Work Text:
One day, some students were discussing the origin of Man when they came to a disagreement that neither honey nor garum could assuage. For the sake of their friendship, they resolved to suspend the discussion and sought out the wisdom of their master, Junan, in the temple.
“O Teacher,” they said, “where do we come from?
Junan said: “Where you come from is what you make it.”
The students, not understanding, replied: “Where then do we come from: the gods who made us, or the men who made themselves?”
At this, Junan lost his temper. “Idiot youngsters! Go bother the grounds-keeper with your foolishness; I have no time for sophistry.” Then he returned to attending the gods.
The students heeded his words, and their legs took them to Kizun, the grounds-keeper. “Dear sir,” they said, “pray enlighten us - where do we come from?”
This was Kizun’s reply:
KIZUN’S TALE
When the world was young and man and plant and beast still called each other equals, there was Speech, and speaking was Power, and every utterance was a violence upon the face of the land. Amid the seas of boiling rock and fields rampant with strangling fern came EREAKAIZA [1], whose visage was silence; and Ereakaiza gazed upon the land, where in their battles Lion and Stag cleft mountains in twain, and Ibex raised mighty Whale from geysers out of the deep. And Ereakaiza saw Millipede steal the legs from Slug and Snail, and Bat steal the wings from Emu. And Ereakaiza saw also that Wolf split Man from Man so that, enraptured by the beauty of his brother’s face and legs and breasts, Man would distract himself from the hunt and lay with his sprung-off kin; but instead, delight so possessed Man that he chased after Wolf to share with him these pleasures; and Wolf became Dog, who chased after Ox; and Ox became Cow, who chased after Horse.
Then Ereakaiza, tiring of this chaos, came and choked the Word out of every creature, and all of them howled and mewled and squeaked and ululated in anger and dismay, but to no end: for Speech had gone out of them, and their word was no longer deed carven upon the earth. So the creatures learned to resolve their disputes with blows, and to this end grew claw and thorn and sting, while Man retreated to his delights and built yokes and vineyards and pleasure-domes. And Ereakaiza took pity upon Man, from whom Wolf had taken his hunter’s cunning, and allowed him to retain the most part of his Speech. And this is why people take such joy in creating figments and toying with words and colors; for we are as children playing with their parents’ tools, in the hopes that one day we may be allowed to wield them fully once more.
Now Ereakaiza was content with the world, and wandered far afield to where the sands and the skies intertwine, in the place where neither Time nor Cause holds sway, and there made a dwelling, and listened as the earth and the wind and the sea wove together a song of primeval being. Ereakaiza slept then and sleeps still, dreaming of things long gone and things which we of the soil will not see come to pass. And all who come upon Ereakaiza’s form partake too of this slumber, for in this way they become party to blessed creation.
*
Some disciples were unsatisfied with this answer, and rather than resume the argument, they resolved to ask the street-sweeper, Bal-liao. “Dear madam,” they said, “pray enlighten us - where do we come from?”
This was Bal-liao’s reply:
BAL-LIAO’S TALE
THE WRATH OF UKK
The children of Man were not always scattered across the realms, for the Firstborn once regarded each other as siblings, dwelling in the same lands and dining at each other’s feasts and building great houses together as close kin are wont to. But a hard drought came and laid waste to the fields, and there was a want of food in the land such that many people were brought to the edge of death.
The youngest of the Firstborn, who was named Inti, sought aid from Neb, who as eldest had first pick of the fruits of the earth. But Neb rebuffed him, and so Inti sailed to meet Kir, who as second-eldest had first pick of the fruits of the sea. But Kir, too, sent him away empty-handed, and so Inti went to meet Ukk [2], who had not yet withdrawn from the world, and as third-eldest had rights to the herds of the vast plains. Ukk’s heart was filled with mercy, and he gave to Inti a third part of his herds, and a third part of his lands between the mountains and the sea, where Inti and his family could settle and make themselves a new home.
For a time, prosperity blessed the siblings, and their fortunes and families grew. While Neb’s children settled the fertile deltas beyond their homelands, Kir’s children journeyed across the seas, and Ukk’s spread throughout the plains on horseback and ox. But Inti’s children were confined to the lands between the mountains and the sea, and soon enough, the land was not enough to hold them, nor the soil rich enough to sustain their herds, and they began to fear once more that starvation and death would be their doom. So they conspired to invade Ukk’s lands while he was away, inspecting the new borders of his realm; and they drove forth women and children and cattle alike, ransacking their houses and storming their fields.
When Ukk heard of this, he was become wroth, and immediately flew to his siblings to seek aid and counsel. But Neb rebuffed him, as he had done to Inti, and Kir too rebuffed him, as she had done to Inti. So Ukk, in his wrath, swore an oath to sever kin from kin, invoking the gods who dwelt in the mountains, and they, being beholden to Man, had no choice save to uphold it. But they, not wishing to see the blood of Man spilt upon the continent, also opened the Ways so that Ukk might take his leave and start anew in a strange land.
So Ukk gathered his wives and his children, and they rode for the Ways, out of deference for the gods who had birthed Them. But on the way, they came across Inti and his children, who had grown fat upon the land; and Ukk was filled with rage. He drove them before him, chasing them into the Ways, and would have followed them out again, into the mountains of a new world, had not the gods closed off that passage before his horse could get through.
Only then did Ukk settle in the land of the Ways, raising the first city, UKKABAL, upon the figure of the Sleeping God. From there did his children expand out, filling the rest of the land, and they kept good watch over the Ways, lest curious minds wander in or out and bring the strife of the First Siblings with them. [3]
*
Still some disciples were unsatisfied with this, so they returned to the temple and brought their query before their master, Junan, once more.
“O Teacher,” they said, “we have asked Kizun, the grounds-keeper, and we have asked Bal-liao, the street-sweeper, but we still do not know where we come from.”
Junan sighed. “Silly children,” he said. “Come, let me tell you a tale, then, and hopefully you shall be satisfied.”
This was what Junan said:
JUNAN’S TALE
THE MAGISTRATE AND THE CROW
Once, there was a powerful magistrate who was known throughout the land for his wisdom, fairness, and knowledge. He lived in a terraced house far above the city, where many would travel from far and wide to hear his opinion on sundry matters.
It so happened that one day, a young crow landed in the magistrate’s courtyard with its wing broken. The magistrate, taking pity on the poor creature, took it in and attempted to mend it. But none of his strengths were in the art of healing, and so the magistrate had to pore over his books, make many a failed poultice, and consult with healers before he could care fully for his new charge. He nursed the crow back to health, and over this time formed a strong bond with it, so that it always returned to his side, singing when the magistrate played music, and listening intently when he discoursed about law and philosophy.
One morning, the magistrate was taken gravely ill, and had to retire to bed. He fell into a deep, deep sleep, from which none thought he would waken. In that sleep, he dreamt that he was a young chick, chirping desperately for its mother, gobbling down whatever new grub she came by to deliver. He dreamt that he was a fledgling, learning to spread its wings for the first time, soaring over the woods and the fields and the cities that men had built. He dreamt that he was a bird, picking at the ground, getting into a squabble with another bird, flying with the stabbing pain of a broken wing into an enclosed garden, where a kindly man picked him up with soft hands and laid him upon a table.
When the magistrate awoke from his slumber, he opened his window to find his friend the crow, who had waited all this time in the trees outside.
“My friend,” said the magistrate, “I know now who you are and what is meant for us, and it pains me what I must do, but there is no way around it. For you must seek new lands instead of returning to me (to me); and you must carry my spirit where I am not (am not). Thus, by the power of my station and the sacredness of our bond, I banish you from this city and this land, never to see your plumage or hear your cry ever again.”
And the crow nuzzled the magistrate’s arm, took to the heavens, and was never seen again in those parts until the magistrate’s death. [4]
*
“Do you understand now the three parts to the answer?” [5] said Junan.
And the students were enlightened.
Runao’s Commentary:
The Scribe is the hour to show quiet authority and integrity. But take care that in your rush to dispense justice, you do not appear aloof and uncaring. For it is easiest to alienate those who come to your court when you are too caught up in fairness; and it is easiest to be unfair when you are trying to show pity.