Fragments from the Thedogony

Someone tried to destroy this material.

The manuscript for the Thedogony was found in a casket among Mianmo’s grave goods. The sheets were loose (but showed signs of having once been bound into leather), were out of order (insofar as an order can be imposed), and had sustained some damage from fire. It is possible that they are the remnants of a research journal, though it is equally possible that they form a Mianmo narrative similar to Foundational Myths of Kerofinela, relying on the reader’s interpretation of what lay within— but we have had to reconstruct what she had to say to us, between the damage and the disorder. As the title says, these are just fragments from a larger document; Mianmo has forced me to join her in making deliberate artistic choices, and the rough chronological order is my own.

Let me be clear: this material flies in the face of conventional Kerofinelan studies. Paulis Longvale’s writings on the Unholy Trio and the birth of the Devil are clear. “Madness was his father, Rape his mother, and Plague his midwife.” “Hatred, selfishness, greed and jealousy motivated them.” (Though I believe that all four motives can be found in Mianmo’s account, just in different shapes.)

So perhaps she was simply writing perverse, blasphemous fiction in very poor taste. Or perhaps we have, through her, a glimpse into the folk traditions and the women’s traditions of Kerofinela (and these often go hand in hand), undocumented by Paulis and other such important men.

But whatever the truth is, you must remember: someone tried to destroy this so that you would not be able to read it. Doesn't that make you a little curious?

(Translator's Note: yes, I know it should be Thedgonia. "Thedogony" was a joke that stuck, and now we are stuck with it.)

[ ]

There was, there was not.

When she was born, the Black Mother arrayed her head with copper and jewels, and kissed her head three times, and said that here would be the greatest of Genert's house.

And the White Mother said: or the worst. But they did not understand this then.

[ ]

What were the sins of the Nameless One?
First, that he allowed the demons to move his limbs and fill his head.
Second, that he would brook no refusal.
Third, that he crowned himself a king of nothing.

What were the sins of the Briar Mother?
First, that she laughed at him.
Second, that she would not suckle her child.
Third, that she made war against the world which wounded her.

What were the sins of the Shaper of Plagues?
First, that she loved only suffering.
Second, that she accepted his pay and left the door unlocked.
Third, that she tried to hide The Sword, Death in a place where it could not be seen.

[ ]

What did he see at the bottom of the pit?
Firstly, they say a woman who frightened him, and embraced him in her arms so full, and the demons all about laughing at his childishness. And did you not see how he looked at Thed?
Secondly, they say a man who frightened him, and told him that they needed to be quiet, and that a man would be able to endure pain. And did you not see how he taught the backboys?
Thirdly, they say a woman who was afraid of him, and the demons at his shoulder and his wrist, telling him how a man masters his magic. And did you not see his warm smile and his cold eyes?

[ ]

...at the top of the stairs we came into a servant’s way, false-wall on one side. The walls were dark, thick, good-wooded, nothing like what we’d been down in. White Horse lifted its head and did its listening thing again, all cocked and stanced like a ghost deer, so I hung right there, and felt the burn of Angar’s weight against my lifting-arm. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few heartbeats, but it felt like it was standing there forever, frozen, all its heat leeched into Angar.

“High Storm,” it finally said, and clicked its tongue, the bone-bead against its teeth. “Good for us. She will be here with her bandages and good drinks and mine-to-yourses, maybe, if she isn’t in the Closed Pole Space now. Follow.” And it led on, fingers splayed, almost-but-not touching the false-wall. On the other side were voices, a murmur of them, like when the clan gathers, but I couldn’t make anything out yet. Angar was mercifully able to take steps, still. I wasn’t sure I could carry him if it came to that, and you can’t make a stretcher with one spear. I could feel the sweat of him, the heat coming off him, and tried not to breathe in.

At the end of the servant’s way was a small door, and White Horse clicked its tongue again before tapping against it, then pushing through. On the other side was an outer room, three-walled, with a smallfire burning in its little mahome. Eight servants, I think, mostly in grey and dark blue, all at the opposite side of the room; one had twin twists of copper all along her ears. They lifted their heads and stared. I gave them an apologetic smile, and then ran into the back of White Horse, who had gone all ramrod stiff. It wasn’t like it to get flustered over… no, no, it was. Too many people. “Here,” I started to say, and then got interrupted.

“Oh. How lovely,” the ernaldan on my left said. She was thin as a cottar in a third bad year, and her gown hung loose on her, and so did all the copper, which just made her look worse. Almost obscured her lack of breasts, except all the necklaces dragged my eyes down there anyway. Her cheeks, though… I tried not to stare, you understand. It happens sometimes. The skin weeps, the pits sink deep, and what there is between each one is deep red. Mother told me that it’s a water-curse for ignoring their blessings, but what do I know? Her hair was like dried straw. But you can’t judge people for not getting enough food as vorians. Not without being cruel. So I just nodded. White Horse elbowed me in the ribs, even as the ernaldan kept talking, but not to me. “Which are you, pretty thing? Fire’s in you, yes, but underneath? How many parts Water, and how many…”

She wasn’t looking at Angar, not exactly. At least, she wasn’t looking at his face. More at his collar bone, his chest, heaving with the effort of breathing. She was staring like he had his breeches down and was standing at full attention. Wouldn’t have put it past her to lick her lips.

Then White Horse let out one of its long, loud rolling-yells, and interposed its arm between us. I think it’s one of the bravest things it’s ever done, but it won’t accept my praise. Said it’s just what a spirit talker has to do. But that made her eyes light up like coals, and she grinned. Her teeth were starved cottar’s teeth, too, stained brown with what she was chewing. “Oh, is that how it is? I’ll tell Orls on you. We’re guests, or didn’t you know? Wronged guests, at that. Once she’s done, I’ll go in there and tell all about you, won’t I? Little plump thing.” And she spat at White Horse’s feet, a long brown stream, and White Horse moved like it had been set on fire, and dragged me along, which meant that Angar’s feet were dragging on the straw as we half-tumbled across the outer room.

Past the three walls, it was an open roofed space, high-raftered. She didn’t follow after us, thank Orlanthsson, so we found a corner. It was bigger than you’d think. Snow was swirling in the space between the ground and the roof, and if Angar wasn’t knocking on Ty Kora Tek’s doors, I could have stopped there and stared for a while with White Horse. I think it would have liked that. That’s what it does with smoke, and leaves, and all that. But his eyes weren’t focused, and his teeth were clattering despite the fact that we could have used his head for a mahome.

“Stay here,” White Horse said. It was shaking, and I think it was tearing up under the paint. There was a fight back in there, I think, that I hadn’t been able to see. It pressed its bag into my hand, closed my fingers around it. “Do not. Let her get close. To him. Do you. Understand?” It knows that I know what its words fragmenting is like, so I didn’t say anything, just nodded. It knows I trust it.

Only, it didn’t manage to close the door all the way when it slipped through, so I could hear the words on the other side, with Angar’s head lolling on my shoulder.

“He did this!” A voice, choked with anger. A hall, gasping at that anger. Or, no. Not like that. Horror. “He did this! And you dare say—”

“You did it to yourself, lying pig! Do you all really think I could have done something like that? I know I’m blessed, but that’s something else entirely! If you look in her bed, I promise you that you’ll find one of their stones, their pestles, caked with dried blood and—”

The scream started low, and climbed hand-over-hand, building as it went. It made my teeth rattle and my head throb, and the world spun around me, or was that just the snow whipped about? Angar was going to crush me like the log Veniof made me lift on that first day after my initiation. The world was going to crack like a stone in the dead cold. The bag in my hand was the spike that the stars pulled up out of the earth, a nail right through my hand, and just when everything was too much, that’s when the thunderclap hit.

It wiped out sound like a potter giving up on the wheel. And in the space outside of sound, I heard: “ENOUGH.” But, more that I heard the space of it in the lack of sound? White Horse probably knows better, you should ask it, if it’s willing to say.

Everything’s all pieces after that. Bright pieces, but pieces. That white-red face, jaw working, watching us with lips all twisted. The scribe words that the snow started spelling out, not proper runes at all. Someone crying. My hand on Angar’s dying cheek, because right then I knew he wasn’t coming back home to the fields we knew, as sure as I knew my name. And if he really had, there, I would have gotten up and gone to punch that smug wreck of a face with my fingers wrapped around White Horse’s bag, and then I would be very, very dead, probably.

But what I remember most about Lady White is that at first I thought she was my mother, when she stooped low over us, her cheeks wet and her hands soft, and tilted Angar’s jaw up to accept the drink...

[ ]

There was, there was not.

When First Son was born, the Mother tossed him out the door and shut it after. First Son was strong, so he did not die. But soon he knew what Hunger was, so he stood on his legs and beat on the door.

Mother, I’m hungry. Mother, give me my food. Mother, give me my house.

And the door opened, and her hand came out, all sharp nails, and it went down his throat. She tore the Square Thing out of him then. Then she made her horn sign against him and shut the door after.

And all the weeds around him drooped and died, and the ground under him became wet and bad for stacking. It was all shit, was what it was. But soon First Son became hungry for herd, so he took his strong hands and beat on the door.

Mother, I’m hungry. Mother, give me my brothers. Mother, give me my friends.

And the door opened, and her hand came out, all sharp nails, and it went down his throat. She tore the Three Line Thing out of him then. Then she made her horn sign against him and shut the door after.

And First Son looked around at the shit, and he realized that it was all shit, was what it was. So for lack of anything to do, he sat in the shit and beat himself until he ached. Then he realized how very hungry he was, so he rammed his head against the door.

Mother, I’m hungry! Mother, I want my wife! Mother, I want to fuck!

And the door opened, and her hand came out, all sharp nails, and it went down his throat. She tore the Two Triangle Thing out of him then. Then she made her horn sign against him and shut the door after.

Then First Son knew he was fucked. So he pissed on her door, to mark his return, and went out into the world of shit to find everything he was hungry for. But it was all shit, was what it was. He felt what was missing like stones in his stomach.

(But before he left, a window opened, and a little thin face appeared there, and smiled at him. Then she spat on him, and told him it was her best of gifts. And it was.)

In the Dark Places, the winds swept down upon First Son, and there were riding people singing on them; and instead of running away, First Son roared and screamed and stamped. He tore one riding person down and broke its back; he tore another down and broke its skull; he tore a third down and spat on it until its insides all came out, shit and blood and all. And that was the first time First Son laughed.

Then he heard laughter back, and the chief of the riding people came down off his wind, and lifted his helmet with the goat horns high. This wind king demanded an account from First Son, who could fight so well and had the best of gifts to kill with.

My mother she gave me no food or house. My mother she gave me no brother or friend. My mother she gave me no wife to fuck. She took my Three Things from me, with her nails all sharp, and did the horn sign against me.

Fight for me against my enemies, then. Your bitch mother thinks she’s taken everything from you, but she doesn’t know the Skinning Song, or the Goatherder Song, or the Law of Victory.

And as payment for fighting in his wars, Father Of Us gave First Son a herd of goats, and First Son was hungry no more. But Father Of Us taught First Brother the Betrayal Song, too, for singing against his enemies.

Why was he surprised when we met Hole In The World? He taught us the Betrayal Song, after all, and the Skinning Song, too—

And we were so happy that Mother had given us a brother, after all.

[ ]

This was, because we know it.

Down the coast, a ways and a ways, there was a land where everything grew right as soon as you planted it in the earth. They ground the purple corn to make their bread, and they crowned their goddess's head in copper. They wanted for nothing, them among their rivers and their rainclouds and their rumpled hills.

Only, one day, the earth stopped giving. The hills sloughed mud onto the fields. The storms came roaring off the sea and tore their walls down. The clothes on their back rotted in the water. No one could enter and no one could leave, for the harbors were swollen and the roads north choked. The people, they came to the house of the goddess, but the doors were shut and the fires were cold. No prayer was answered there.

So they discovered new things to eat, and found new things to wear, and took new brides for their sons. They worshiped the storm which took from them and the earth that had forsaken them. For ten and some generations they were like that, and in the end, you could no longer call them men.

Then the storm lifted. The ground hardened, but they did not remember how to shape it. The rotting stopped, but they did not remember how to weave. The crops grew weakly, but they did not remember how to plow. The doors to the temple remained shut, but each boy tried to open them anyway.

And when the sea finally rose and the hills finally tumbled, they found new and desperate ways to climb over them, and then they found themselves in a rich and good land. But by then they had forgotten how to be anything but what they were now, more beast than man, unloved by anyone.

We still know where the temple is, down beneath the waves; the doors are still shut, and if there are any within, they must all be sleeping.

[ ]

I am not me.
You are not you.
We are the dreams which dream themselves.
I slept; I dream; I shall sleep again.
The storm is still;
The sky is cold;
The earth yawns;
The waters part;
The darkness shines.
Nothing lies beneath;
Nothing was the mother of the world.
All this came around before.
All this will be again.
I close my eyes; I have killed you.
I open them; you have been born.
Why then do you cry?
Because of what you have dreamed before.
But it is not there.
Look into my hand.
How careless of me!
I have lost it all.
Nothing is left.
So, my little dreams that I have dreamed:
Do not cry.
I am not me.
You are not you.
We are the dreams that dream ourselves.
How wonderful, then:
That we dream, then sleep again.

[ ]

There was, there was not.

When the woman we are speaking about came to the camp called Gagarth, she was wearing the necklace named Seseine. Her breast was smeared with saffron, and her hair was garlanded with flowers from her father’s house. Copper anklets were on her feet and fine gems were her bracelets. As I said, she wore the necklace named Seseine.

So she was, and she threw herself at the feet of the Nameless Brother. From her came forth a torrent of words: that ever since he had shown her his Storm-Opens-Earth charm, she had been overcome with yearning both day and night— that she had been tricked by false friends into testifying against him before the Law Staff— that she had sent them away, and kept only Little Poison Tongue as her thrall— that she was his thrall by way of enchantment, and that she would be his prize both day and night, if only he would have her. And she brought with her gifts, too: the feast that Little Poison Tongue had prepared, and fine furs stitched into mantles, and a dragon which danced in the winds to be his herald, and the doll named Rush Urn, and five copper boxes, each with their keys.

So the Nameless Brother gorged himself upon that feast, and the best of the meat he kept for himself. As he did this, she danced in the center of the camp, and she sang praise to the King of Gagarth, and her feet were bare on the earth. The light that glittered off the necklace named Seseine could be seen in all directions then, and he could see nothing else. So he withdrew into his tent to show her his magic again, to do what they could do with each other.

Only, they began as before, with him on top, but when he grew weary, she climbed on top of him. The flowers fell from her hair, which was the curtain of their bed in the camp called Gagarth, and she spoke this spell over him:

Before heaven,
Before earth,
Before the waters,
Before the dark,
Nothing moved on nothing,
Nothing entered into nothing.
Before the gods,
Before the runes,
Before me,
Before you,
Nothing moved on nothing,
Nothing entered into nothing.
Look into my hand.
What, do you not know that Death is in Life?

He saw that Death was hidden inside of Life, then. And he would have killed her, then, only that the food he had eaten turned into a trick inside him. And he rolled over and voided himself, then.

This is called Earth-Smothers-Storm.

Then the woman we are speaking about emerged from the tent, and Little Poison Tongue was squatting over the coals. They departed together to the little square house that had been prepared. The Nameless Brother followed after them with a howling gale, only, Great Bubar barred the way and would not let him pass. And in her father’s country, the woman we are speaking about rubbed ocher onto her belly and spoke this spell over it:

Before heaven,
Before earth,
Before the waters,
Before the dark,
Nothing moved on nothing,
Nothing entered into nothing.
Before the gods,
Before the runes,
Before me,
Before you,
Nothing moved on nothing,
Nothing entered into nothing.
Look into my hand.
What, do you not know that Death is in Life?

[ ]

There was, there was not.

When the Devil rode across the world, no one could stop his ride until he met his uncle, except for the one he met by the side of the road.

That one was scratching in the dirt with a stick, drawing inside of circles. They lifted their eyes from the earth and smiled, the once, as if in apology.

"I'll figure it out the next time around," they promised, and bared their neck for him.

[ ]

Sometimes, the Nameless Brother appears during an initiation. Not always, but he’s down there among the pits. Or something is. His ghost? His grandson? His echo? I don’t know. What I do know is that down there, he offers instruction.

He’s handsome, and he’s well-shaped, and his eyes and hair are so wonderfully dark. He wears warrior’s woad and honors won in battle. He’s funny, or so I hear, and easy to like, unless you give him any reason to hurt you. Then he will.

He sounds like the people of your clan, but that is a trick. He will teach you things which are unclean to know: Storm-Opens-Earth, the Goatherder Song, the Law of Victory, I Hungered I Ate. You cannot forget these things once you know them, and only the best of men can overcome them. So trick him if you can, get your back to a wall and your arms over your face if you can’t. Do you think Heort never knew pain? But pain fades.

And if you were to ask the question that I asked him, he'll shrug, and he'll smile, and he'll say: whore shouldn’t have laughed.

At other times he is found on the road to confronting the Devil, instead. He is left there for you. Some boys do what he asks, just like Storm Bull did, out of disgust or fury or pity, and their hands are stained. Others do as Orlanth did, and admit themselves too weak or too vengeful. But he will goad you as cruelly as he can, if you turn away. He will call torment down on your head; he will beg for the world to drown underneath the weight of nothing; and his voice will break, at the last, as he begs for you to come back.

You will remember what was done to him there, when you are a man, in the thin hours of the night. Then the Star Heart will flicker within you, and you will remember why we all must fight the Predark.

[ ]

...then Trollmama took her long knife and showed Broomama what her boys were doing without a good woman to tell them what not to do, and to their own daddy at that. Trollmama took her time about it, and asked Broomama why she was making such noise about it, and told her to die sooner rather than later. But of course Broomama din't, seeing as she never did as she was told. Trollmama asked then where her man was, or where her boys were now, or where her little shitsmear enlo Sickmomma was hiding, and of course Broomama din't have an answer for that, either, but for the shrieking and the laughing and the sobbing. And whenever Broomama started to work her own magic up, Trollmama slugged her in the face one, at least until she got all up there with the knife. Then she tossed Broomama out into the little light to die about it, and spun all that pretty skin around, and wrapped it around the bones chewed clean before in order to make the Beating Chaos Drum.

Course, she should have been listening better, as when she heard out into the little light again, Broomama weren't there no more. It don't matter none, though. She know better than to vex against us. We got the Beating Chaos Drum, even if ours is brooskin now. And she proves she ain't no momma right at all, seeing as she hates her boys and sulks whenever they give her what she's owed. Can't even use 'em right! That's why Chaos Lose Always.

After that, Trollmama say that Broomama all inside out, what as she use her body what makes the world over and over again to try and eat the world. No wonder runts got that all backward, all enlightened. If she were real inside out, how would her boys stuff all that skin inside her?

Broomama never was any good for nothing, that's right. Can't even make a boy that tastes good, and what don't give you the shits after. Though that's really cause Sickmomma was fucking the both of them on the sly, and sick parents make sick boys. So be sure to dust your hands right after do Uz Kill Chaos, or you'll birth more fucking enlo...

[ ]

the heralds of Earth Witch are: broo and broosong; hot tears that sting the eyes without meaning; a descent into wet earth; the sign of her eye, carved and watchful.

the weapons of Earth Witch are: Fate; Disease, her handmaiden; her train of captive spirits; her hungry children, yearning for impossible approval; her sharp-nailed hands, which part the flesh and lay bare the spirit.

the regalia of Earth Witch are: the veil of bones; the coat of skin; the crown of horns; the tufted tail; the spirit-bags.

you turn Earth Witch aside by: making recompense for hidden crimes; eating the wet earth; following spirits to uncertain destinations; gelding.

Earth Witch kills by: laying you open; despair; plague; terror; watching you.

Earth Witch is drawn to: the joy of the young and newlywed; the pride of the handsome and the beautiful; the lamentation of the wronged and abandoned; those who plunder the Earth; those who take by force, and those who abandon their children.

Earth Witch hungers for: shared misery; worship; new skin; oblivion; vindication.

you may kill Earth Witch by: laying her open; undoing her skin.

Earth Witch is reborn when: her skin is donned; there is too much justice, or not enough; a thousand broos gather in one place with a thousand skins.

[ ]