The Magic of Terry Pratchett's Wee Free Men

I’ve just finished Terry Pratchett’s Wee Free Men, which is a really wonderful book. Patrick Rothfuss (author of The King Killer Chronicles) thinks that it’s Pratchett’s greatest work. I’ve only read a handful of Pratchett’s many novels, so I can’t say if Rothfuss is right, but I know it must at least be one of the best. As a writer, Pratchett’s skill is enviable to the point of frustration. His books are funny, and that is the primary quality for which they are known, but they are also smart, wise, engaging, and true. Wee Free Men has all of those qualities, but is truly special among Pratchett’s works.

I think part of what sets Wee Free Men apart is its characters. Most of Pratchett’s characters are endearing, but not all of them are heroes. Rincewind the wizard comes to mind as a likable protagonist, but one who is intentionally unheroic. Half the fun with Rincewind is watching him blunder through danger and fall backward into adventure, but that is not the case with Tiffany Aching. Tiffany is the protagonist of Wee Free Men, and she is unapologetically awesome. She consciously makes the decision to face danger, and solves nearly all her own problems using her own cleverness. There is practically nothing that Tiffany does that is unconscious; she’s hopelessly self-analytical. Tiffany is on her way to becoming a witch, a position that requires one to be curious, perceptive, and logical. As the book repeatedly asserts, the magic is just advertising. 

The only creatures Tiffany requires help from are the eponymous wee free men, also called the Nac Mac Feegle, or the Pictsies. The Pictsies are about six inches in height, have a shock of red hair, a kilt, a claymore slung over their backs, and are so covered in blue tattoos that they appear to have entirely blue skin. They are essentially Scottish stereotypes in fairy form, which makes them much closer kin to the real fairies of folklore than the butterfly-winged pixies of Victorian England. The Pictsies love to drink, fight, and steal, and are quite adept at all three. They become the staunch allies of Tiffany Aching in the course of the novel, and provide her with invaluable help. In return, Tiffany provides them with some much needed leadership. As the mother of the Chalk Downs Clan remarks, her sons think their heads are more useful for bashing enemies than thinking. In their defense, they are really good at bashing with their heads, as they are particularly hard-headed.

Perhaps my favorite lesson from Wee Free Men is that magic doesn’t stop being magic just because you know how it works. As a biologist, that lesson is especially poignant. There are many people, both laypeople and those within the scientific community, who believe that the march of scientific progress is destined to banish the last superstitions from the earth. In that day, we’ll all live in a glorious age of reason, peace, prosperity, and Star Trek will become a reality. Personally, I think the whole concept is nonsense, and horribly boring in its goals. Nobody who gets enough fresh air has ever thought such a thing, which is why most biologists seem to be immune to the cult of science worshipping. Understanding how something works doesn’t make it cease to be magical. I can understand how photosynthesis works, but that takes away none of the magic of growing things. I can understand the internal anatomy of trees, but that doesn’t prevent me from wondering at their majesty. Humanity has been able to track and predict the movement of the stars for millennia, but only in the past couple hundred years have we determined that their movements are not magical because they are predictable. If anything, understanding should make us say, “Yes, it is magic, just as we thought.” Tiffany Aching teaches us that art and science can coexist, and even shows us how: she carries her keen intellect with her into the very realm of Faerie. [As a brief side note, you can tell I’ve given thought to this issue before because my Elvish word for magic literally means “understanding”.]

The Sensiahd word of the day is “rethambir”, which means “to imagine or create”, literally “to work thought.” Example sentence: Es ean rethambir a bita voe ninaim. I’ll imagine a world with magic. 

On the Silmarillion

I recently re-read The Silmarillion, written by J.R.R Tolkien and edited by his son Christopher. It will come as no surprise to many of you when I say that The Silmarillion is one of my favorite books, but I’d like to dedicate this blogpost to explaining a few of the reasons why I’ve come to love this book so much. I believe that Tolkien has accomplished that to which all storytellers aspire: he has created a true mythology.

I don’t think that the pantheon of the Valar is Tolkien’s greatest achievement, though that is probably what we would first think of as mythology. I think true mythology are those stories which remain with us at all times. Tolkien’s characters take their places beside the greatest figures to ever stride across our imaginations: Achilles and Odysseus, Cú Chulainn and Queen Méabh, Sigurd and Brynhild, Beren and Luthien. The Silmarillion has changed the very way that I look at the stars. When I look into the sky at night, I think of Varda the Star-Kindler and the Sickle of the Valar that she set in the heavens as a warning of doom to Morgoth. When I see the sun setting in the west, I think of the Garden of the Hesperides, but also of the straight road to Aman. Tolkien’s mythology is not based in a world that is recognizably earth, but it colors my experience of the world as surely as if I were to stand before the ruined walls of Troy.

Another aspect of Tolkiens mythology as presented in The Silmarillion is the diversity of human experience. Tolkien captures a broad swathe of the human experience in a relatively small book, and with characters that are often not human themselves. We can identify with the rash oath of Feanor and his sons, the undying love of Beren and Luthien, and the bitterness that haunts the steps of the Noldor. We have known men like craven Mim and treacherous Maeglin. We have seen lies multiply and destroy, we have seen friends turn on one another, and we have seen courage in the face of evil. All that is good in Tolkien’s characters, we have seen in one another, along with all that is broken. In few other places have I found a book that spoke so truly of human experience.

The most common criticism of The Silmarillion is that it is dry, or dense. I prefer to use the word dense. To me, there is nothing dry in The Silmarillion; it is packed with action and some of the most beautiful language in modern English. However, the book is assuredly dense. Tolkien mastery of language was such that there are few sentences that are not important, and each is so expertly packed as to contain ample food for thought. The result is that his work is not conducive to skimming or speed reading. You must take time with the book in the same way you would not fast forward through one of Mozart’s concertos.

Many people, whether they are conscious of it or not, are upset that The Silmarillion is not a novel. I have heard people complain of The Lord of the Rings that it is not the sort of fantasy novel which is published today, and this is more fully true of The Silmarillion. I am sympathetic to this complaint. If one began reading The Silmarillion with all the expectations of a traditional novel format, they would quickly become befuddled and possibly a bit frustrated. The Silmarillion does not have a protagonist. That in and of itself is offensive to some, and there are more discrepancies between it and the standard fantasy novel. Of course, once one realizes that Tolkien did not intend for The Silmarillion to be a novel, much of this friction evaporates. One must read The Silmarillion as one reads a book of mythology, an epic, or a saga because that is the kind of literature that Tolkien sought to emulate. Once one has the proper lens, the brilliance of his work becomes more readily apparent.

The Sensiahd word of the day is “oster”, meaning “star”. Example sentence: Eth ostera ys exsret sonoc. The stars are out tonight.

Crafting Sunbeams: Why I write

I have a writing friend that I recently got tea with while we discussed our respective projects. He was having a bit of trouble committing to the long path of writing a book, so I tried to provide some encouragement. I also warned him that it isn’t enough to just write; writers have to ask themselves why they write. Some write as an outlet, some for a notch in their belt, and some even for fame. Many write to tell a story they think needs to be told, but very few write for money. I think it is essential to the creative process to understand why we engage with it. Knowing why I write informs how and what I write. I write because I want to create art, and I want people to experience art.

I grew up surrounded by art. My mother is the incomparable Dolores Justus, a painter and the owner of the Justus Fine Art Gallery. My parents are both art lovers, so our vacations invariable saw us stalking the halls of some art museum or gallery wherever we happened to travel. I’ve been fortunate to have seen some of the finest works of art in the world, but I’ve also seen a great many pieces which were simply awful. There’s something that separates “true art” from sensationalism, which is nearly intangible, though I think I’ve struck upon a working definition. I believe that all art is a glimpse of truth, a reflection of the divine.

As a Christian, I believe that truth is objective, that it exists outside of ourselves as something self-sufficient in the universe, and I believe that all truth has its uttermost source in God. In the final book of his space trilogy, That Hideous Strength, C.S. Lewis forwards the idea that “all mythology is true in the end.” Lewis shared that belief with his fellow Inkling, J.R.R. Tolkien, and myself. Personally, I would say that all art is true in the end because I believe that being true is an essential function of art. I don’t mean to say that the Greeks had it exactly right with the Olympians, but I think their myths conveyed things which were true. Its entirely possible for one to create art without intending to, and for the artist to not have a full grasp of their own work’s significance. I also think the drive to create is God-given, a symptom of being created in the image of the Creator.

When I say that I want to write art, I mean that I want my work to be true, even when it is fantastic. It may seem hypocritical for me to emphasize the importance of truth while writing about magic in an imaginary world, but my characters still act like real people. They love and hate, win victories and suffer defeats, and they make mistakes. I endeavor to always tell the truth about the human experience. As to the fantastic, I’m not convinced that it doesn’t live and breath in our own world. I’m a biologist by training and could tell you the processes that are occurring in a moss-bound stream, but scientific knowledge doesn’t take away the sanctity of that place. Magic isn’t an archaic explanation for what we don’t understand, it’s a quality that we feel spiritually, like the thrill before a storm.

Secondly, I want people to experience my art because I think that being confronted with art brings us closer to something greater than ourselves; we gain a glimpse of the divine. I think anyone who knows anything will admit that truth and beauty are intricately intertwined, if not the same thing outright; approximating one is as good as approaching the other. If I can create art, it won’t do any good mouldering in storage or languishing on my hard drive. The world needs art like we need sunlight. If I made a sunbeam, I would want everyone to bask in it a little while. I want people to experience my art because for some it will be like the warm touch of the sun. A few might even be changed for the better by what I write, which is an astounding thing to consider. Of course, not all art is for everyone. I struggle to understand the modern art movement, but that doesn’t mean it is without its virtues, it only means that art is not for me.

I realize that this blogpost is a far cry from the usual fare of this blog, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. For those of you who are writers, I hope that you consider why you want to write and what success would look like. This has been a fairly deep view into my own convictions, but that doesn’t mean that you have to hold them to be “legitimate”. Some write for the very joy of writing, and I think that they are a commendable breed. Whatever your motivations, I hope that you find them, both in your work and in your life.

Traveling Reflections

I’m writing this post on my phone while traveling in Washington. So far we’ve camped and hiked in northern Idaho and the Cascades. We’ve explored Seattle, eaten some mind-blowing Thai food, and are now heading for the Olympic Peninsula. It’s been a great trip so far, with many exciting things to come.

When traveling I’m always struck by the size of the world. There are places where one can find absolute solitude, and those areas that are alive with the thrum of civilization. The world has amazing breadth, but it’s depth is what has been intriguing me recently. Of the kinds of people, in all their colors, personalities, and habits, we have heard much. We are also acquainted with the similarities between all people. Mankind, with all its virtues and vices, it’s kindnesses and vulgarities, has always been the same. Recently I’ve been surprised by the small havens of the world, and their relation to one another.

I have a favorite camping spot in northern Idaho; it’s a pine straw bed beside a moss-bound stream that always runs cool. There’s always a light breeze blowing downstream, and the tall trees cast everything in twilight shade. When I go there, I feel completely at home and can bathe in a deep solitude. What’s remarkable to me is that I found a similar spot in the very heart of Seattle. At the end of the long hall of an empty marketplace, I saw the beckoning wave of a fern. I went down the desolate walk, and out into a grotto full of ferns and shading trees. There were two or three people there, sitting in wire patio chairs and sipping tea or reading the paper. One person did nothing at all, and seemed quite good at it. There was a steep, winding stair that connected us with some uphill realm, and a noodle shop that had quietly labored beneath the trees for a hundred years.

My spot in Idaho was in the middle of the mountains, hidden beneath a forest I only know well because it was my office for several months. There was one other person within about four square miles, and he left as soon as he got his four-wheeler to start. Meanwhile, the Seattle grotto was only a hundred feet from the crowded streets of one of the largest cities in the American West. The two spots were so different from one another, and yet so alike. What is it that makes these havens coalesce? They seemed shaped to my preferences, one by nature and the other by likeminded people, or perhaps like a bubble thrown from the churning change of the city.

These sort of experiences make me wonder how many more secret havens are tucked away behind the trees, or around the bend of an alley. I like the idea of a story linking them. Maybe they are all doorways to Dunsany’s Land of Dream or passages whereby mortals may stumble into the Faerie Realm.

The Sensiahdword of the day is “waild”, meaning “to see”. Example sentence: Es rho waild cosa galacesh. I have seen many forests.

Rex Nemorensis or "King of the Grove"

For better or worse, James Frazer’s book, The Golden Bough, is perhaps the most well known work of anthropology and launched the fad of comparative mythology. Despite the fact that Frazer’s theories were mostly rejected by academics, he did highlight a few lesser known myths which are very intruiging. I’d like to discuss Frazer’s one of the myths central to Frazer’s theories, and the one for which he named his book: that of the Rex Nemorensis.

Sacral kingship, in Frazer’s conception, is a worldwide belief in which a king acts as the representation of a solar deity and periodically reenacts a fertility rite. It is true that many cultures saw kingship as being more than a temporal post, but that shouldn’t be surprising to us. From what we understand, much of life in the ancient world was saturated with a regard for spiritual matters. It is to be expected that kingship was addressed in a spiritual context in almost every culture that practiced it. Parallels may be found between the Rex Nemorensis and kingship myths in other cultures, but that doesn’t mean that they all follow the same model. With that disclaimer, let’s begin discussing the myth.

Diana Nemorensis was an Italic goddess who was later hellenized and became confused with the Greek goddess Artemis. Her worship was important to the Romans, and her festival of Nemoralia was widely celebrated. The center of her worship, and the origin of the festival, was a sacred grove at Lake Nemi. Inside the grove was a carved image of the goddess, which the Romans considered ancient. Vitruvius calls the image “Etruscan” in form, granting it an antiquity that predates Rome itself. Whatever the origin of Diana Nemorensis, it is clear that she held an important place in the Latin pantheon before Greek myth had encroached on its borders.

The priest of Diana Nemorensis and her ancient forest shrine was the Rex Nemorensis, or King of the Grove. The candidate for priesthood had to first prove his worth by plucking a golden bough from one of the sacred trees (most likely a mistletoe). The candidate then assumed the title of Rex Nemorenesis by killing the previous priest, and was then forever on guard for the one that would seek to supplant him. There seems to have also been a tradition of the priest being an escaped slave, thus providing the impetus for becoming the new priest-king. Diana Nemorensis would provide sanctuary for escaped slaves, but only for the strongest. I think this idea is best expressed in Thomas B. Macaulay’s poem, which I’ve provided below.

Those trees in whose dim shadow

The ghastly priest doth reign

The priest who slew the slayer,

And shall himself be slain.

For Frazer, this ritual king slaying was foundational for his theory of sacral kingship, and though I don’t buy the broad conclusions he draws, it is a very interesting feature. The Romans, for all their bloodlust, were not generally keen on human sacrifice. Their general abhorrence of the practice contributed to their hate of the Carthaginians and their dislike of the Gauls, but there are parts of Roman religion that include oblique human sacrifice, such as in the gladiatorial pits. Any time there is an element of human sacrifice in Roman religion, it feels like an older, latin belief system is rearing its head. The recurring death of the Rex Nemorensis is almost blatantly sacrificial. For the ritual death of a man to have survived so long under a Rome which went so far as to outlaw human sacrifice, the ritual must have been especially important.

Frankly, there is no real evidence to suggest that the Rex Nemorensis is associated with a solar diety or that his death had anything to do with fertility. The death and renewal of the Rex Nemorensis might rather be a connection to the god Virbius, a man who died and was rescued from the underworld by Diana. Virbius then became a deity associated with the forest.

Ultimately, the mythology of Diana Nemorensis and her priests will never be understood with certainty. The earliest Roman concepts of the gods was as disembodied spirits rather than as the anthropomorphic deities they later became. The invasive influence of the Greeks will forever be a stumbling block to our understanding of the original myth and the purpose of its ritual practice. I’m certainly intrigued by the mystery, and returning to the story of the Rex Nemorensis is always a good spur for my imagination.

The Sensiahd word of the day is “monis”, meaning “moon”. Example sentence. Sonoc monis belath ar.

The moon is bright tonight.

A Tour through the Empire: Bythnia

Our tour through the Halystrian Empire has taken us through six provinces so far, and now we are approaching the final province. Thank you for sticking with me through this exploration of my world; I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Next week, we’ll move onto a new topic.

Bythnia lies at the far western end of the Empire, where it is bounded by the snowy peaks of the Eyrie Mountains. To the south, the Suthran Sea crashes along Bythnia’s rocky shore, while the she shares a border to the east with Rhegia and Abydia. The Eyrie Mountains are far more rugged than the Gray Mountains at the Empire’s eastern end, making Bythnia the most mountainous and harsh of the provinces.

Long before mankind came to the River’s Cradle, the dwarves arose in the Eyrie Mountains and those mountains have remained at the center of dwarven culture. When the early Bythnians settled on the eastern slopes of the mountains, they very quickly came in contact with the dwarves. Initially there were some hostilities, but the Bythnians eventually became close friends and allies of the Eyrie dwarves. As the dwarves shared their culture with the newly arrived men, the Bythnians took up metalwork and mining. It was disputes over mining rights that led again to armed conflict between the dwarves and the Bythnians, though their fighting was generally small scale. In generally, the Bythnians fought far more often among themselves than against the dwarves. The mountainous nature of Bythnia created a high degree of geographic isolation between neighboring people, which led to the fractured and tribal society of Bythnia’s people. The region was never unified under one banner until it was finally conquered by the Halystrian Empire.

Bythnia vies with Tythia for the dubious honor of the Empire’s poorest province, though a select few of the Bythnian aristocracy are extremely wealthy. The poor soil in the mountains makes shepherding one of the few viable livelihoods for the common man. The mines are exclusively owned by Halystrians who won their lands in the conquest, and generally have appalling working conditions. Though the Bythnians once built sophisticated mines, the age of engineering has long since passed. The Halystrian task masters force their Bythnian serfs to delve dangerous passages into the earth in search of more wealth. Further from the mountains, life improves for the Bythnians. There are healthy farming communities in the northeast and southeast corners of the province, where a series of rich rivers support a more comfortable life.

Bythnian metalwork, like their skill in mining, considerably waned after the conquest, though a few of the old secrets have survived into the current age. A few preeminent smiths are reviving the ancient craft and making Bythnian metalwork desirable again. The nobility initially feared that increased smithing would lead to another insurrection, but the money they’ve made off the renaissance has led them to tentatively allow its continuance.

The lack of ethnically Bythnian nobility combined with the heavy rule of the Halystrians has made insurrections in Bythnia not infrequent. Aside from general insurrection, Bythnia has more outlaws than any other province, most of which are the remnants of failed rebellions. The outlaws use Bythnia’s mountainous terrain to avoid the superior forces of the Empire, while periodically striking at the province’s hated nobility. Among the law abiding Bythnians, the outlaws have a mixed reputation. Some people hail the rebels as champions of freedom, while others call them ruffians and trouble makers. The nobility have a habit of punishing their servants for the sins of the rebels, which tends to cement the diametric opinions. In reality, there is a large variance between outlaw bands; some are principled while others are more predatory.

The Sensiahd word of the day is “sleibona”, meaning “mountains”. Example sentence: Eth sleibona ys mach a naleth ar. The mountains are large and dark.

A Tour through the Empire: Rhegia

I’ve recently finished the first draft for The Many Antlered Crown, the sequel to The Wind from Faerie. It feels great to be done with writing and move on to the editing phase. I’m hoping it will be released around August of next year, but we’ll see how the publication process goes. In other news, we are now nearing the end of our tour of the Halystrian Empire. We’ve covered Tythia, Ephyria, Halystria, Abydia and Modonia so far, and only have two more provinces to go. Today we’ll be visiting the province of Rhegia, home of the horse lords.

Rhegia lies at the center of the Empire, and is one of the largest provinces by land area. Rhegia has the Evidon River for its northern border, while Bythnia borders it to the west. Halystria and Abydia form Rhegia’s eastern border. Rhegia is well known for its broad plains and rocky hills, but it also has labyrinthine canyons on its northern margin. Rhegia’s cities are some of the oldest in the River’s Cradle, and nearly all of them could double as a fortress. The Rhegians build even their smaller towns on defensible hills and ring them with stone walls. Inside their walled towns, the Rhegians build simple plaster houses with terra cotta roofs. They have little use for the ostentatious marbles of the richer provinces, or for the finely dressed stone of Bythnia. Despite the advancements of the Empire and the availability of luxury goods, the Rhegians prefer to live life in the same way they have for centuries.

The provincial capital of Kythrion is not as large as many of the other provincial capitals, and not much larger than the other wealthy Rhegian cities, but it makes up in prestige what it lacks in size. Kythrion has long served as the meeting place for the Rhegian nobility, a middle ground where they could settle their differences and enact common rulings. In times past, the Rhegian lords ruled their lands independent of all other authority, and they waged war on one another as commonly as they led their cavalry against the other ancient kingdoms of the River’s Cradle. Kythrion was the principle place where the horse lords could come together in peace. Its importance was formalized during the integration of Rhegia into the Empire.

The Rhegian horse lords were among the first allies of Aurelanus Denarius. He allied himself to a prominent Rhegian warlord through marriage, and with his help was able to subjugate the remaining Rhegians to his cause. Aurelanus’ campaigns in Rhegia were among the longest during his conquest of the River’s Cradle. He captured the Rhegian cities piecemeal, taking one or two between larger campaigns against the Abydians or Ephyrians. It was the support of the famed Rhegian horsemen that helped Aurelanus triumph over the infantry-centered armies that were more common across the River’s Cradle. He gained so much respect for the Rhegian horsemen and their lords that he allowed them to maintain a significant degree of autonomy, even after their full incorporation into the Empire.

Though the Rhegians are not the only province to support a cavalry, they are widely recognized as possessing the finest horsemen in the Empire. Rhegians are taught to ride at an early age, and the warriors are the greatest riders among them. The Rhegians have a proud warrior tradition, one that spurs them to train their youths in warfare long before they are eligible to join the Telons of the Empire. The typical Rhegian horseman carries a javelin, sword, and shield. Their sword is longer than the Halystrian standard, making them more effective when swung from horseback. The Rhegian cavalry hurl their javelins during a charge to soften the enemy before impact, then use their longswords to devastating effect. Though their ancient tactics have been traditionally effective, casualties were high among the Rhegians during the Halystrian Expansion Wars. The long spears of the dwarves wrought havoc among the Rhegian cavalry, and the cramped mountain passes left little room for flanking. Despite the martial character of the Rhegians, they were gladder than most to see the end of the war.

Rhegia’s most famous commodity are its horses, which roam in massive herds across the plains. Each noble’s wealth is first measured in the size of his herd and the quality of his horses. Indeed, ownership of a large herd is the ancient right by which the horse lords claim their nobility. Aside from horses, the Rhegians also keep sheep and cattle in large numbers. As to crops, the Rhegians grow exceptional grain at the foot of their hilltop cities. Though the simple lifestyle of the Rhegians makes them mostly self-sufficient, they do import wine, oil, and other commodities.

The Sensiahd word of the day is “epalos”, which means “horse”. Example sentence: Sath ys eth awilliar epalos. She is a fine horse.

A Tour through the Empire: Modonia

This week we’ll be continuing our tour of the Halystrian Empire with the province of Modonia. The island province of Modonia lies in the Suthran Sea, some fifty miles off the southern shore of the Empire. It’s closest neighbors are Bythnia to the northwest and Abydia to the northeast. Modonia’s distance from the mainland has brought it a degree of cultural and political independence from the rest of the Empire. As the preeminent naval power in the Empire, Modonia is responsible for the guarding of her coasts and the many merchant vessels that frequent the ports of Abydia.

The island of Modonia is over a hundred miles in length, making it by far the largest island on the southern shore of Purovus. The island is mountainous, with little arable land, and is often battered by intemperate storms. Despite the island’s size, the province of Modonia is the smallest in the Empire by land area. The province’s area of governance includes several satellite islands and a few distant isles in the Suthran Sea. Modonian ships are constantly plowing the waves of the Suthran Sea, protecting their sovereign waters against bands of Brithondian and Fastetian pirates.

Modonia was one of the last regions to capitulate to the Halystrian Empire. Their naval prowess and the relative inexperience of the Imperials at sea gave the Modonians some astounding victories. The Modonian population was too small to resist the Empire forever, the Emperor was so impressed by the Modonian resistance, that he permitted the Modonian king to keep his title. The Modonian royal line still rules the isle, performing the regular duties of both governor and magistrate on behalf of the Emperor. Modonia is thus technically not a province, but a subject state. The Empire is given its due, but largely trusts the Modonians to handle their own affairs. The Senate understands the importance of the sea, but have little knowledge or interest in its ways, and thus the Modonians enjoy very limited imperial oversight.

Besides being a naval power, Modonia is also an important religious center. Modonia holds the holiest shrines to the goddess Danuliel, who rules over the waters. The Modonians honor Danuliel as their patroness, and worship her and Orantos above all other gods. Several of their beliefs would likely be considered heretical if spoken at the temple in Parthicum, but Modonia is far from the heart of the Empire.

The Modonian capital of Syrca lies at the foot of Modon’s Spire, the tallest mountain on the island. Modon the mariner was the legendary father of the Modonian people and their first king. It was he who laid the foundations of Syrca on the north side of the great mountain, where it would be sheltered from the violent storms that were born in the warm waters of the south. Syrca remains the primary settlement on the island, and is the only one larger than a small village. The famed Modonian shipwrights practice their craft in Syrca, and it is through Syrca’s docks that all the treasures of the sea pass. Modonia imports grain from the mainland, mostly from Abydia, along with some manufactured products. In return, the province exports fish and shellfish, pearls, purple dye, and salt. The most coveted Modonian export is their fish sauce, a fermented mixture of certain ingredients known only to the Modonians, but a condiment which has taken the Empire by storm.

Outside of Syrca, most Modonian villages sport shepherds who escort their sheep across the island’s scrubby slopes, and harbor a healthy fishing community. Modonia is one of the poorer provinces, but its wealth is spread among the freemen as well as the few noble families. It is unique among the provinces for having no serfs and few slaves. In this sense, Modonia is one of the most equitable provinces, despite still retaining its monarch.

The Sensiahd word of the day is “mathurin”, meaning “sea”. Example sentence: Ys tu clyws eth therun ar eth marthurin? Do you hear the waves on the sea?

A Tour through the Empire: Abydia

Abydia is the next province on our tour of the Halystrian Empire, and is the fourth in the series so far. We’ve only got three left to go, so stay tuned! In other news, I’ve made a commitment to write a truly ridiculous amount this month, and am hoping to finish the first draft of The Many Antlered Crown by the end of May. It’ll probably take a year for it to pass through the publication process, so I hope that you all can start reading it this time next year. I’ve already had a few fans haranguing me to finish book two of the series because they read through The Wind from Faerie so quickly. I’m working, I promise!

Abydia is in the extreme southeast of the River’s Cradle. It is bordered to the north by Halystria and to the west by Rhegia and Bythnia. To the south lies the Suthran Sea while the Gray Mountains guard Abydia’s eastern border. The island province of Modonia is a short distance across the sea to the southwest. The chief feature of Abydia is the Illydian delta, where the great river fans across the land before finally emptying into the sea. The delta supports both wild marshes and the greatest host of farmland in the Empire. The Illydia swells seasonally, flooding the delta and enriching the land with its silt laden waters. Abydia produces flax, cotton, wine, olive oil, papyrus, innumerable spices, fruits and vegetables, and more grain than any other province in the Empire.

Abydia is dominated by the Illydia, whose channels form the arteries of the region. In Abydia the roads are ephemeral, but the boat traffic never ends. Poled barges and riverboats ceaselessly wind through the maze of channels, both natural and man made, selling their goods to passersby while they make for larger markets. In the larger channels, the flotilla of merchant ships creates a floating market, where anything may be bought or sold and the shouts of haggling mix with the cries of the thousands of fowl which always wheel above the fenland. 

The rule of merchants reaches its zenith in Abydia’s capital of Ionis, which spans the fragmented land where the Illydia meets the sea. Ionis is the port from which sail most of the Empire’s exports, and which traders from every corner of the world. In Ionis, Halystrian is only one of a hundred languages that are shouted in the docks, and the Abydians are but a fraction of the mobs who frequent her streets. The city is always filled with the smell of exotic foods, the sweat of the masses, the salt of the sea, and the tepid air of the marshland. In Ionis, there is no pleasure or vice beyond reach for those with coin to stretch, and perhaps that is the reason why it is also a hive of thievery unmatched even in Parthicum.

Abydia was the first province conquered by the Halystrians, and has had a strong relationship with the Empire ever since. Their nobles are not as important as those of Halystria or Ephyria, but their pivotal economic role has made their freemen merchants powerful even the political arena. Even the vaunted senators step lightly when dealing with the merchant families of Abydia, for their stranglehold on so many luxury goods makes them a valuable friend and a dangerous enemy. The serfs and slaves of Abydia are more numerous than in the other provinces, and their standard of living is significantly lower than the imperial standard. Their situation is not improved by the frequent exchange of lands and slaves that is a symptom of Abydia’s shifting markets. Revolt of the lower classes is a periodic threat to Abydia, occasionally rising to a fearsome pitch. The Abydians view slave revolt much as they view excessive flooding: as but a part of the cycles that dominate life in the fenland.

The Sensiahd word of the day is “abona” meaning “river.” Example sentence: Nes rhanaw taros eth abona. We rowed across the river. 

A Tour through the Empire: Halystria

The release of The Wind from Faerie has been a time filled with excitement, dread, and a host of as yet unidentified emotions. I’m happy to report that almost all feedback I’ve received has been positive, and that even my critics still enjoyed the book. If you haven’t picked up a copy yet, then you should pick one up from Amazon. I think the album art alone warrants a purchase, and I fully intend to ride Randall Good’s coattails for as long as I can.

After a long and unwarranted break from our tour of the Empire, I’d like to continue with the capital province of Halystria. Halystria is bordered to the northwest by Tythia, to the northeast by Ephyria, to the south by Abydia, and to the west by Rhegia. The Gray Mountains rise high on its eastern border, while the Illydia River runs through its heart. 

Halystria quickly emerged as one of the more powerful kingdoms during the early days of settlement in the River’s Cradle, and has only increased its position since those days. Halystria long vied with neighboring Ephyria for dominance in the east, a stalemate that was eventually broken by the founder of the Empire: Aurelius Denarius. The would-be emperor changed the balance of power through alliance with the fierce Rhegian horse lords and the subjugation of Abydia. Aurelius’ conquests eventually gave him the strength to defeat the proud Ephyrian state. 

Halystria’s military and political dominance has made the region attractive to trade. The imperial capital of Parthicum has become the primary recipient of Halystria’s trade. Parthicum lies within a bend of the Illydia, and is the most populous city in the Empire. It receives imported goods from the ports of Abydia and fine treasures from Ephyria. Halystria is renown for having the best wine in the Empire, and for having a wealth of olive orchards alongside their vineyards. Halystrian wine and oil is not only coveted throughout the Empire but is a sign of wealth and status throughout Purovus. 

Parthicum is also one of the Empire’s eldest cities; its oldest manifestations lost beneath the surface of the modern streets. The age and importance of Parthicum has also made it the center of religion in the Empire. The temple to the Myri dominates a district of the city, while the numerous older shrines are found across the east bank. In the early days of the Empire, the waning religion of Gulthor made a bid for relevance by making the Emperor and Parthicum the center of their faith, though their most important religious centers had lain further south. Aurelius allowed Gulthor to die, instead sponsoring the growing strength of Myriendism. The presence of the Myri temple brings many of the faithful to Parthicum, especially during the holy festivals and feast days.

Halystria benefits from fertile lands lying along the banks of the Illydia, and from the sunbathed foothills of the mountains. The wealth of the land coupled with the importance of the province has led politicians from other provinces to seek out holdings in the Halystrian countryside. The status that even a small Halystrian estate provides is well worth the exorbitant prices the local nobility charge. Of course, the grandest and wealthiest estates are held by the native aristocracy, who tend to divide their time between their country villas and their homes in metropolitan Parthicum.

Parthicum can boast of many things; the imperial residence, the Senate chamber, and the great temple of the Myri are all shining jewels in her crown, but it is also home to a different sort of gem. The Lyceum, a school dedicated to the study of the arcane arts, has been a firm feature of Parthicum since the days of Aurelius. The Lyceum mages long kept to themselves, not even allowing agents of the Emperor within their walled district, but they eventually fell within a loose imperial governance. The Halystrian Empire provides the Lyceum with funds, reputation, and applicants in return for the dedicated service of its famed mages. Lyceum mages played a pivotal role in the Expansion Wars and have only seen increased patronage since the war’s end. Kellan the Fey would become the Lyceum’s greatest pupil, though his time there was fraught with danger and other obstacles. 

The Sensiahd word of the day is “tegaloch”, meaning “city”. Example sentence: Nes ean eaide et eth tegaloch belian. We will go to the white city.