The Earth Goddess

by Richard Herley

  “Today,” said Forzan Zett, once they had made obeisance and were seated, “I wish, as you have been informed, to discuss the First Song. Buin, will you tell us what you know?”

  Paoul was relieved that he had not been asked first. He knew every word of the Song; for the past week its sense had been the subject of his morning meditation, and yesterday, for many hours, he and Enco had studied its symbolism in depth. He had prepared himself thoroughly, but he knew this would no longer, in the higher school, be enough to satisfy his teachers. And he was still, even now, a little afraid of the formidable principal of the school, the man who had taught Lord Heite and who was a close companion of the Prime.

  Buin launched his dissertation confidently, giving an orthodox account of the meaning of the Song. The endless flow of water in the fall represented time, the water itself the material world by which time was made manifest. The material world was composed of an infinity of droplets, weak and insignificant on their own, but capable of any achievement – even of cutting into rock – when united and allowed to function over an extended period. By inference from the Second Song, the droplets could also be compared to individual men joined together in society. Certain individuals rose, or were thrown, above the torrent as sparkling spray, making a rainbow. The droplets of the rainbow were the highest and strongest among men, those capable of transcending, however briefly, the run of white water; those who could prolong, for a moment, their passage through the world. But even the highest and strongest of them had eventually to return to the body of the stream and hence to the sea. In other words, they had to die.

  Forzan Zett received Buin’s disquisition in damning silence. “If you remember, Buin, I asked you to tell us what you know. You have merely told us what you have been taught. The two, you will appreciate, are not the same.”

  Buin blushed deeply.

  “Enco, perhaps you have something original to offer.”

  Enco was eighteen, dark and sallow, with a square face and rather large, rounded ears. His modest, phlegmatic disposition concealed an incisive approach to his studies. Of all the people in the school, he was Paoul’s best and closest friend. “In the first verse,” he said, “the Song speaks of the water’s roar. This may be the world-noise, the gauhm.”

  “Did you arrive at that idea alone?”

  “No, Forzan Zett.”

  Forzan Zett glanced at Paoul. “Very well. Continue.”

  “It is significant that, in the genesis, Gauhm vanishes in the fall. This reinforces the theory that the waterfall represents the substance of earth and mankind. Because it is also moving and represents time, the waterfall may be taken to symbolize not only mankind itself, but also the condition and affairs of mankind, which are in a state of constant change.”

  “That much Buin told us.”

  “The rainbow is a function of light and thus of Tsoaul. The iridescence of the droplets, besides marking them out as enlightened, is therefore also a symbol of Atar’s congress with Gauhm, because, by joining with Gauhm, Atar took on the role of her consort. In worshipping Gauhm, the enlightened man takes on some of Tsoaul’s attributes and so approaches more nearly to the central point. A rainbow, however, may only be seen under certain conditions. When there is no sun, or when it is not viewed from the proper angle, the rainbow disappears. From below, for example, from the viewpoint of the main body of the stream, the rainbow will be invisible. To the ordinary man caught up in the affairs of the world, therefore, the higher man does not appear to be enlightened. He appears only to occupy a higher place.”

  Forzan Zett restrained a smile. “Is there more?”

  “In … in the Fourth Song the rainbow is used as an example of illusion. If a rainbow in the sky is an illusion, the lesser rainbow of the fall is doubly an illusion. Hence enlightenment is the triple illusion.”

  Now Forzan Zett smiled openly. “Starrad, from which Song do those words come?”

  “I’m sorry, Forzan Zett. I do not know.”

  “Buin? Paoul, then.”

  “The Fiftieth.”

  “I was not aware that you had reached the Fiftieth.”

  “Ilven Melchor recited it at the summer solstice, Forzan Zett.”

  “So he did.” Forzan Zett turned and for a moment contemplated the waterfall. The four boys looked at each other and then at their teacher, waiting for him to speak again.

  Paoul was not sure whether he had blundered. The interpretations Enco had expounded were mainly of his doing, and Forzan Zett seemed to know it. Paoul also felt unhappy about the unfavourable impression that Enco’s answers would have given of Buin and Starrad. But then neither of them had made any real preparation for this lesson; they were still relying solely on their intelligence to carry them through. And Starrad, risking everything, had even been slipping out at night to visit a girl in the township.

  Paoul studied the Forzan’s powerful shoulders and the back of his neck. Despite the sound of the fall, an intense stillness had the morning in its grip, a stillness inseparable from the force of the principal’s personality. It seemed impossible that they were less than two miles from the citadel, the township and the garrison. It seemed impossible that these woods were not the primeval forest, but a carefully tended part of the temple grounds. Except for the intrusive slabs of rock and the evidence of the path, this pool could have been in some region unknown to man. Its vegetation was lush and apparently undisturbed; the birds nested here in peace, and still the dragonfly was hawking to and fro.

  Forzan Zett treated Paoul to a moment’s cool appraisal. “Now,” he said, addressing the whole group. “Before your misguided imaginations carry you any further along these overgrown and hazardous paths, I feel it is time to examine this Song in a logical manner. Buin has rightly reminded us that the Song invokes the cycle of rainfall. This will be our starting-point. Paoul, to which quadrant of that cycle does a description of a waterfall properly belong?”

  “To the third. To the Quadrant of Earth.”

  “Because, Starrad?”

  “Because the water is on the mountain.”

  “And we are studying its progress downhill. We are studying its decay. Why is this appropriate? Buin?”

  “The Song is about Gauhm, master.”

  “We see, therefore, that the physical setting of the genesis could scarcely be more apt. It even takes place in the autumn, the third quadrant of the year. Before proceeding with this, however, I wish to summarize what you have been told in the lower school. You have been taught to perceive phenomena in terms of a multitude of concentric and interrelated cycles, each having the properties and direction of the universal cycle. Let us take an example. You are asked to describe an old widow who learns that her daughter is with child. The unborn child you would assign to the first quadrant, the daughter to the second, the widow to the third, and her late husband to the fourth. This analysis you would correctly maintain as valid notwithstanding the condition, for example, of the daughter’s fortunes, which might be declining, or the state of the village or province in which these people lived. These other factors you would perceive as being governed by different, yet related, cycles. Are we agreed? Good. Now we can return to our consideration of the First Song. Buin has said that the waterfall, which, as we have seen, belongs to the third quadrant, is a symbol of the world. What may we deduce from this? Starrad?”

  “The world is in a state of decay.”

  “Exactly. Decay. Leaving aside all secondary symbolism, this is the theme of the Song. Decay. Do you understand?” Forzan Zett indicated the fall; Paoul began to feel a sense of rising excitement. It was as if he had smoothly and swiftly been brought close to the core of the ethos. “The waterfall is old. The mountain is even older, but not as old as the world itself. It was created and became manifest long ago. You know from your studies that there is no clear-cut division between quadrants. Each succeeding quadrant has many properties of the one that went before. Decay continues into dormancy, dormancy into creation, creation into man
ifestation, and manifestation into decay. Yet there comes a point at which one can say with certainty that the properties of a single quadrant are ascendant. Consider the case of our imaginary family. The widow has lived a long life; she is old. Her faculties are obviously failing. Her mind and body are in a state of slow but inevitable disintegration. She is, beyond question, proceeding towards the literal decay of her flesh. We assign her to the third quadrant, even though she is actually every bit as manifest as her daughter. So with the world. It is manifest: it is all around us. But from innumerable clues we know that it is disintegrating. Even were we incapable of interpreting such clues, the mere fact that the world is manifest would alone be enough to tell us that is it either approaching or has entered the quadrant of decay. I want you to bear this idea in the forefront of your minds. I cannot emphasize it too strongly; it is crucial to your higher studies. These will include a basic astronomy in which you will learn that the cycles of the planets, the sun, the stars, and the universe itself are all passing through the third quadrant. The cycle of the universe has been in decay for an unimaginable period of time. It was decaying long before the birth of the sun, the planets, or the earth. Likewise the earth began its decay long before the appearance of mankind. The manifestation of mankind is in fact a symptom of the earth’s decay, just as the manifestation of the earth was one of the symptoms of a dying universe. Greater cycles contain the lesser: this is one of the first laws you were taught. The earthly cycle contains and dominates all the lesser cycles. Do you now begin to understand why we worship the Earth Goddess rather than the others of her Family? Do you see why it was the Mother who appeared to Atar and not the Daughter? Why was it Gauhm who betrayed her consort and divulged the secret knowledge of the gods? Because man is of the earth, and she is his goddess. Hers is decay; hers is the influence that dominates all the lesser cycles. The earth is dying. Its wonders and its treasures are transient. Soon they will be gone, no matter what use we make of them. How, then, should the enlightened man treat such a world and all it contains? Buin? Paoul?”

  Paoul thought he knew, but dared not speak. The implication of Forzan Zett’s words was too exciting, too vast, too horrifying and profound to be absorbed immediately. They had integrated and amplified all that he had ever felt or learned; as if in a flash of lightning he had seen illuminated the innermost recesses of the Gehan mind.

  “Starrad? Enco?”

  None of the boys was able – or wanted – to offer an answer.

  “Let us take another example. A man has been marooned on a small island far out at sea. His only fresh water is in a single cask. When the cask is empty that will be the end of his water and he will die. The cask is leaking. There is nothing whatever he can do to repair it or to prevent the water from seeping away. In these circumstances, should he stint himself or should he drink his fill? Starrad, if you were that man what would you do?”

  “Drink.”

  “Of course. And so would I. So would anyone. The leak, then, decay: this is the theme of the First Song. Metaphorically, the enlightened man should drink. He should take and use the treasures of the world. This is the essence of the message transmitted by Gauhm to Atar.” Forzan Zett looked up; the sun was almost overhead. “The secondary symbolism of the Song, although of subsidiary importance, is nevertheless extremely rich and we shall be exploring it at our next meeting, which, by the way, will take place in my chambers. Before then I want you to consider a statement made by Enco. He said that the roar of the waterfall might be compared to the gauhm or world-noise. I should not need to remind you that the gauhm is produced by the dynamic interaction of the elements. The noise of a river is one example. Another is the sound of wind, or a forest fire, or indeed the pulsing of blood in your own ears. Doubtless you can think of many other examples, any of which might serve as a fruitful seed for meditation.” Forzan Zett arose and the boys instantly did likewise. “Now I believe Kar Ander is expecting you for taug.”

  Under their teacher’s critical supervision, each of the novices made the signs of obeisance appropriate to leaving a holy place. Forzan Zett then made his and led the pupils to the line of white pickets which marked the boundary of the shrine.

  “Paoul, shall we walk together?”

  They started uphill through the green summer woods, Paoul respectfully taking the position on Forzan Zett’s right. Paoul was afraid that he was going to be reprimanded for the possible irreverence with which he and Enco had interpreted the First Song; but he was mistaken. “You may have heard,” Forzan Zett began, “that Bohod Thosk’s new hall is to be consecrated in three weeks’ time, at the Crale. Lord Heite and several members of his family will attend the ceremony, which will be conducted by the Lord Prime. It is the custom for the temple school to be represented on such occasions by two students, one junior and one senior, to act as lamp-bearers. I have already appointed the junior student; you are to be the other.”

  Paoul was speechless, overwhelmed.

  “I am counting on you to live up to this distinction. Remember, you will represent the whole school. The reputation of three hundred boys and their teachers will rest on your shoulders.”

  “Yes, Forzan Zett.”

  “Rehearsals begin tomorrow. Report to Ilven Gars at the fifth hour of the afternoon.”

  “I do not know what to say, Forzan Zett.”

  “Then, Paoul, I advise you to say nothing.”

  2

  The transition from the lower to the higher school brought many changes. Most painful of these was the ending of the closeness between Paoul and his matron, the lay woman who had been charged with his emotional development. Her name was Erta, and he had shared her with five other boys. She had never said as much, but he suspected that she kept a soft spot in her heart for him alone. When the time came for them to part he realized how much he had grown to love her and how completely he had come to regard the citadel as his home.

  He had not forgotten Tagart, but the memories of his earliest life had become diffuse and remote, as if belonging to some former existence – which, in a way, he supposed they did. Only the flavour of the Brennis countryside had remained within him unimpaired, so different from that of the mainland, so subtle and verdant compared with the dramatic scenery of Hohe.

  In the years since coming here, Paoul had also finished growing. He had attained all but an inch or two of his adult height. This, the kars had long ago predicted, would be fractionally less than the average. Under their guidance, he was in the process of realizing in full the physical potential of his childhood. Like all the recruits and trainees at Hohe, he was being fitted for a life of service to the Gehans. In the army, emphasis was placed on physical development as the basis of the military ideal; in the priesthood, it was viewed rather as the first step towards the mastery of self which alone allowed higher mental and spiritual development.

  For this reason, physical culture or taug was accorded great importance in the training of a novice. Its teaching was in the hands of the kars, the doctor-priests. The taug embraced all matters of health and hygiene; the treatment of injury and disease was seen as a minor part of its discipline. Its goal was the perfection and integration of the body’s natural systems and processes. A man correctly trained in its techniques seldom succumbed to any but minor or accidental ailments. In the absence of an external cause of death, exponents of the taug regularly lived to be eighty, ninety, or even older. Kar Meisch, one of Kar Ander’s predecessors at the taug school, was now a hundred and three. It was rare for a farmer or slave to survive beyond fifty; the longevity of priests was in itself a matter for awe and a sign of their divinity.

  In this, as in most things, the Gehans played on the ignorance of the common people, or pagans, as they were contemptuously called. The methods of the taug were kept in the strictest secrecy. Even simple medical treatment was forbidden to anyone outside the red priesthood, the ruling clan, the highest ranks of the army, and the merchant class of bohods – who had to pay handsomely for the serv
ices of a kar. The ordinary people were allowed their own healers, usually chosen from the blue priesthood, but these had to work with an inadequate range of herbs and knew nothing of the taug.

  The taug derived from the basic law and thus, like the human frame itself, was divided into five interdependent sections. The first of these, characterized by the right arm, was the quadrant of flexibility and control. In this the novice acquired not only extreme suppleness in all parts of the body, but also the most refined and delicate precision of movement, especially in the hands. Each of the four fingers – and the thumb – had its own symbolism; the hands were indistinguishable from the concept of control on which the empire was based. But control also implied strength, which was the province of the second quadrant. Its training produced a coordinated development of all the muscle systems and paved the way for the third quadrant, that of endurance. In this, novices were subjected to steadily increasing workloads – in walking, running, climbing, swimming, and the carrying of weights, and were exposed to lack of food and water and sleep, and to extremes of heat, cold, and humidity. The fourth quadrant dealt with diet, cleanliness, refinement of the senses, and care of the bodily organs.

  The four quadrants of the taug were symbolized by the limbs and the associated areas of the trunk. Its essence was symbolized by the head. Study of the essence was concerned with the mind in relation to the body: with carriage and efficient use of the frame, control of muscular tension and the emotions, resistance to pain, self-healing and mobilization of the vital force or spirit, and, ultimately, with excellence in unarmed combat and the use of weapons. Combat, one of the necessities of control, led back to the first quadrant and the cycle began anew. Progression on the cycle of taug eventually raised the student beyond the physical and brought him to the realm of the intellect – which was the territory of other teachers besides the kars.