Turning Darkness into Light
Page 15
Gentle Nahri bowed her head, saying, “Our people need the Light of the World. Without it they have no hope; without it they live in fear. Without the Maker of Above and Below, the star demons will devour them all. For their sake, I cannot accept what you say.”
The Crown of the Abyss showed her the ghosts of the first people. They wept and dragged their wings, saying, “We were the first to hatch, and we were the first to die. For us there is no leaving this place.” But Nahri was not dismayed. She embraced them with her wings and said, “We thank you for all we have in the world.”
The Crown of the Abyss showed her the ghosts of her lineage, all the way back to the first dawn. They wept and dragged their wings, saying, “We were the beginning of a line, but we did not live to see its end. For us there is no leaving this place.” But Nahri was not dismayed. She embraced them with her wings and said, “We thank you for what you have given us, your descendants.”
The Crown of the Abyss showed her the ghosts of her foremothers. They wept and dragged their wings, saying, “We brought you into being, and now we see you among us. For us there is no leaving this place.” But Nahri was not dismayed. She embraced them with her wings and said, “My sisters and my brother and I still honour you.”
Then the Crown of the Abyss showed her the ghost of her mother. Peli wept and dragged her wings, saying, “In blindness I went to my death,13 and in blindness you have gone to yours. For me and for you, there is no leaving this place.” And Nahri wept, kneeling at her mother’s feet. The Crown of the Abyss turned Nahri to stone and set her to one side, and there she stayed.
Tablet IX: “The Imalkit Tablet”
translated by Audrey Camherst and Kudshayn
In the world of [. . .] not return. The people grew thin with hunger, because the caretaker, the generous one, the mother of the people, was not there.
Hastu spoke, wise [. . .] goes to retrieve [. . .]
upon whom [. . .]
[. . .] quickest of the four, and the most cunning. She said, “Then [. . .]
[. . .]
[. . .] her wings spread. “I am Imalkit, sky-blue, hatched from a single shell. I have come to retrieve the Light [. . .]
[. . .] underworld.14
Her way was barred by spirits whose eyelids had been torn off. These were the ghosts of people who had not stayed alert when [. . .] condemned now never to close their eyes again. Imalkit pinned her eyelids back, pretending to be one of them, and said, “I heard a noise further down the tunnel!” While they were looking in the direction she pointed, she escaped.
Her way was barred by spirits whose hands had been nailed to the ground with spikes. These were the ghosts of people who had wasted their time with frivolous games, condemned now never to play again. Imalkit put her hands on the ground, pretending to be one of them, and began to tell them jokes. While [. . .]
[. . .] of people who had spread malicious gossip and lies, condemned now never to speak again. Imalkit swallowed her tongue, pretending to be one of them, and mimed that she was a servant of the underworld, sent on some important duty. While they were nodding, she escaped.
She came [. . .] tore at her arms; it tore at her legs. Imalkit escaped it, bleeding.
Beyond the fettra was a tunnel. She had no torch to light the way. It became a tunnel too small for her to spread her wings. It became a tunnel too small for her to stand. Imalkit could not see, and her wings were broken by the stone. She crawled through and found herself in the presence of the Endless Maw, the Crown of the Abyss. It had the Maker of Above and Below in a cage.
Imalkit offered it the prayer Ektabr had taught her. She said, “I am Imalkit, sky-blue, hatched from a single shell. I have come to retrieve the Light of the World.”
“You have entered,” the Crown of the Abyss said, “but you may not return. A cavern may give up what it has eaten, the sea may give up what it has drowned, a forest may give up what it has trapped, but the underworld does not give up anything it takes.”
Clever Imalkit bowed her head, saying, “Our people need the Light of the World. Without it they accomplish nothing; without it they are no better than beasts. Without the Maker of Above and Below, our people will come to an end. For their sake, I cannot accept what you say.”
The Crown of the Abyss said, “Answer me this riddle. Before you seize it, you have three. After you release it, you have six.” Imalkit laughed and said, “This is not difficult to understand. The solution is an axe.”
The Crown of the Abyss said, “Answer me this riddle. It marks the end of every desert.” Imalkit laughed and said, “This is not difficult to understand. The solution is the rain.”
The Crown of the Abyss said, “Answer me this riddle. A red gazelle has been killed, its fat and meat ground into dust.” Imalkit laughed and said, “This is not difficult to understand. The solution is the zēzu plant.”15
Then the Crown of the Abyss said, “Answer me this riddle. An open eye; a closed eye; he blinks a hundred times, but even then it remains closed.”16 Imalkit laughed, but then she fell silent, for this was the one riddle she could not answer. The Crown of the Abyss turned Imalkit to stone and set her to one side, and there she stayed.
Tablet X: “The Ektabr Tablet”
translated by Audrey Camherst and Kudshayn
In the world of the living, the people waited, but Imalkit did not return. The people sat down in despair, because the trickster, the clever one, the friend of the people, was not there.
Hastu spoke, wise Hastu, clear-sighted Hastu, Hastu the šiknas. He said, “This was foreseen in a dream long ago, before your hatching. The river of Ektabr has drowned the sun. The Light of the World is in the underworld now, and unless you go to retrieve it, we will be caught in darkness forever.”
The people were outraged to hear that he was responsible. They took up their stones; they took up their clubs. But they could not bear to strike those upon whom they had depended for so long.
Ektabr was the only one left. He was the most patient of the four, and the wisest. He said, “Then I will go, if you will show me where the gate of the underworld stands.”
The people wailed at his words, but their fear of losing the sun was greater than their fear of losing Ektabr.
Hastu led Ektabr to a ravine deeper than any other. Ten leagues, eleven leagues, twelve leagues deep was this abyss; it stretched to the depths of the earth. He left him there. He descended.
He pulled his loincloth high. He painted spirals on his crest with red mud. She17 went past the gate made from reeds, bound with strips of twisted grass. She went to the gate made from the bones of issur, bound with strips of āmu skin. She knocked at it, and the lizma, the gatekeeper of the underworld, answered. It said, “What living creature seeks to enter the underworld, and why?”
She answered him with her wings spread. “I am Ektabrit,18 night-black, hatched from a single shell. I have come to retrieve the Light of the World.”
“You may enter,” the gatekeeper said, “but you may not return.” It opened the gate for her. Ektabrit entered the underworld.
She passed by the chamber of broken eggshells, the labyrinth of stone, the watchers with their eyelids torn off. She looked for her sisters, but she saw no sign of them.
She passed by the chamber stained with blood, the labyrinth of bone, the sitters with their hands pinned to the ground. She listened for her sisters, but she heard no sound from them.
She passed by the chamber awash in salt water, the labyrinth of rotting flesh, the people with their tongues torn out. She yearned for her sisters, but she did not feel their presence.
She came to the fettra that guards the deepest abyss. It snarled at her, but she had no food to give it. The fettra tore at her arms; it tore at her legs. It tore at her loincloth, dragging it low. She escaped it, bleeding.
Beyond the fettra was a tunnel. She had no torch to light the way. It became a tunnel too small for her to spread her wings. It became a tunnel too small for her to stand. She could
not see, and her wings were broken by the stone,19 her crest scraped raw. He20 crawled through and found himself in the presence of the Endless Maw, the Crown of the Abyss. It had the Maker of Above and Below in a cage.
Ektabr said, “I am Ektabr, night-black, hatched from a single shell. I have come to retrieve my sister Imalkit.”21
“You have entered,” the Crown of the Abyss said, “but you may not return. A cavern may give up what it has eaten, the sea may give up what it has drowned, a forest may give up what it has trapped, but the underworld does not give up anything it takes.”
Wise Ektabr bowed his head, saying, “Our people need Imalkit. She is the cleverest of us all; she solves our problems with guile and creations no one has seen before. Without her, we will never have anything new. What may I give you, in exchange for something so precious?”
The Crown of the Abyss was intrigued. It said, “What can you offer me, that is worth something so precious?”
Ektabr took the clay of the earth and smoothed it flat. He pressed the tip of his claw into the clay, making marks. He devised a set of marks for each thing, a set of marks for each sound. With these marks he could record speech, so that other people could know his words in the days to come.
The Crown of the Abyss was pleased. It turned Imalkit from stone to flesh and said, “I will permit her to leave, for she will return to me in time.”
Cunning Imalkit bowed her head, saying, “Our people need Nahri. She is the kindest of us all; she solves our problems with generosity and cooperation. Without her, we will never work together. What may I give you, in exchange for something so precious?”
The Crown of the Abyss was intrigued. It said, “What can you offer me, that is worth something so precious?”
Imalkit took the metal of the earth and heated it. She made herself a hammer and pounded on the metal, shaping it. She wrought it into different objects, strong objects, sharp objects. With these things of metal she could make things that were not possible in clay or wood or stone, that would be of use to the people in the days to come.
The Crown of the Abyss was pleased. It turned Nahri from stone to flesh and said, “I will permit her to leave, for she will return to me in time.”
Gentle Nahri bowed her head, saying, “Our people need Samšin. She is the bravest of us all; she solves our problems with courage and honour. Without her, we will never be one people, but remain many. What may I give you, in exchange for something so precious?”
The Crown of the Abyss was intrigued. It said, “What can you offer me, that is worth something so precious?”
Nahri took the seeds of the world and put them in the ground. She watered them and tended them, clearing away weeds so that they would grow. She brought forth food of many kinds. With these plants the people would no longer be dependent on the wild, but could feed many mouths from a single field in the days to come.
The Crown of the Abyss was pleased. It turned Samšin from stone to flesh and said, “I will permit her to leave, for she will return to me in time.”
Samšin faced a terrible choice. Her brother had bargained for Imalkit’s freedom; Imalkit had bargained for Nahri’s freedom; Nahri had bargained for Samšin’s freedom. Still they did not have the Light of the World. She could not bargain for both Ektabr and the Maker of Above and Below.
She said to him, “Forgive me. You are my brother, and more precious to me than my own wings; but the Light of the World is precious to us all. I cannot return to the lands above without it.”
Ektabr said, “In my rite of fledging I descended into a cavern in the earth. There I saw many wondrous things, beautiful forms of crystal and stone. We have always honoured that which is above us, but we must also honour that which is below.22 In the days to come, teach the brothers what I have created here, the art of making marks in clay. With those you will remember me. So long as I am remembered, I will rest content.”
The sisters embraced him with their wings. Then noble Samšin bowed her head, saying, “Our people need the Light of the World. It is the maker of us all; it gives us our courage, our kindness, our clever thoughts, our wisdom. Without it, the lands of the living will die. What may I give you, in exchange for something so precious?”
The Crown of the Abyss was intrigued. It said, “What can you offer me, that is worth something so precious?”
Samšin did not make a thing one could see or smell or touch. She said, “I will offer you justice. Here in the underworld people are punished for their failings in life; I will make it so they know their crimes before they die. Under my laws they will make amends if they can, so that when they come to you they will be washed clean, and there will be less sadness and suffering here in the days to come.”
The Crown of the Abyss was pleased. It removed the cage that trapped the Maker of Above and Below and said, “You and your sisters may leave, but your brother must remain here. And the Light of the World may leave for a time, but it must return to me, for it will always be haunted by its memory of this place.”
Weeping, the three, four no more, took the Light of the World and departed.
1 Another stylistic shift here, though not as marked as the one between the first two tablets and the Dream Tablet.—K
Yes. More like this and the material about the siblings’ birth and childhood were written by two people telling stories in the same mode, whereas the Creation Tablet and the Genealogy Tablet were written by someone else telling another type of story entirely.—AC
2 Given the rapid breakdown of dragon bones, this argues against interpreting issur as an archaic term for such creatures.—K
It’s the gate to the underworld. I don’t think it has to obey the rules of normal biology.—AC
3 Untranslatable, at least for now. Some kind of demon?—K
4 Also untranslatable. It sounds like this is the same creature as the lizma. Why two different words?—AC
I think I have seen the word khashetta before, but I’m not sure where. Maybe the lizma is a type of khashetta?—K
5 Mentioning that incident while she’s in this chamber at least suggests that isšur are beasts of some kind.—AC
6 Now I’m confident that both this and the lizma are types of khashetta. Whatever those are.—AC
Underworld demons of some kind, it would seem.—K
7 The fourth power Ektabr mentioned? The structure of the two names certainly suggests an entity on par with the three gods described before.—K
Do you remember the trouble Shamikha bint Kaabir had with that prayer tablet from Wenggara? The one that kept using the mouth determinative, only the text around it seemed to have nothing to do with language or anything else that determinative normally signals? I’d have to look at the transcription again to be sure, but I have a sneaking suspicion it all makes a lot more sense if you assume that sign is actually an oblique way of referencing this entity, the Endless Maw.—AC
A kind of taboo or superstition against giving its name in full? That is entirely possible. Especially since, if memory serves, that tablet belongs to a much later period than these; the taboo might have developed after this was scribed.—K
8 This makes them sound insectile.—AC
And possibly the counterpart to issur, mu, and the Anevrai, if the Endless Maw is a power equal to the other three. I wonder how the khashetta were created?—K
I have no idea, but regardless, there’s material for an article in here. Not that I can spare the time to write it, not with how hard we’re working on translation—but once this is published, you and I will be kept busy for years, unpacking all the things we’ve gotten from this.—AC
9 Probably meant in the formulaic sense of “their fellow Anevrai,” rather than their clutch-mates specifically.—AC
10 That’s a remarkably disgusting image.—AC
11 We have references to funerary offerings in the ancient past, but frustratingly, the writers presume the nature of those offerings is familiar to their audience, and need not be described. If this te
xt goes on to describe what offerings Nahri makes, it may shed some light on that question.—K
She’ll have to make it out of the underworld if she wants to do anything of the sort. And if there’s one thing reading my thol ogy has taught me, it’s that you aren’t guaranteed to escape the underworld safely.—AC
The invocation said that she “planted the earth” (in your translation, not mine), and she hasn’t done that yet. So she has to escape.—CF
Don’t count your dragons before they’ve hatched. This is my thol ogy: she might “plant the earth” by being buried in it.—AC
12 If she’s the one who gives everyone else food, why doesn’t she have any with her? Giving it all away wasn’t very smart.—CF
If you expect people in a myth to behave like rational human beings sentient creatures, you’re going to be disappointed a lot.—AC
Or perhaps the loss of the Light of the World means they are running short on food.—K
13 This must be referencing the line we had difficulty with, but I have to admit that even with this to shed additional light, I still cannot parse its meaning with any confidence.—K
Nor I, which is annoying. The text may give us more clues, though, or maybe taking more time away from it will give us clarity. (And I’m not saying that only because I’m tired of giving myself headaches staring at it. Though partly that, too.)—AC
14 Although the text here is fairly damaged, we can confidently reconstruct it based on the repetition seen in the previous Samšin and Nahri Tablets.—K
15 We know this term from tax records, but no one has yet advanced a satisfactory translation. The determinative makes it clear that the answer is a plant, and one whose seeds are good to eat. This implies the seeds are red (the “gazelle”), and were customarily ground into flour.—K
I’ll take your word for it. I hate riddles. If the god of the underworld asked me that, I’d say, clearly a gazelle has been killed. Weren’t you listening to what you said?—CF