Songs of the Seven Gelfling Clans

by J. M. Lee

  I lived in the Dousan’s Wellspring oasis for some time before finally meeting the maudra, and I am glad that I did. She was enthusiastic about my quest, and looked among her sandmasters for an appropriate host to guide me and teach me the songs of their wisdom and long history. I was lucky enough to be assigned to a xeric with its own song teller—an infrequent position among the quiet, introspective Dousan. From this companion, and the rest of the crew of the xeric, I was able to see much of the Crystal Desert and its overwhelming beauty.

  I had often heard that the Dousan were unfriendly toward outsiders—as are most Gelfling—but those rumors were, as rumors often are, largely ignorant. The truth I learned is much kinder: The Dousan’s values and traditions do not prioritize connections with other Gelfling. Instead, they focus on their personal connection with Thra. Every daily action, every prayer, and every pillar of their community centers on this utmost directive. Their philosophy revolves around our mortal existence and the immortality of Thra and the Crystal.

  Taken in this perspective, their aloof behaviors make much more sense. Their secretive-seeming ways are not secretive at all; their every action is personal and intimate, a relationship between each individual and Thra, which is no one else’s business to know or to understand. Although this cultural difference was challenging for me at first—I grew up being taught to value my connection with my kin over all else—I came to appreciate it wholly. The Gelfling connection with Thra is one that could certainly be valued higher, especially among those Gelfling communities easily entrapped in daily social entanglements and political distractions.

  Language of Silence

  One thing that struck me about the Dousan that I had not encountered among other Gelfling was their silence. Where other Gelfling villages are always alive with some sound or another, be it speaking or laughing or singing, my time with the Dousan was consumed by an ever-present silence. When I finally asked Maudra Io about this, her reply was fascinating:

  “Breath issues forth water from within the body,” she told me. “Saving breath saves moisture, a valuable essence among the sands. In the beginning, this is why we learned as a clan to be quiet. But once we held our tongues, we found our ears were free. Open and undistracted, we began to hear the song of the sands, the song of the winds, the song of the Crystal Desert. When we became still, we were able to see how the world moves around us. When we devote our lives to silence, we become witnesses to the deafening melody of Thra.”

  For these reasons, the Dousan have a complete language of hand signals and are able to communicate just as fluently through these quick, articulate gestures as they are through words. They will often use this language—called vojeye—instead of spoken words, even in environments like the Wellspring where water is bountiful. I also loved watching Dousan signal at the same time as speaking; as I learned this beautiful, visual language, I began to understand the nuances of it, and realized how much more was being communicated when both hands and tongues worked together.

  Day of the Dying Sun

  It seems most appropriate to remark upon the Dousan’s observance of the Day of the Dying Sun, as their intimate relationship with the cycle of life and death is particularly apt in regards to the holiday of our dimmest and most fragile sun. On the single day that the Dying Sun is visible, the Dousan remove their head coverings and gather in threes. They clasp hands and perform what they call an “empty dreamfast”—a dreamfast filled with no memories or voices; a shared meditation of stillness and silence. They perform this empty dreamfasting for the entire time during which the Dying Sun is visible, ending only after it has once again dipped below the horizon.

  The Dousan consider the Three Brothers to be three incarnations of the same entity—the Triple Sun—each representing a phase of life and death. The Dying Sun represents the decline of life and the journey toward death. In observing the Day of the Dying Sun in empty dreamfast, the Dousan share the journey with the Triple Sun’s dying incarnation, if only for a day, and in that way are better prepared for the journey when they begin it themselves.

  Trial of Daeydoim

  There is a legend of a star that fell to Thra and was given a name by Aughra. Though the star believed itself to be of Thra for many trine, eventually it came to learn that it was from another world, one of the heavens above. And so, it came to question all it had learned, and wandered the desert for the rest of eternity. As it wandered, it left its footprints, and from those footprints sprang Daeydoim, a four-legged, shelled creature found only at dusk among the dunes of the desert.

  The Dousan relate strongly to this myth. They refer to it often, and have taken the armored, sand-walking Daeydoim as their sigil creature. One of the most powerful observances of the myth is the Trial of Daeydoim, a gauntlet performed by any Dousan twice: first as younglings in preparation for leaving the Wellspring, and second as elders when they retire from traveling among the xerics.

  The trial is simple in theory, though dangerous in execution: naked except for a simple sheet of red cloth, a Gelfling leaves the Wellspring in the dead of night. They are not to return for three days. On the third day, if they return—and not all do—they are anointed with the milk of the Wellspring Tree. If they are a youngling preparing to join the xerics, they are then allowed to stand before the maudra and the sandmaster council for their assignment. If they are an elder preparing to retire, they are granted their Last Home, a hut within the Wellspring, and a seat at the council circle.

  I asked many of the Dousan what occurs within the three days of the trial, and what must be done by the Gelfling who is attempting to endure it. But this was sacred information not to be shared with an outsider, and so to this song teller, it remains a mystery.

  Incense

  Though few Gelfling are fortunate enough to visit the Wellspring directly, Dousan incense is famous throughout the Skarith Land and among all the seven clans. It is burned in the Vapran Citadel in the chamber of the All-Maudra; I smelled it in the fires of Domrak in the Caves of Grot. It is said that even the Skeksis use it within their castle during ceremonies.

  Dousan incense makers are strictly elders who have retired from their xerics, as incense making is a magic process that does not agree with the windy, fast-paced life aboard sand skiffs and Crystal Skimmers. Among the Dousan, incense is made in small, palm-size chips that are placed in torch wells and burned under enchantment until their blue-plumed smoke fills the air with its savory, heady scent.

  The most traditional Dousan incense is made from dried bark peeled from the aging parts of the Wellspring Tree. Although it is mixed with other spices and scented substances—depending on the maker—the Wellspring bark is what gives Dousan incense its unique, irreproducible scent. The bark is dried and ground into a fine powder, and the mixture of dusts is compacted into bricks using the sticky sap of the Wellspring Tree—an additive that lends an enchanting aroma that is not found in other incenses.

  Then the bricks are left to dry in the arid conditions beyond the Wellspring’s bounds. Large swaths of the sands just beyond the Wellspring Tree’s shade have been cleared for just this purpose. Thanks to the sap and the experienced hands of the incense maker, the very fine dust dries rapidly, becoming extremely hard and packed. The bricks are then collected and carved into chips that can be easily brought to trade in Cera-Na and Ha’rar.

  While spending time away from the desert, in the Wellspring, I tried my hand at apprenticing to a well-known incense maker. But I found I was not very skilled at such things. Despite following every instruction, my incense blocks were always too crumbly to be packed into bricks, though of course their scent was sublime. Perhaps when I retire, I will try again.

  Tattoos

  The Dousan dress and adorn themselves sparingly and for function rather than appearance. However, in stark contrast to their minimal dress, most Dousan are tattooed, an appearance extremely uncommon among the other Gelfling clans.

  Wh
ile I was told by the Dousan tattooers that the tattoos block the glare and heat of the emboldened suns, the main purpose of the tattoos is in carrying meaning. Their shapes represent stories, and are performed by the elder sages at the Wellspring when the Dousan return from a particularly stirring adventure.

  The tattooing process is long and painful, involving pots of inks, Crystal Skimmer scales, and a tiny mallet. Skimmer scales, shed by the creatures during molting seasons, have a prickly, spiny texture, and are about the size of a Gelfling palm. They are cut into strips and triangles and other shapes.

  The scale shard is placed on the skin, spine side down, and struck with a mallet so the thousand spines prick the skin. Then, while the spines are still embedded in the skin, the bowl of scale is filled with drops of ink. The ink flows through the spines into the skin, and the scale is removed, leaving the ink embedded in the skin. However, the spines are not so closely knit that the ink coverage is very dense; the process must be repeated several times for each portion of the design to produce a rich, solid color shape.

  Most of the inks used in tattooing are made from pollens and plant substances found within the Crystal Desert; the most common colors are deep blue, green, and gold, as these are all colors that can be made from the three varieties of crystal palm, which grow in abundance within the desert. Other colors can be harder to come by, such as silver and white. In these cases, the Dousan who desire these colors must procure the pigment materials themselves. This seeking out of tattoo dye substances is one of the few examples of materialism that I witnessed during my time with the Dousan.

  Funerals

  As sad as it may be, we Gelfling must all return to Thra someday. Believing themselves to be responsible for contemplating the mysteries of life and death—a responsibility given to them by Thra itself, according to the elders—the Dousan have created a life tradition around the inevitable. Meals begin by acknowledging the plants and animals that gave their lives so we might consume them. Meditation begins by becoming mindful and aware of our life force, and its mortal flicker.

  Knowing all this, when one of the sandmasters of a fellow xeric met his untimely demise in a sandstorm, I expected the Dousan funerary rites to be somber. I was mistaken.

  For the first time, my Dousan friends brought out their instruments. Pipes and drums and whistles that I had never seen them play before. We buried the fallen sandmaster in the soil beneath the Wellspring Tree, as all Gelfling must be returned to Thra. Then his xeric gathered his belongings and piled them in a pyre. The maudra lit it, and as the flames consumed what meager belongings he had possessed, the Dousan played a cascading song that ebbed and flowed and danced among the smoke and fire. The members of the sandmaster’s xeric sang of their favorite memories spent with their friend. As they sang, the musicians played the song, bringing it to life within my mind as if by dreamfast. By the time morning came, the winds had scattered the ashes of the pyre, and nothing was left except the memories of the song.

  Food

  When I first ventured into the Crystal Desert with my Dousan hosts, I believed that I would starve. I knew this was not truly the case, since clearly the Dousan survive—in fact, thrive—in the barren-seeming land. But I had to set my doubts and preconceptions aside, and fully trust the xeric that took me under their wing as we set off into the desert, away from the woodlands and hills I am more familiar with.

  Although the desert days are hot, the nights are almost unbearably cold. And under that cold cloak of evening, what little moisture exists in the atmosphere becomes heavy and falls to the ground, coating the sparkling sands in dew until the suns rise and it evaporates once again. Thus, every evening, the Dousan set out dozens of shallow water traps, which are then collected in barrels before daybreak, and in this way we always had fresh water to drink. Even so, our sips had to be rationed, but life in an environment where water vanishes in the day is all about self-control and restraint.

  Where there is water, there is life. While the water traps fill, the Dousan slow their skiffs along pocketed dunes where reedy plants grow straight out of the crystal dust. During the day I mistook many of them for rock formations, but at night they explode with life. Enormous blossoms open along their entire bodies, and with the lovely scent come insects and birds and other creatures. Although the Dousan do not eat the flesh of any creature that moves during the day, they have no dietary restrictions on flowers. Raw spine-flower blossoms drizzled with nectar made from the flower’s pollen are a delicacy among the southern xerics.

  Songs of the Dousan

  I did not hear as many songs of the Dousan as I did among other clans. Although they certainly remember the art of song, it is not always functional in the desert, while living a life sworn to silence and meditation. However, there were some, and the few I was trusted enough to hear, I recorded (with the teller’s permission, of course). One thing that is not conveyed among any of these written records is that Dousan song tellers perform with their hands as well as verbally. During performance of the songs, the language of silence used by the Dousan becomes a fluid, lovely dance—sometimes interpretive enough to convey entire stanzas and verses without a single word spoken aloud.

  I did not become fluent in the Dousan’s language of silence until late in my time with them. And so, it is with regret that I wonder how many of their songs I missed merely because I was listening and not looking. Perhaps one day I will have the opportunity to rejoin my Dousan friends, and with newer, older eyes see what I missed in my youth.

  Though the Dousan clan is separated into xerics that rarely convene all at once, the sandmasters do routinely return to an oasis located in the far north of the Crystal Desert—the Wellspring. It benefits from the shade of the cliffs as well as a spring of brilliantly clear water, and of course, from the tree that grows from the middle of the lake, casting its protective shade even on the brightest of days.

  Here in the Wellspring, the Dousan restock their supplies of food and water, as well as tend to any ailing Gelfling who may need attention. Elderly Dousan leave their xerics when they can no longer remain agile enough to sail in stormy weather; it is here in the Wellspring that these sages retire, providing support for the xerics when they pass through, and maintaining the Wellspring itself.

  There are numerous songs about the Wellspring sung by Gelfling of other clans who have had the opportunity to visit this wondrous place. It is fascinating to compare the songs of the Spriton and the Vapra to the songs of the Dousan themselves. I’ve provided a few examples of this below.

  Verdant Paradise (Spriton Origin)

  Verdant paradise showed itself to me

  After wandering through the crystal sea

  To my knees I fell in tears

  Water quenched my thirsty tongue

  Cool breeze told me I had come

  At last to the safe haven

  Where the Wellspring overflows

  Where the Wellspring Tree grows

  In this shade I rest forever

  The Lovely Lake (Vapran Origin)

  Oh, what lovely blue

  Resting in the barren sands!

  Like a sapphire true

  In a traveler’s shaking hands!

  Oh, this lovely lake

  Now I never need discover

  In the crystal sands forsake

  The desire for any other

  These two short odes underscore the undeniable beauty of the Wellspring. But they also show their bias; a fear of the desert, as if the Wellspring is the only lovely place within the Crystal Desert. Compare these songs with one from the Dousan, which I first heard when we were several days’ travel from the Wellspring. The Claw Mountains were barely a red line on the horizon, and our xeric had taken reprieve in the shade of a tall standing rock. My Dousan song teller sang this to us without an instrument except his voice and the tapping of his fingers on
his knee.

  Beloved Sea

  Take me now into these gentle hills

  Granules of crystal and bone

  Sink me now into these soft blades

  Take me home

  Breathe me now into this cooling air

  As the suns dip low

  Awaken me now into the dark night

  Where crystal flowers grow

  Lose me now into my beloved sea

  Enlivened with your might

  Embrace me now, my beloved gem

  Into endless light

  As I listened to this heartfelt song, for the first time I felt in my breast the impossibly profound connection that the Dousan feel with the desert. In the Crystal Desert, the shifting sands of transformation are sudden and drastic. Life springs forth in the sands suddenly and is vanquished just as quickly. Accepting that our time here is short and death inevitable allows the Dousan to value the moment in which they are living, rather than becoming distracted and preoccupied with what could be or has been. Instead, my song teller companion sang of each grain of sand in the desert as a tiny crystal sprung from the Heart of Thra.