Work Text:
Arkaiomītis - favored of Nousprin, and legendary inventor, whose real name is lost to time - left as his final gift to humankind five living colossi, each made in his own image and bearing an equal part of the wisdom and knowledge he had accumulated over his life. To the Hatti, masters of the Untiring Horses and keepers of the peace, he gifted Tolomaio, a fearsome warrior whose mastery of stratagems could match any situation and battlefield. To the Akkiya, ravagers from across the sea, he sent Kruisos, a peerless lover who taught them of grace and fairness and the beauty of the gods. Cepeo, endowed with the fertile touch and gentle caress of the Dedalian Ploughmen, he bequeathed to the Twin Kings of the Oases. And into the savage lands, he dispatched the Wanderer, who wherever he went scattered poetry and harmony, art and song.
But for Arzawa, his homeland and mother-soil, Arkaiomītis saved Tunjer the Builder, in whom he retained the dearest part of his knowledge. For it was his solemn wish that his birth-land be well-looked after years after he was gone, and that it in turn nurture, in Tunjer, the memory of him.
To stress to all these peoples the sanctity of his creations, he invested in the colossi markings of the deepest purple, as this was the most godly of colors (you know well, Listener, that the gods garb themselves in the rich hues of twilight, and their skins gleam night-blue like the feathers of the raven). And in order that his knowledge be preserved and not snuffed from the earth, he made his creations like true men, that they could lie with women and make children, who would in turn contain a part of their fathers. For though it may take many years, even stone can crumble into dust, and the only safe legacy is that which is multiplied and carried forth.
Then, having entrusted Tunjer to the high priests, Arkaiomītis took his leave of the city and, it is said, went to walk where death walks. But this is merely one telling of the tale, put forth by the priests - in certain other parts of Arzawa, it is told that Arkaiomītis was met by the gods, who in their whimsy decided he was better suited to the Mountain Enclave than to earth. And in the Middle Kingdoms, heretics whisper that he chanced to end death itself and, lest he ruin the balance of reality, was pulled into the truer world by his own patron, Nousprin.
Now the high priests sheltered Tunjer in their temples, and provided succor, and inducted him into the ways of Arzawa. For even though his body and his thoughts were as those of a grown man, yet he had no habits or memories, and could speak no louder than a whisper; in these manners was he like to an invalid or a child. Yet though it took many years, the priests instilled a personhood in Tunjer, and cultivated in him the love of his father and of the gods. Happy was he to assist in the rites and the raising of new temples, where he shared the passed-down insights of his father, and happy too were the priests, whose worshippers flocked to these shrines and grew in number steadily. For despite that Tunjer lacked the power of speech, his work spoke for him: yea, it told of virtue and obedience, and of innocence and wisdom, and of the glory and deeds of the gods. O! Truly hard is the heart of the man who remains unmoved by Tunjer’s marvels.
And so Tunjer was sent all around the land, from the city to the ports and the border-towns. Little was demanded of him at first, save that he beautify the temples and glorify the gods. Gradually, as he found his place in society, more responsibility was assigned to him: he oversaw the raising of new walls and granaries, and maintained those great works his father had constructed that few now remembered how to service (such as the Feather-Gates on the Marshanti river, which could open to admit water at the touch of a feather, or the Unsleeping Sun, which shone gently like a second moon in the night). But though many in the priesthood, who had their sights set on riches and distant lands, clamored for Tunjer to lend his strength to the creation of quarries and roads, the eldest among them honored their friendship with Arkaiomītis and preserved Tunjer from those unseemly parts of life. For age had taught them that greed, once obliged, can never again be sated; and though hardship keeps close relations with all the playthings of the gods, an implement should not lie unsheathed any longer than it needs to.
Alas, the elderly are not long destined for this world - shorter, still, the promises they keep. Even before the last of them walked with death, a new council was convoked, and did not tarry in issuing mandates for those projects which the more ambitious among them had sought. Though his work-load had increased, Tunjer made no complaint, for he had been taught well and was grown into humility, and the satisfaction of his gods and keepers was reward enough.
Thus rushed Arzawa into a new era, which many were quick to call a golden age. Villages grew into towns, fishing hamlets into ports; high-roads were driven through hill and forest alike to connect them. Bridges were raised and mines struck into the earth, outposts erected as far outside the land as their neighbors' pride would allow, and the stone girdles around the cities were torn apart and rebuilt to reflect their expanded boundaries. Only the intervention of Tunjer permitted the rapidity of this growth, for he possessed the strength of an entire work-gang and the tallness of a camelopard, and his arrival shortened the work of five days into one. Most importantly, he brought into these tasks the quality and exactitude which his father - and now he - had become known for. The people loved him more for this, and they honored him in all these places by calling him “Builder”.
Yet Tunjer was but one man, and the realm a vast and ever-demanding mistress to attend to. News of problems would arrive while he was attending to old ones; yea, newer ones would arise even as he rode to the others, and though he rode across the whole breadth of the land and back again, he could not address them all. Perhaps you think, Listener: what of the other Children of Thought, sent to advise the other kingdoms? Could they not have been asked for help? Perhaps Tunjer thought this as well, but the chasm of years had separated him from his siblings, and whatever amity they might have shared was now no more than memory. Perhaps Tunjer had written the same proposal to the council, hoping that their word might carry more weight. But kingdoms are like jealous parents: loath to cooperate unless there is aught to gain, exchanging praise over shared bread while gripping daggers beneath the table. Seldom did the council respond, in any case, save to applaud his efforts and allay his concerns, and Tunjer for all his strength and prowess had neither voice nor desire to rebel against them. Even when they reproached him for selfish loves and childish joys, he made no challenge, for he had been taught well in his youth, and humility was his virtue.
This, in the end, was Arzawa's downfall: as the crooked innkeeper conceals wood-rot with paint, so did the priesthood disguise the disrepair of the kingdom with the raising of more and more ornate structures. Gaudy pink-and-yellow shrines peeked out of bare niches; painted statues lined the avenues of the great cities, the visages of the high priests gazing serenely at those passing by; and gilding was affixed at great expense to the facades of common baths and granaries. For these and other such projects, Tunjer was tasked with obtaining marble from an ancient quarry which lay by a hill not far from the capital.
Now, the rock had been mined deep into the mountain and what usable marble remained was of great difficulty to obtain; however, no other site provided stone of purer color, and Tunjer was determined to retrieve it, that its luster might bring more joy to all who looked upon it. He prepared a scaffolding to hold up the weight of the mountain, from logs he cut himself; then he ascended into the rough-cut tunnel to set up the scaffold where his prize lay; and he set at freeing the marble from its surroundings. But alas! his pick struck Earth's veins, and a river gushed forth, washing him out of the tunnel and into the quarry basin. As Tunjer rose to his feet, the gravity of the disaster slowly settled on him - that within a day, the water would fill the basin and continue down to the city; first a trickle, soon a flood. The city walls, ill-maintained and decayed like a bad tooth, would crumble at the first blow. So, he ran back to the temples, hoping that the priests might bring the people to safety, and all would have been well except that he could not cry out, and none would read his written warnings; nay, his distress was met only with blind consolation, as it had been for years and years.
The high priests came at last towards evenfall. Their countenance was wroth and terrifying, and they rebuked him for losing their only acceptable source of marble. They, too, dismissed Tunjer's counsel, for the fault had been his; thus, so too were the consequences thereof. They snapped his tablet and threw out his stylus when he attempted to repeat his report. Then when they judged him to be sufficiently humbled, they led him to his quarters and left him for the night.
Tunjer did not hear from them again until the sun was at its highest. A rush of feet scrabbled outside his front door - when he opened it, a novice informed him with trembling voice that the council had requested his urgent presence at the walls, for a river had sprung up overnight and crashed into the city, and none of the engineers or soldier-architects could find a way to divert or dam it. Hearing this, a great sadness came over Tunjer, and he made his way with the novice down from the temples into the flooded city. He bade the novice walk with him along the banks of the newly formed river until he found a bend where the water could be diverted to. Then he waded into the path of the current and pressed his hands to his heart, raised them to the heavens, and cried out in a clear voice:
“ O my Father! Look not upon me too harshly, for I know naught else that I can do. ”
Then he struck the ground at his feet with all his might, and lo! an unearthly light shone forth, and a monstrous thunder sounded, as if the mountains were gnashing their teeth together. And when the light faded, the river no longer rushed forth but flowed back on itself, for blocking it was a giant man-shaped outcropping of hard and purplest stone.
The priests never recovered from the loss of their capital city, and without their hero to maintain the realm's infrastructure, Arzawa quickly fell apart into princedoms and petty states, its name vanishing from people's lips. Tunjer's name, however, lives on, for the seat of his sacrifice still bears it; many a king has legitimized their rule by building monuments with stone from Tundzer Ridge, for it bears the mark of noble sacrifice and divinity. And in certain intimate circles in the Middle Kingdoms, it is insinuated that Tunjer's name is not the only thing that survives him; that his dalliances did in fact bear fruit and branch off; that the reason the priests kept him so tightly leashed in the end was fear that his issue might escape and grow where they had no power.
But the Middle Kingdoms are full of cultists and heretics, and when you are sitting in a dark room with perfumed smoke and iced delights, how can you be sure what they say?
Runao's Commentary:
Tin is the metal that lends hardness to bronze; without it, bronze crumples against itself. So it is with kingdoms: a land without a monarch falls into anarchy - it lies naked before conquerors, saying, “Look, I am ripe for the picking.” But mistake not the rarity of a thing for its toughness. A king is nothing without his people; he is a madman dreaming of dominion, whom any fool can cut down with a blade. For tin cannot stand alone but must needs be in communion with others.