My Introduction to Tekumel, by Chirine ba Kal
[1.0001] Preface:
Saint Maries, Idaho; Summer, 1939 C.E.
The late afternoon sun shone on a
scene of carnage; on a hard, flat plain, armies marched and counter-marched in
their serried formations, closing in places to engage their enemies in deadly
melees. Here, a clump of armored men were trapped against some rough ground by
a larger group of kilted slingers; there, a force of spearmen pressed home
their advantage against an opposing force armed only with shields and swords
and courage. The fighting forces were commanded by hierophants in jeweled robes
and heroes in glittering armor; they led their soldiers to victory or defeat,
and cried their triumphs or their defiance as the fortunes of war and the
chances of battle took them. The vast plain resounded with their battle cries,
their soundings of braying trumpet and thundering drum; their standards
proclaimed their glory to the world. The armies fought, men died, and such as
it had always been on that great plain…
An expert observer, schooled in the
niceties of warfare, would have noticed something odd about the contending
forces; there were none of the cavalry formations that one might of expected of
the time and the place which the garb and armor of the fighting men – and
women, for there were also priestesses and queens amongst the armies’
commanders – would suggest. No armored knights in their glittering plate and
mail, no chariots thundering down the field; instead, there were strange beasts
of war, most unlike those which had served mankind in warfare for so many
millennia. These beasts looked more like those described in the recent works of
some of the authors considered to be ‘not of the best’ by more established and
more conservative writers of history, and more like the illustrations done by artists
for the luridly-colored covers of these new authors’ publications.
A less expert observer, or a more
casual one, would perhaps not have noticed this at first glance; a more casual
look across the plain would have revealed it to be a floor in a room lit by the
late afternoon sun. The mighty generals, and their equally mighty armies, would
be seen as toy soldiers; some from the manufacturers of the time, and some –
the hierophants and heroes, the strange beasts – carved of wood and painted.
The rough ground would be seen as no more then a rug, and the low hills simply
the stacked books and magazines of a library both extensive and eclectic. Many
of the low ‘hills’ that edged the ‘plain’ bore the cover illustrations that had
been regarded with distain by more ‘serious’ writers. Titles like “Amazing
Stories” competed for space on the room’s shelves with much more scholarly
tomes on the languages of long-dead civilizations such as that of the Egypt of
the Pharaohs, or the feathered rulers of the Mayans of Central America.
Scattered in amongst these books and
magazines were scraps of paper, with the writings of a spidery cursive script
that had no known counterpart in the historical lexicons; these seemed to be
centered on a desk, which in turn bore on it’s wooden surface a large map of a
land marked with the locations of cities and towns, rivers and oceans,
mountains and forests. There were notations on the map in the cartographer’s
own language, as well as more of the cursive script. The land bore the name “Ts
Solyánu”, and the cities bore names like “Jakálla”, “Khirgár”, “Tumíssa”;
marked with dot of gold ink were the names “Béy Su” and “Avanthar”, places
which the cartographer must consider to be of special importance.
The desk also bore documents and drawings;
some in the relatively more familiar hieroglyphs of the scribes of Ancient
Egypt, some in a blocky script that was unfamiliar and seemingly less refined
then the cursive script of the map. The drawings, done some in pencil and some
in ink, depicted scenes of tales and wonders that were both strange in their
setting but familiar in their themes of love and war, heroes and heroines, cads
and cowards; there was an obvious element of artistic imagination at work, but
there was also a sensation of tales that had yet to be told.
“Philip! Dinner!” The woman’s voice
drifted up the stairs, calling the cartographer, and artist, and storyteller.
A boy, about a decade old, looked up
from the musty and ancient scroll he was holding – and had just finished inking
the delicate cursive script upon – and adjusted his spectacles. He rose from
the desk, picked his way through the groups of soldiers still locked in combat,
and closed the door to the room behind himself. The armies would still be here
on the hard flat plain, as would their stories and legends; there would be more
time, later on, to tell them…
Since
before the beginnings of recorded time, humankind had looked up into the night
sky at the myriad points of light and wondered. Eventually, in the fullness of
that time, the first steps were taken out into that starry night. Humankind
went, in a single bound, from being alone on their homeworld to being part of a
galaxy-spanning community of beings of diverse shapes and sizes. Some were
friendly, some were hostile, and some plainly disinterested in the doings of
humans and neutral to them.
Humankind
spread across the stars, and established their own empire; the Lords of
Humanspace assimilated many technologies and sciences, and eventually became
masters of matter and energy. This mastery brought them in to alliances and
conflicts, and in one particular case brought them a contract with another of
the galaxy’s races; they wanted to have an entire planet adapted for their use,
and this the Lords of Humanspace could do.
One
of five worlds orbiting a bright, hot star, the chosen planet was at the
juncture of several important trade routes between the more densely-populated
areas of space; the world was wanted as a trading center and a place where the
rulers of the galaxy could rest from their labors.
It
was of little matter that the world was already inhabited; the Lords of
Humanspace did not consider such minor things as being worthy of their notice.
Mighty weapons were deployed, even mightier engines of change and
transformation were brought into play, and the new world became a place where
humankind and their allies could call home. The inhabitants were allowed to
survive; to survive, and nurse their hatred of the alien beings who had
transformed their planet and confined them to the more remote regions of it.
The
Lords of Humanspace, and their allies, for all their power and mastery were not
the most highly endowed races in the universe. Others, older and more alien
yet, held that position, and they too had their rivalries and conflicts. To
these older races, the all-powerful Lords of Humanspace were as toys to a
child.
There came a time when these older races had a
mighty conflict, and employed powers unimaginable to Humankind. The
newly-transformed world was cast out of space and time, and the trapped peoples
of the new world looked up into a sky without stars.
The
high civilization that the Lords of Humanspace had brought to the new world
collapsed - here, suddenly; there, slowly. Humankind is, however, nothing if
not adaptable and resilient; civilization began a long, slow climb back into
the light and out of the utter darkness that had befallen it. New technologies
of the mind, which became known as ‘sorcery’, replaced the lost technology of
the Ancients – as the Lords of Humanspace had become known – and empires and
kingdoms rose and fell as the centuries passed into dust.
Humans
and their alien allies built and strove, and created new civilizations out of
the ashes of the old. Heroes and villians abounded, and new legends were born
out of the tales of their battles and quests. In every generation, new heroes
and heroines were born, and their legends added to the mythology and history of
their world. Gods and goddesses, some based on the memories of the old races
that has cast the world into darkness and some created by the mnds of their
worshippers, abounded and made their presence in the world known to their
worshippers and their competitors.
Some
traces of the old technology survived, and became highly sought-after and
coveted treasures. Some of what was left of the old world was beneficial and
useful; other devices could kill at a touch. All of the inhabitants of the
world understood this, and the quest for these wonders was left to a new breed
of ‘adventurers’, who took the most horrific risks in order to obtain the most
generous of rewards.
And so it begins; tales of
wonder, and of people not yet born, and of lands not yet known…
Come with us; our journey is
just begun…
[1.0010] Prologue: The Chákan Forests; Spring, 2354
A. S.
The young man turned to look
behind him as he came up level with the porters’ lodge, his flame-crested
helmet held in the crook of his arm; the view across the shallow depression was
an inspiring one to any worshipper of Lord Vimúhla, Lord of Red Spouting Flame
and Lord of War, as the mighty towers of the First Temple, sacred to that same
deity, rose tall against the setting sun. The sound of the temple’s
deep-throated gongs came on the westerly breeze to his ears, announcing both
the evening rituals of the temple and his own departure; he was borne east,
with the wind, for the central part of Tsolyánu, on the Temple’s business and
that of the Seal Imperium that ruled Tsolyánu from the political capital at Béy
Sy and the imperial capital at Avanthar.
He was,
perhaps, not remarkable in that time and in that place; dressed in the armor of
a military priest of Lord Vimúhla, he looked like may of the other worshippers
of the Lord of Flame on that road. His face, admittedly, was less then perfect;
at some point in his career, his nose had come into contact with a blunt object
that had caused damage that the Temple’s healers had been unable to entirely
correct. It added what some felt was a rugged counterpoint to the smile that seemed
to flit across his face regularly; he seemed to be perpetually amused by his
surroundings and the people he met on his travels.
His armor,
too, was of the same serviceable look as himself. Nothing special, it seemed,
with the usual decoration and engravings that showed his Temple rank and the
glyph of his small and relatively unknown clan; the Clan of the Eye of the
Flame was an ancient one, but (it had to be said) one that was not as powerful
or prosperous as it had been in ancient days. Likewise, the weapons slung from
his belt looked serviceable and slightly worn as if from service; there was
nothing that savored of the courtly about the solidly efficient mace, nor the
long dagger. These were weapons that were meant to be used, and had been used in
a score of melees.
Below him,
the fading sun touched the horizon; the towers and buildings of the First
Temple began to shimmer, and slowly faded into transparency. The Temple
returned to the phase of reality that it dwelt in during Tékumel’s nights, and
as it vanished the man turned and looked to the east. His road lay in that
direction, and it was time to depart. He gestured to the porter, who in turned
signaled the little caravan of travelers that it was time for them to depart.
No palanquins, just boot leather and time, and the road beckoned…
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