Songs of the Seven Gelfling Clans

by J. M. Lee

  The Silver Sea borders the northern shore of our world, vast and cold, especially in the winters, when the ice shelves grow along the coast in frigid, crystalline formations. Yet even in the coldest of seasons, should one look out into the frothing waves, it won’t be long before a spark of color pricks through the flurries of snow. Red and purple and indigo sails and banners, warm and bright as the fires of prophecy: Sifan ships, sailing in small convoys of three or four, in transit between their home port of Cera-Na and their innumerable adventures at sea.

  The Sifa’s routes thread west from the northern Silver Sea, then loop down to the south along the windward side of the Claw Mountains. Their ships are particularly adapted to traverse these difficult waters, and therefore many have called this westerly band of rough water the Sifa Coast. To the Sifa, it is Sa-Schala, the Mariner’s Paradise.

  Of course, one cannot discuss the Mariner’s Paradise without mentioning Cera-Na. This coastal village, made up of an eternally changing population of sailors coming in and out of port, is nestled in a bay on the ocean side of the Claw Mountains. The bay is protected from the harsh ocean winds by the cliffs, its waters calmer than those of the open ocean and a safe haven for ships that may have taken recent damage during their dangerous voyages at sea. Although Cera-Na enjoys some trade with the Dousan, who neighbor on the other side of the mountains, its visitors are primarily Sifa.

  However, for those traveling to and from Ha’rar along the scenic trails that shoulder the coast, ever-lit wayfarer’s lanterns mark the way every hundred paces. The firelight in these Hooyim-shaped lanterns flickers eternally, visible even through the dense silver fog that cloaks the shore from twilight until dawn.

  Daily Life

  Life on the sea is dictated by the whims of the elements and the skill of the sailors who traverse it. Calm days become stormy with hardly any warning—or one moment you may be staring down a hurricane and fearing for your life, and the next you’re gazing at the most beautiful, clear sky without a care or worry. Food and water appear and vanish like mirages, in shoals of fast-moving fish or early morning rain—if one does not know where to look, one might quickly miss any of the million things happening at any given time.

  And so the Sifan way of life is to live in the moment. To value what is happening when it is happening, and to never rely too much on what one has—for at any moment, it could be gone. The most important things, living this way, are what brings joy, what one can remember of one’s past despite what might have been swept away, and what makes each Sifa who they are.

  Although the currents that carry their ships are often unpredictable, thousands of trine at sea have endowed the Sifa with a knowledge of signs that, to an outsider such as myself, can seem prophetic. Reading the shapes of clouds and the pointed peaks of the waves, a skilled Sifan sailor can see a storm coming days in advance. It is this same skilled, specialized perception that may have evolved into the prophetic abilities of far-dreamers, who are able to read the otherwise imperceptible signs within a Gelfling heart. Indeed, reading signs and obeying them is perhaps one of the most important aspects of Sifan tradition—so much so that ignoring a sign can be considered offense enough to be left behind on a forsaken shore.

  Samaudren

  The Sifa, unlike many of the other Gelfling clans, do not sail, or live for that matter, in a single large group. Though they congregate at Cera-Na for important occasions, most Sifa travel in small groups of Gelfling, usually numbering six ships or fewer. These intimate groups, called samaudren (“sea brethren”), operate as a single unit. They sail together, sleep together, fish together, and eat together. When bringing their catch to market, they work together as well, sharing in whatever bounty they secure as trade.

  During my time with the Sifa, I was welcomed by a samaudren of four ships, considered lucky. As a song teller, my daily work was straightforward and—I often felt—overvalued; thanks to the long distances between destinations, a song is often considered a luxurious commodity. I was glad for this, since I have very few other talents to provide in exchange for the friendly, almost familial, kindness and generosity that I experienced with my host samaudren.

  Another aspect of samaudren, similar to Dousan xerics, is that the leader of these smaller groups is not always a woman. The leader of my samaudren was a spindly elder with a beard long gone white. But despite his gender and lack of wings, he was still able to leap between the masts and lines with the grace and agility of any maudra.

  Era-Ianem, the Wind in the Sail

  One thing I loved most about the Sifan tradition of samaudren was the idea that family is not a bond of blood but one of directionality. This philosophy is called era-ianem, meaning “wind in the sail,” and comes from a Sifan proverb, Care not what fabric makes your sails, but what wind fills them.

  The idea of era-ianem is that, while we are all made of blood and flesh, what we do with our lives is of our own invention. This is a philosophy that is contrary to many other Gelfling traditions, which place blood relation and clan loyalty above all other bonds. I saw how era-ianem was applied among the samaudren; these small groups often included blood family, but just as often were made up of unrelated friends who had created their own family.

  Shockingly, one samaudren I encountered had even extended their bonds of era-ianem to a Gelfling who had not been born Sifa. At first when I met this individual, I thought she was, like me, a traveler who had gone to sea with the Sifa to learn their ways. In fact, this was how it began, but after many trine sailing with the Sifa, she found that among their crimson sails was where her heart belonged. When she expressed her desire to join them, her samaudren welcomed her. They invoked era-ianem before the maudra of the clan, and she opened her arms to embrace this Vapra as one of her own. It was unlike anything I have ever seen before. Although I found it very peculiar, I wonder if one day such things might be an example of the Sifa’s forward-thinking ways—and if such boundless inclusion might become more common over time.

  Far-Dreamers

  While they can be easy to spot, the Sifa can be difficult to catch. Even when they make port in Ha’rar for trade, they never stay for long. Though one might try to predict when the Sifa will arrive or depart based on the tides or the season, ultimately one will fail. The Sifa chart their courses based on thousands of signs interpreted by their renowned far-dreamers, who read the stars, waves, and everything in between. Though far-dreamers have been found among other clans, it seems that there is something special about the life of the Sifa Gelfling that cultivates the natural talents of the soothsayer. Whether it is the unfettered access to the stars, or perhaps thanks to a life constantly in motion, I cannot say.

  Far-dreamers hear the Song of Thra in a way unlike other Gelfling. If the wind is the breath of the world, where most of us might feel it gently upon our cheek, a far-dreamer hears a thousand words within the same breeze, and sees a thousand visions more. When a far-dreamer speaks, Thra listens; when a far-dreamer sleeps, they settle deeply into the current of the world until they are fully enveloped.

  Although the Sifa affiliate themselves with wind—for it fills their sails and determines their destinies—far-dreamers often incorporate the element of prophecy, fire, into their methods, whether through open flames in candles or torches, or items that have been burned—called yabo, “fire-touched.” Yabo are frequently sticks of incense or bundles of dried herbs, though sometimes far-dreamers use metal medallions or other tougher substances that have been blessed by fire.

  I saw several far-dreamers when I sailed with the Sifa, and my experiences varied. Sometimes I felt as though I was talking to an old friend, but often they did not even seem to be conscious of when I sat with them; the room was silent, filled only with the scent of Sifan herbs lingering in the air. During one such encounter, we sat in quiet for a long time, at the end of which the far-dreamer spoke only two words: “Say yes.” To this day, I still do not know what
it meant.

  skekSa the Mariner

  Despite a life detached from the mainland, which revels in the glory of the Skeksis, the Sifa still maintain the utmost respect for the lords. Many Sifan ships have a carving or amulet of skekSa the Mariner fastened to the prow, as a way to ward off turbulent weather and seek luck.

  When I asked the Sifa about skekSa, the answers varied. Some of the Sifa regarded the Skeksis Mariner with the same distance that other Gelfling—the Vapra of Ha’rar, for example—regard the other lords. That is to say, with respect, and acknowledging that it is impossible for a Gelfling to know a Skeksis, just as it is impossible for us to know the suns or the moons or the Crystal.

  Yet others—the maudra included—spoke of skekSa in an unnervingly familiar way. As if their interactions went beyond that of Gelfling to Skeksis Lord; as if the Mariner were more of a patron guide than a superior being of transcendent wisdom and power. While it thrilled my song teller’s senses to regard a Skeksis as a mortal creature that might deign to interact with the Gelfling in this way, it was also terrifying to imagine.

  However the Sifa spoke of the Mariner, I was never able to witness their interaction with my own eyes directly. I saw evidence of the Skeksis Mariner only once, and then only from afar. As we approached Cera-Na after a long voyage, I sighted the maudra’s coral ship on the horizon. Beside it was a mound as tall and large as an island, broken with spikes like mountains. It was Lord skekSa’s ship, my Sifan guide explained. But before I could ask further, the great ship submerged, and I never saw it again.

  Hooyim Boat Races

  One of the most exciting events that I had the pleasure of partaking in were the Hooyim boat races. The Sifa treasure the Hooyim, the multicolored, jewel-scaled fish that swim in schools of thousands near the coasts. When the weather becomes warmest, the glittering shoals ride the coastal waters toward Cera-Na—and so too do the Sifa.

  There hundreds of Sifa gather with their windships, hulls painted and sails dyed to match the brilliant colors of the Hooyim. These small, one-Gelfling windships are built during the cooler seasons every trine, polished and balanced to perfection for the races, which take place in honor of their sigil creature.

  In small pods of twelve, the sailors compete in races of speed and agility. The courses run along shallow waters, at first unbroken, but then into the places where the rocky landforms break the waves. Here the navigation becomes perilous, and only the most experienced and brave of the sailors endeavor to pass through. Many skiffs break against the stony fingers, at the mercy of the unpredictable water eddies and gusts of wind. Injuries are common, and there is sometimes death; but this is the life these sailors live, I suppose.

  When a winner finally reaches the finish goal—sometimes by being the only skiff remaining—they are anointed with a winner’s dye: a spot of ink from the thumb of the maudra, placed upon their brow, which lasts for several days so all can see their mark of victory. In the evening, after the races are over, all the skiffs (or what remains of them) are brought to the beach and burned in an extravagant bonfire, complete with song and dance.

  Sifan boat racing, more than almost any other tradition, seems to bring every Sifan value into one exciting, fast-paced event. To know one’s ship is to know one’s self; to navigate the dangerous course requires the most skilled observance of the signs of Thra. And, of course, to survive against the odds—and especially to emerge triumphant, marked and lauded by the entire clan—is perhaps the dream of any Gelfling, Sifa or not.

  Sifan Charms

  I was reluctant in the beginning to ask my Sifan hosts about their many enchanted amulets, talismans, and charms, but when one of my closer friends noticed my intrigued gaze, I actually found them to be surprisingly forthcoming about the significance of their many trinkets. One after the other, my Sifan friends told me the stories of their pretties and shinies.

  To write of every one of the charms would require a scroll all its own. The charms are made of nearly every material known to Gelfling. Some are quite common, such as charms braided from old sailcloth or carved from splinters of ship wood from a decaying vessel. Shells, scales, and pieces of coral are also very popular, along with driftwood and other small items that are easy to find on the shore or within the shallows along the coasts. Rarer trinkets I saw included precious gems and metals, some in their raw state wrapped with wire, others carved or refined into beautiful amulets. Most of the charms are made of materials resistant to water and sea air, for obvious reasons, though some of the more fragile charms—feathers, for example—are kept in small glass vials.

  One thing the charms do all have in common is that they were all collected as mementos. The Sifa wear colored cord (sometimes interwoven with chains of precious metals) to which the amulets are attached. The color of the cord signifies what the Sifa call directionality; red for the past, purple for the present, and blue for the future. The charms are attached to the different cords, indicating the direction in which the wearer wishes to take those memories. For example, charms that are mementos of positive events or beloved friends are often strung high on the blue cord. Sad memories are sometimes strung low on the red cord to be left in the past—though one of my hosts told me she prefers to bring her sad memories along the blue cord to remind her of the troubles she has overcome and the strength she has gained since.

  Day of the Rose Sun

  To the Sifa, the passing of the suns and moons is crucial to their maritime and spiritual schedule. The Day of the Rose Sun, in particular, appeals to the Sifa—perhaps because of its reddish hue, or because this day marks the change of the coastal winds that carry the Sifa to and from Cera-Na to Ha’rar. Once these winds and tides change, the Sifa migrate farther west, many not seen again until the winds return to their easterly routes.

  To the Sifa, the Rose Sun represents fire and rebirth, as the winds shift. Many Sifa celebrate this change of season and direction in the traditional Gelfling way, with meditation and observance of the sun’s path through making and lighting candles. This makes for a lovely image, especially among many Sifan ships in the evening, as if the stars themselves have come to rest along the reflective silver waters and froth-capped waves. Some Sifa release the candles into the air in dyed paper lanterns, specially made to catch fire when they reach great heights, igniting in balls of multicolored flame overhead before dissolving into silvery ash.

  Another Day of the Rose Sun tradition that seems exclusive to the Sifa is hair doll making. Especially popular among Gelfling adolescents, who are just beginning to experience the world as young adults, hair doll making is an activity wherein one cuts locks of one’s hair and wraps them with cord in the form of a Gelfling. These hair dolls are meant to resemble their maker, a self-portrait, complete with clothing made from scraps of their maker’s coats and capes. In the evening on the Day of the Rose Sun, while the candles flicker from every boat prow and rail, the dolls are tossed into the boat fires. In this way, the young Sifa open themselves to being born anew among the smoke and embers.

  Food

  It should be no surprise, of course, that the Sifan diet is comprised mainly of fish and sea creatures. Prior to my time traveling and living with them, I had always thought such fare to surely be tiresome. But since tasting the hundreds of aquatic delights served to me by my Sifan hosts, I have learned that the bounty of the sea is just as—if not more—varied as that of the land and wood. I have tasted urchin and shellfish, Hooyim and giant usi. Meatless kelp dishes seasoned with sea salt, and rockfish from the bottom of the ocean. I have even become proficient with a Sifan rod, and feel confident that, stranded on a ship alone, I would never starve, as long as I had a means to fish.

  Although nearly everything on a Sifan platter comes from the sea, they do keep a stock of some mainland ingredients: spices that cannot be procured or approximated on the sea, grains, and some of the harder cheeses, which do not spoil. Most important, my S
ifan hosts explained, were fruits and vegetables. Though some larger Sifan ships have room aboard for small herb gardens, it is impossible to keep a larger garden at sea. And so, the Sifa frequently trade their catches and finds at port, namely in Cera-Na and Ha’rar.

  Sifan cuisine favors bold flavors, especially fire dust, a spice made from grinding flame coral, which can be found in the shallow waters along the western Sifa Coast. This hot flavor pairs deliciously with the more subtle flavors of deep-sea fish and shellfish.

  Songs of the Sifa

  As a song teller myself, of course I am well versed in the ballads of Gyr, who sailed long ago. The Sifa take great pride in Gyr’s work; although we cannot say for sure, most historians say Gyr was of the Sifa clan, and his wanderlust, compassionate heart, and gift of song are attributes highly praised by the Sifa. So, since his time, the Sifa have kept his songs alive.

  Here is one of my favorites among Gyr’s thousand songs, told to me by a spritely Sifan elder when we made port in Cera-Na for an evening, as we sat beside a blazing bonfire, the younglings throwing dust into the fire to make it spark, the night sky passing dark and blue above us.