by J. M. Lee
On a bluff overlooking Ha’rar, there is a grove of trees that glow bright and blue at night. Although one cannot see them from within Ha’rar itself—their light is blocked by the cliffs—a Sifan sailor told me that the light of the trees is visible from almost anywhere along the Silver Sea coast. She went on to say it is likely the reason Ha’rar was built here, as the early Vapra were enchanted by the light of the grove and, like Unamoths, followed the twinkling, thinking it was a guiding star. When they found it was, in fact, a grove of luminescent trees, they knew they had reached the place where they would build their legacy, and thus named the trees the Waystar Grove.
I visited the grove myself, with the help of a Vapran guide. It was not an easy journey. There were no paths carved into the sheer cliffs, and the wind off the sea rushing up the cliffs froze the tip of my nose, though my guide seemed impervious to the weather. When we reached the grove, it was near evening, and the lights from within the crystalline trees were just beginning to glow. I realized then that the grove is actually a single entity, growing in a ring like toadstools.
As the glow intensified, I felt as though the cold were nothing against my cheek. Watching the ring of trees slowly come to life is one of the most magical things I have ever seen. I can only imagine what it must have been like to be the early Vapran travelers, finally arriving at such a place. Whether or not the sailor’s story of the Waystar’s role in the founding of Ha’rar is true, it is certainly believable—decide for yourself.
The Forty Sisters
Many trine and many trine before
Forty sisters came
Pressed their hands on silver door
Opened wide to silver shore
Since many trine and many trine before
Forty sisters left
The nest that cradled them no more
And thrust them on the silver shore
For fifteen trine through lands unknown
Forty sisters wander
Along the silver beach alone
To find their eternal home
Then sixteen trine’s horizon dawns
Finds forty sisters weary
But light upon the line is drawn
E’en after suns are set and gone
White like snow under full moons three
Forty sisters hopeful
Chased the light on the horizon seen
As if in an unending dream
Then to the mouth and cliffs and sea
Forty sisters fell
With tears of joy to eighty knees
At the foot of luminous Waystar trees
“Ha’rar, this place shall be named so,”
Forty sisters heard
From the star-like constellation grove
Crowned and cloaked in silver snow
And so Ha’rar, the silver mountain nest
Forty sisters built
And nestled within its snowy breast
Finally they lay themselves to rest
Though dozens of important buildings make Ha’rar a desired destination, it is perhaps the Vapran library that I found myself most in love with. This peaceful, domed building rests a few minutes’ walk from the Citadel, built of white marble that matches the snow that dusts its thatched roof. Within, light shines through the stained glass in the ceiling’s skylights, illuminating hundreds of thousands of tomes and scrolls. These precious—nay, sacred—artifacts are kept safe in the library, preserved and organized by fastidious librarians. These keepers of the books are also available to read aloud to others, as most Gelfling do not possess the skill of literacy. Like spell crafters or Sifan far-dreamers, they share the mysteries hidden in the countless writings with others, so that anyone may experience the magic within.
While perusing the books and breathing in the musty scent of their parchment, I became overwhelmed by the sheer volume of wisdom and song contained within a single building. So much lore could never be read by a single Gelfling during one lifetime. And yet, time seemed to slow while I wandered the stacks, peeking under pages and blowing dust from covers. Before I knew it, the lights from overhead were dark. I had been among the tomes all day, and yet my mind still ached with thirst for their ancient wisdom.
I thought it appropriate to include at least one song that I found in the archives of the library; I found it even more appropriate to select one about the library itself. This ode of delight is credited to a song teller who was present on the day the library building was completed, many, many trine ago.
Immortal House
Rest me in this immortal house
My head upon one thousand tomes
Lost within one thousand pages
Kept within a single room
Oh, ignites me more, does nothing else!
Than this place of paper, board, and string
The world without cannot compare
Nor make my song teller’s lyre sing
This scent of etcher’s burning palm
These inkèd sheets, these binded spines
Keep me captive and enchanted
In towers infinite and divine
For I would leave my life complete
Should I live until my final day
Resting within this immortal house
Bound forever by words that stay
A Final Word
On my last day among the Vapra, I said my goodbyes to my host family and took my time heading down the mainways of Ha’rar. I stopped to regard the library and the mountain bluffs visible at its back, promising this would not be the last time I stepped within those curved hallways lined with the words and songs of the Gelfling. That silver city, which I had always thought of as a mountain of frigid, unloving ice, had warmed to me. I had learned to see the rainbows that awaken when the sun shines through the coldest ice, learned to wait for the Unamoth that will someday emerge from the chrysalis. When bathing in the flames of the Gelfling fire, even the aloof Vapra become as the rest of us: Thoughtful. Caring. Gelfling.
Hidden away in the rocky Grottan Mountains, a network of clear freshwater rivers stream through indigo and black caves. Over thousands of trine, these rivers have carved tunnels and corridors, all of which convene in a beautiful underground lake. And here is where the Grottan Gelfling live—in a cavern hall called Domrak, buried within the Caves of Grot.
Although every Gelfling learns of this reclusive clan, the name of the Grottan is often the most any Gelfling ever know of them. Traveling to Domrak is a feat in itself, requiring not only an understanding of the maze of caves and tunnels, but also the ability to see in the dark in order to traverse them. And yet I can say with great confidence that despite the challenges in reaching Domrak and the Grottan clan, the journey was one of the most rewarding of all I have undertaken.
Though the Grottan are perceived by many outsiders as eerie and unnerving, these misconceptions are, at least in my experience, unfounded and based on fear of the unknown. And among the Gelfling clans, it could be argued the Grottan and their ways are the most unknown. Many things seem mysterious and frightening when they are done out of sight, in the shadows that most Gelfling fear. But the Grottan have learned to survive—and flourish—in these hidden places. And for that, I can find no other emotion in my breast except admiration. Though they may not see the suns of the “daylighter” world, they burn with a fire from within. And I learned from the Grottan that, unlike the fragile flames burning in torches and hearths, the light of the heart never goes out.
Daily Life
The Grottan live quiet lives; not the literal quiet of the often-silent Dousan, but their activities are often independent and rather focused. They are a small clan, and close-knit. Childlings are schooled as a group, where they learn basic alchemy and ot
her skills. As they grow older, they are encouraged to apprentice and build more specialized skills, in the hopes of taking on the work one day themselves. Meanwhile, the adults perform their assigned tasks and duties, as given to them by the maudra and her council of elders.
The caves often seemed empty until one looked or listened more closely; then, in the still-seeming peace, one might see a Gelfling tending a fungus garden or measuring the levels of water down in the lake. Things are done at a slow but steady pace; Grottan tradition values the quality of a job well done over speed. Many Grottan daily activities require long periods of concentration and focus, which suits the quiet way in which many perform their work.
Worth mentioning as well is the Grottan observance of devotion to Thra and the Crystal of Truth. So deep within the earth and mountains, the caves are riddled with white Crystal veins pulsing with life force. Living in such an iridescent and sacred place, the Grottan have developed a profound and powerful love of the Crystal and Thra. Though the Gelfling mind is too small to dreamfast with the Crystal itself, the Grottan will often touch the Crystal ribbons and say quiet prayers, always with a loving and reverent expression. In this humble song teller’s opinion, it would behoove any Gelfling to learn from the Grottan and practice such devotion to the Crystal that gives us our very life.
Finger-Talk
The land of Domrak, though radiating from a central cavern, spans quite a distance if one were to measure the lengths of the corridors, tunnels, and connected caves. But unlike in a meadow or woodland, the various locations are separated by thick, impenetrable rock. A Gelfling voice—along with every other sound—bounces and echoes, becoming unintelligible by the time it reaches a Gelfling ear, and so calling to one another is impractical within the cave.
Thus, the Grottan have built a remarkable system for communication without the use of voice. It is called finger-talk, a descriptive name indeed, for it involves the tapping of fingers on cave walls in a specific pattern and rhythm. Similar to but far more sophisticated than the signal drums used by the Drenchen to communicate with rangers who have scouted into the swamp, Grottan finger-talk is as complete a language as our spoken word, able to relay complex meaning, location, and emotion. These signals can then be heard when one presses one’s ear against the hard rock walls of the caves. Should you listen from anywhere within Domrak, you will hear a dozen or more conversations happening at any given time.
I tried to learn finger-talk while living with the Grottan, but I must admit I was very poor at it. This was frustrating for me, as a song teller. I am dexterous and, without much modesty, pride myself on being adept at learning foreign tongues (I speak Podling fluently and have even learned some Skeksis). Yet for whatever reason, in the beginning, finger-talk escaped me; I was only able, after many days’ practice, to learn to signal my name—a convention used by Grottan to distinguish the “speaker” of a message among the many others communicated at the same time.
Daylighting
Grottan youth often whisper of daylighting—that is, the forbidden act of leaving the caves and venturing into the dangerous “daylighter” world and its excruciating brightness. The Grottan have built their lives within the caves, with a tradition that warns of the dangers beyond. Grottan eyes have developed such an aptitude for the dark that they are pained by any light more than the meager rays that pierce the rock ceiling above Domrak. While most Gelfling are blinded by the intense shadows of the caves, the Grottan are rendered the same when approaching the daylighter world—even on days that a Gelfling such as myself might find overcast and gloomy.
Daylighting is allowed by some; the maudra assigns the task to one or two Gelfling among the clan, who are seasoned at leaving the dark and traveling in the light. These daylighters make planned, highly organized trips to obtain ingredients and materials that cannot be found within the caves. And even though they embark on these trips with great confidence, they never make contact with other Gelfling if they can help it—not even the Stonewood, who neighbor in the forest to the southwest. Except for those who have been assigned to it by the maudra, daylighting is forbidden.
But of course, youngling curiosity is the same in Gelfling no matter the clan. I don’t think I’ve met a single Grottan who didn’t confess that at least once, as a youth, they snuck out of the comforting caves near Domrak, climbing upward toward the pinpricks of light. Their daylighting adventures vary, with some immediately blinded by the sun and unable to go farther than the cave exit, while others wrapped their faces in blindfolds or went during the night, tasting open air for the first time. From those who wandered into the wood a bit come tales of the thousand sounds of the forest and the howling of the wind; the rugged strength of the wind is a thing many comment on, having felt only hollow drafts in the caves before.
But no matter the adventures had, those who daylight always return most impressed by the same thing: the sky. Regardless of what time they left the caves or what else happened to them in their adventures, the sky was the most magnificent and terrifying thing they encountered. The sky, which the rest of us take for granted—big and open and vast, a window into space. Changing as a painter’s canvas, depending on its unfathomable mood. The sky enchants the Grottan like nothing else, so much so that many dream of it for trine after their daylighting excursion.
Moontide
Like all bodies of water, the lake at the base of the Domrak cavern moves in tune with the Sister Moons. These tides may not generate waves as they do on the Silver Sea, but the rise and fall of the water levels does affect the Grottan’s way of life. Using the waxing and waning of the lake, the Grottan are able to tell the passing of the seasons beyond the mountain caves.
When the lake rises to its highest point, the Grottan perform a ritual called Moontide. During this ritual, the Grottan maudra climbs to the bottom of the Domrak cavern and marks in the rock where the lake’s waters touch the highest, labeling it with the number of the trine. In this way, the Grottan track the levels of the lake and the changing of the seasons.
I found this tracking of time to be an interesting paradox. The climate of the seasons has hardly any impact on life within the caves, except for the levels of water, which is only used as a measure of time. In every other aspect, the seasons have little meaning within Domrak. Indeed, the Grottan themselves take some pride in existing beyond the calendar of the daylighter world, set apart from the passing of time and the political seasons of the other clans. So why watch the water at all? Why track the passing of time? When I asked these questions of the elders, they told me politely to keep my nose in my own book.
The Morning Song
So far removed from other Gelfling and the outside world, the caves of Domrak could sometimes drive me mad with their silence. Especially in the deep parts of the night, the only sound was the dripping of distant cave water, and sometimes the scurrying of some thirty-legged insect through the cracks in the walls above my bed. I wondered, in my first nights, how I would even know that the suns had risen in the world above. Without seeing their light, how would I know time was passing, when it was day and when it was night? How did the Grottan go about their lives without the sign of time passing readily visible in the sky?
This was my bias and misunderstanding, having been born and raised in the daylighter world. Of course, light did reach the caves, in small beams through tiny holes at the top of the Domrak ceiling. But small as they were, these spots of golden light traveled across the walls of the cavern, passing by carved marks. The marks and the sun spots indicated the time of day; the levels of the water in the lake showed the night passing.
And most lovely of all, every morning in Domrak begins with a single note from a Firca—joined shortly by a bow across strings, and then finally a voice. This chord, unbroken by the other sounds that plague the outside world, served as a replacement for the suns rising in the morning: gentle at first, warm, like dawn—growing until every rock within Domrak seemed to glo
w with awakening light.
Salves and Alchemy
The Caves of Grot provide a unique environment unlike any other inhabited by Gelfling. The lack of light and the consistent, cool temperatures make it an ideal place for storing ingredients that might otherwise spoil or become unstable. Thanks to this, many substances—from medicines to explosives—can be studied and manipulated without the risk of destroying them (or igniting them, as the case may be).
Grottan alchemists are among some of the most magically wise Gelfling I have ever met, able to mix moss and stone into a paste that heals wounds three times faster than the usual healing speed—and craft tiny packets of powder that ignite when set on fire. The applications of such powder spells range from clearing debris from collapsed tunnels to much smaller amounts used to frighten nesting Hollerbats from taking up roost in ventilation chutes.
There is a large overlap between Grottan alchemists and herbal sages. In fact, most I met were adept at both alchemy and medicine. When not bespelling minerals from one form into another, these wise elders do the same with organic materials. A favorite among Grottan are the spores and flesh of the thousands of fungus varieties common to the caves. Mushrooms, especially, thrive in the lightless caves, some emitting their own light with which they attract the insects that carry their spores throughout the caverns. There is even a type of glowing fungus that, once ingested, transfers its glowing properties to those who eat it! Grottan alchemists have endless knowledge of the different uses of fungi, from medicinal uses to poisons to the sliver of intersection between, using small amounts of toxic materials to heal illnesses stemming from the toxins of other creatures.