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HEAR. IN THIS LIVES THE LIFE-MEMORY OF OUR FOREBEARS, , “South of Lake Ba-i, on the maidenworld of Janus, is a mountain our people call Ikannaya. The old people there, who in turn remember their elders’ memory, say the goddess Lileath had an argument with her father, Kurnous the Hunter. Isha, Mother of Mothers, distressed over her daughter’s tears, bade her to go to Ikannaya that she may reflect on her temper. Instead, the young goddess dreamed. In her dream, she had been born mortal, like yourself and I, and bore a child. She named the child Ikanni who was waking and dreaming, man and woman, mountain and field.
But even for the immortals, time comes to a close. Lileath was awakened and called home, but Ikanni who was the stuff of dreams, remained on Ikannaya to bless our people there. In the day, Ikanni took the form of a man and guided the hunting beasts. At night, Ikanni took the form of a woman and placed dew on the golden fields. Unlike the gods and goddesses before her, Ikanni was a great lover of people. She would descend from her home and speak to our people. In his trips, he would bless small children and pay for iron tools with ginger made from gold.
How kind she had been to the mortals of Janus! She did not look at their ears. Everyone who lived at the foot of his mountain was as precious to her as the orchids of that mountain. Her home was fruitful and begrudged no mouth. The birds and creatures of that forest were paradise to a hunter.
The goddess demanded no worship, but he had one rule: no one was to watch her bathe.
In that forest that was home to this god of waking and dreaming was a waterfall. The waterfall was the heart of all the waters of Janus and connected the hearts of all who lived on the planet. In those early days, every prayer became a bead of water and that prayer-bead became part of the waterfall. Every evening, Ikanni, in the form of a woman, would bathe under the waterfall and listen to every prayer. When a poor family prayed, she would plant golden ginger near the fence of their home. When a young lover wept, she would let them see their other half in dreams. She was a soother of pain and for this, we all loved her.
However, the time came when the people of Janus forgot about Ikanni. Perhaps it was the arrival of humans that angered him. But we cannot be certain – she blessed your ancestors as much as mine. Perhaps it was the weak memory of the Janusian Aeldari which lost his names to time. But we cannot be certain – Ikanni is many things and one thing. But what is certain is that both humans and Aeldari began to take more from Ikanni than they needed. Ikannaya was shorn, the Ba-i drained.
Ikanni, who was dreaming and waking, dreamed that Ikannaya would disappear entirely through fire or machinery. This god was a dream born on that mountain and without it, he would not exist.
With the last of Ikanni’s strength, she made the fields ripen and rot. The monsoon swept through Janus, filling the Ba-i and the mouths of all who lived around it until they no longer spoke. The wild beasts of Ikannaya became mad and gored the hunters. Ikanni was their servant no more.
In a chiefdom north of the Ba-i was a young scholar-prince. As in the human custom of those days, he had been chosen in his youth to be a keeper of memory. Secluded from the rest of his kind, he learned the songs of the planet and the customs of our people. He was taught the names of all things and their origins. He understood, most of all, the nature of Ikanni. He knew that the goddess was waking and dreaming, man and woman, mountain and field, Eldar and earth.
After a terrible storm, the young scholar-prince spoke to his people.
“I must go speak to Ikanni. She will understand when she sees me that there is still a keeper of her rites and one who remembers his name.”
But the people of the chiefdom were terrified. They pleaded with him, “You are the only one who knows the songs of this planet and the customs of our people. You alone have been taught the names of all things and their origins. If you were to go and perish, the life-memory of our people would cease to be.”
The scholar-prince tried to soothe their fears, “I am the only one who understands the nature of Ikanni, that the goddess is both waking and dreaming, man and woman, mountain and field.” He stopped there. The knowledge that Ikanni was both Eldar and earth was for the order of the scholar-princes and princesses to keep.
Though they grieved, the people gave the scholar-prince their blessing and escorted him out of the chiefdom. As he was about to go, a child stepped forward and gifted him a kite. This kite resembled a bird that we now call the Temerian phoenix. An elder, moved by the gesture, gave the scholar-prince his golden arm-band. It resembled a snake biting its tail. Thanking them, the scholar-prince turned his back and began to walk but a call came from the crowd. It was a young bride and she had brought her dagger to give to the scholar-prince.
“If you come across Ikanni at night, you are not allowed to look at her.” The young bride said to him, “Take this, so that you may see Ikanni’s image without beholding her.”
The scholar-prince thanked them all and continued his journey on foot.
When he came to Lake Ba-i, the scholar-prince found that the lake had turned into a small sea. It swallowed the chiefdoms of Liwan, Waisakha, and Maidh. The blue waters spread from one end of the earth to the other and thus the mountain Ikannaya appeared as if it stood on the other side of the galaxy.
The sight would have discouraged anyone! But the scholar-prince was clever. He took the kite the child had given him and released it into the air. The kite glistened in the sun with the jewel colors of the Temerian phoenix. The scholar-prince spoke to it the true name of the Temerian phoenix, and thus the kite sprung feathers. With a squawk, it became the phoenix itself. It swooped down and grabbed the scholar-prince by his silk collar, carrying him over the water.
Having landed safely on the other side, the scholar-prince thanked the phoenix and released it. He continued his journey up Mount Ikannaya, hiding from raving wild boars and ravenous deer. It was mid-day when he stumbled onto a cliff. Below it, a writhing river thrashed restlessly.
The scholar-prince, exhausted, cried out, “Oh, if I could have a cup of that water! If there were a bridge to take me across!” Clever as he was, the scholar-prince was flesh and the weakness of that flesh overtook him.
He fell to his knees and wept by the cliff with his arms folded over his head. It was then that the golden armband he wore, the one given by the elder, whispered to him, “Do not weep. I am your aid. Only cast me to the other side and I will carry you across.”
The scholar-prince wiped his tears and did as he was told. He threw the armband with all his strength and it struck a stone on the other side of the cliff. To his amazement, the gold armband, which resembled snake biting its own tail, transformed into a serpent. The serpent crawled towards him, over the cliff, and bit a boulder on the other end, anchoring itself on both sides. Its golden body shone over the forest.
The scholar-prince thanked the serpent and made his way across. When he was done, the serpent retreated to the forest and the scholar-prince continued on his way.
He arrived at the top of the mountain just as the sun began its descent. The two of them passed each other and the scholar-prince, who was courteous, gave way to the descending sun. This, however, delayed him and by the time he arrived at Ikanni’s waterfall, it was dark and the dreaming stars lit the waters.
Thirsty, he brought his head down and scooped the water with his bare hands, forgetting the nature of the water. In one gulp, he heard the prayers of his ancestors and mine. In another gulp, he heard the prayers of those still living. In his third gulp, he heard prayers yet to be spoken.
Overcome with grief, the scholar-prince jumped back. It was then that he saw the deity before him. Beneath the waterfall, wearing nothing but her robe of spun stars, was Ikanni, the one who was waking and dreaming, man and woman, mountain and field.
The mirror-blade at his hip rattled and begged him to unsheath it, “Look away! Cast your eyes down! You fool, what are you doing?” but the scholar-prince was stunned.
Under the waterfall, Ikanni did not take either form, but both. The god encompassed waking and dreaming, man and woman, mountain and fields, and most of all, Eldar and earth. The goddess appeared to the scholar-prince as both and neither and more. It was divine beauty which our elders know to be more terrifying than terror itself.
Their eyes found each other. In one glance, the scholar-prince became smitten with Imani. Time lengthened itself before him. A need blossomed in him to promise himself to her. But embarrassed Ikanni drew her robes tighter around himself. It was too late! The scholar-prince’s eyes had profaned him. Now he could no longer be waking and dreaming. She could only be waking and for a dream to wake is for a dream to cease to be.
In that moment, the waters of the Ba-i returned to itself and the wild beasts of Ikannaya lost their wildness and became the pig and the horse. There, in the spot where Ikanni once stood was a lily unlike any. For the lily was from a half-world of dreaming and waking, of womanhood and manhood, of where the fields meet the mountains, and of Eldar and earth both. Its moon-like petals gleamed under the light, sometimes silver, sometimes blue.
Grief-stricken, the scholar-prince took his mirror-dagger and scooped the lily out of the earth. He placed it on the end of his silk shirt and came down from the mountain. The birds cursed at him and the stones of Ikannaya ensured that he would fall and stumble. At last, he returned to his chiefdom.
Though his people celebrated, the scholar-prince could not accept their thanks.
“I have done a most grievous thing.” He told them, “Now I must wander the planet, existing everywhere and nowhere, hating and hated.”
They did not understand him and thought he had gone mad, but the scholar-prince did not pay them mind. He left the chiefdom again, barefoot, and went from town to town, chiefdom to chiefdom, telling his story until the mother plant of that lily propagated. Then, he would take that new lily and continue his journey. A few millennia ago, the elders said the scholar-prince was still wandering Janus, planting the lily. But a few centuries ago, when the lily ceased to be, they said he had finally finished his penance and was reborn as the god of the Ba-i.”
Yrliet closed the book and placed it on a bedside table. Then, turning to her side, she raised a hand to stroke hair out of Lilaeth’s face, “And that is, as our elders say, how the Janusian lily came to be originally.”
The little half-Eldar yawned. Her ears, though much shorter than Yrliet’s had been when she was a child, twitched, “Originally? Implying?”
Not only does she look like her father, she thinks like him too.
“The first Janusian lilies were divine in origin. The ones we have now are merely recreations using existing genetic material from present day flora available on Janus.” Alfedon answered. His eyes were closed, his pale gold hair loose on his shoulders. And here Yrliet thought he was already asleep.
The girl pushed herself up on her elbows and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek, “Forgive me, Father, but that sounds like a constructed narrative.”
“You can be truthful with him.” Yrliet smirked ever so slightly, “It is a quality your father says he values.”
“In you.” Alfie smiled, “I would rather my children humored me.”
“I think it’s propaganda.”
“Why would the keepers of memories lie? The orders of the scholar-princes and princesses of Janus still live.”
It was not a definite no .
“Why…” Lilaeth murmured under her breath.
“You can go there yourself and tell me.” Alfedon put an arm around her and pulled her close.
“Tomorrow. For now, goodnight to the two of you. May the dreaming stars light your path.” Yrliet pressed close to them, putting her chin on top of Lilaeth’s head and draping her arm over the girl, across to her husband.
On the windowsill, a vase of Janusian lilies reflected the light of Janus’ three moons.