shadows squirm on the wall trapped in thick, white gossamer. Lost souls, fallen victim to Shelxw'xthkw', the Spider. I place the sacrifice on the ground and watch with blinded eyes as seventeen furry, white legs skitter out of the black recesses of the inner cavern. It ignores the gift and scurries over to me instead, and I stand motionlessly as it circles inches from me, examining me from every angle.
"Foolish human" I hear it thinking. "Does she not know an animal's soul is nothing, compared to a human's?" It springs to attack, but I do not move. As it touches me, the amulet I'm wearing under my coat shatters, and the spider flies backward, clutching its legs to its abdomen in pain.
I quickly get to work, making a ring of specially prepared ashes around its writhing body. Within a second after the ring is completed, the spider has recovered. It attacks again, but is repelled as the tips of its legs immediately burst into flame upon crossing the ash circle. It backs off to the center and stares at me, unblinking. It remembers how it lost its eighteenth leg, and knows I have another pouch of the ashes. I am being merciful. I pay the spider no mind as I go around and cut all of its webs, freeing the souls trapped within. It swears vengeance in its mind as I grab the squirming bundle leave the cave, still stranded in the circle.
Now I'm an old woman, over 100, on the top of a great mountain, sightlessly staring at a wall of silver with P'ikwshan at my side. It's in the shape of a woman's face, and she begins to speak, voicelessly. "You insult me yet again, by coming here?" she thinks. I do not understand. "Of course, you wore a different skin back then, didn't you? Let me show you..."
I can see a memory within a memory within a memory, stretching back in a chain hundreds of generations. Great silver ships fill the skies, blasting the ground with beams of colored light, heating the ground below them until it turns to slag. I hold a silver staff, point it skyward, and speak the command word. All the ships suddenly explode like fireworks, and begin to fall from the sky. All but one explodes again into nothing before it hits the ground. The last ship hits the peak of a tall mountain, shaking the ground for miles but staying intact.
My broken body is propped against the side of a wall of ice, high on a mountain facing the southern sky. It glows faintly upon the battlefield below. Hundreds of bodies, burnt, frozen, and dismembered. I had won, but my wounds are fatal. P'ikwshan lays his head on my bloodstained lap, and cries. "Your shadow will always walk with mine" I say to him, weakly, as I lay my hand on him. The words are a distant echo. A part of me has said them countless times before. "I will be with you for all of my lifetimes. This is not goodbye."
The suns rise on the southern horizon, after three months of darkness. Spring. My last winter is over.
Finally I'm S'am'is again, at the top of a stairway of rainbow-colored light. "Not ready" the voices whisper. The ice has melted into a still pool, where I can see everywhere, everywhen, all at once. Infinite worlds, beckoning to be explored. Then a voice calls out to me, new, but more familiar than my own. My *true* voice, not the one I've had since I was born. "They're not ready for me" I say. "Turn back."
I dive in.
Also, a reminder that this is an AMA thread! I really enjoy answering questions about my stuff, so please ask some.
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
I think the prose style of the thread has had the unintended effect that we're worried about spoilers. :P
I suppose one question I have is how did a little girl strike up a friendship with the king of all wolves?
I suppose one question I have is how did a little girl strike up a friendship with the king of all wolves?
Sin ar Pàrras agus nì sinne mar a thogras sinn. Choisinn sinn e agus ’s urrainn dhuinn ga loisgeadh.
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
I think perhaps she's nòt just a "little girl"... I think she's rather more...Ànradh wrote:I think the prose style of the thread has had the unintended effect that we're worried about spoilers. :P
I suppose one question I have is how did a little girl strike up a friendship with the king of all wolves?
Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
I assure you, all answers to questions will be spoiler-free, as far as the ongoing narrative in the thread goes! If I really can't answer something without spoilers, I'll say so.Ànradh wrote:I think the prose style of the thread has had the unintended effect that we're worried about spoilers. :P
The story of the first Xhw'shxh'aa, the Shadowfang, as my great-grandmother told it to me:I suppose one question I have is how did a little girl strike up a friendship with the king of all wolves?
Back in the early days of the world, when the suns were still new in the sky, there was a little girl named R'iya who got separated from her clan. Her clan never found her, and gave up on her when winter came. But a wolf did. She had recently lost her cubs, and decided to adopt R'iya as her own child. They cared for each other, and were very happy together.
One day, when R'iya was a grown woman, some evil men came and tried to take her away. The wolf gave her life defending her. R'iya laid on her body and cried, and as she died, the wolf spoke. "Your shadow will always walk with mine, my daughter. This is not goodbye."
A few days later, R'iya was greeted by the wolf again, but now she was huge, black-furred, and magical. Their love and loyalty for each other transcended death. Their souls were bonded forever.
Mithe believe each person has two souls; Their breath-soul, or thkw', and their shadow-soul, or xhw'sh. The breath-soul is associated with consciousness, health, and memory. The shadow-soul is associated with aptitude, personality, and fate. Upon death, the breath-soul evaporates, but the shadow-soul remains, eventually being reincarnated into a matrilineal descendant. I translate both of them as "soul" usually since the distinction normally doesn't matter.
The xhw'shxh'aa bond across lifetimes, to different bearers of the same shadow. P'ikwshan is bonded to S'am'is, because she's the reincarnation of all of his previous bondmates. They can be friendly to other Mithe when they choose, but they are loyal only to their bond.
Most people can't remember their past lives, even with magical assistance. Those who can are xhwish'aan, the Keepers of History, the bridge between the world of humans and the world of spirits.elemtilas wrote:I think perhaps she's nòt just a "little girl"... I think she's rather more...
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gestaltist
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Re: Xʷešxʷey č̕škʷil̕am (Tales from the Everwhite)
What happens if there are no matrilinear descendants?Micamo wrote:
Upon death, the breath-soul evaporates, but the shadow-soul remains, eventually being reincarnated into a matrilineal descendant.