Introduction to the Lost Book of Etyries, Named Goodears

This is the opening to an exciting new translation of The Lost Book of Etyries, Named Goodears, which tells the story of the life of the Lunar Trade Goddess. Almost all existing materials from the Zero Wane leave Etyries' life before she met Teelo Estara a cipher, saying simply that she was a merchant's daughter (or the daughter of Issaries, which is a more poetic way of saying the same thing). These materials instead put emphasis on her redevelopment of the God Learner's Gamble and her role as the Goddess's Messenger, carrying carefully-worded missives written by Deezola and Irippi Ontor in Her name. This work, instead, contextualizes her in a way that turns the humanocentric narrative of the Hero Wars period on its head.

This work may shed new light on depictions of Etyries cultists wearing orange and red sashes around their midriffs, one end left to trail at their hip or behind them, and the "triangle hoods" that they are sometimes seen wearing in Heartland murals. Similarly, the references to Teelo Estara being distracted by "her Good Ears prancing" in The Ten Rules of Rule now make much more sense if we take this work to be authoritative.

When the sky was made out of dragons and the valleys flooded with fire, all of Elura’s daughters hid in her tula— by which I mean Orlanth’s All. Some few were too far away, and some few had already fled from the Invincible Golden Horde, and so were not hiding there under Elura’s rugs when the little dragons went hunting. In the north there was the Deathline and in the south there was the Crossline, and the way back to Elura’s tula was sealed by one or the other. This time is where the Fox House in Nochet comes from, and so too the Wandering Beast Circus which spends a year on its circuit in each part of the Holy Country, which was founded by Three Smile Grettani, who everyone thought was merely an attraction until they heard her sing.

(O my sisters, close your eyes and imagine them for a moment traveling through the orchards of the Rhigosland, plucking oranges and lemons from the branches as they go, fox women and goat boys playing their flutes and beating their tympana, their skirts and vests threadbare but their laughter echoing up and down the hills. Imagine the cheap wagons painted in gaudy colors and hauled by the minotaurs, Beast’s tripartite triangle alongside the three dots of Illusion, Grettani lounging on her own roof. Imagine the children thronging at the edge of the orchards as they pass, pushing and scrabbling to try and catch a glimpse of ruddy Grettani basking in Yelm’s rays as rich as butter in the Esrolian afternoon; imagine their squeals of fright and delight all intermingled as she yawns, showing all the rows of her teeth, and then winks at those who thought themselves so cunningly hidden. Imagine the performers far from home, determined to bring it all back to life, even if only for a night. Imagine them looking across the bay to Heortland, where they will be loved and hated in equal measure one year in every six, because they will bring those memories of home to those who share them, both bitter and sweet.)

This is how there came to be some few of the Beast Peoples living in the lands around Filichet, swept along with those who fled Death marking the border. Here, at least, for a time a community formed under the protection of the Queen there, and Wildtown is still the name for the fields south of the Bell Temple. It was poor, even by the standards of the Holayan tribes, and it was quite crowded for the Beast Peoples so used to the freedom of the hills, but it was the most safety that could be found for many of them north of the Deathline. And it was here in Wildtown of Filichet that Etyries Goodears was born, almost a century after the Invincible Golden Horde met its end in fire and wrath.

Let us imagine her, the daughter of a merchant, her finely-haired arms carefully shaved so that her Trade-tattoos stand out against her pale skin. Let us imagine her, the daughter of a merchant, hiding her ears under a broad-brimmed sunhat and her tail beneath a long skirt, her own sacred three dots hidden beneath one breast. Let us imagine that we can hear her nervous patter, this daughter of a merchant, her hard-nailed fingers playing with waves of thick red-gold hair, her eyes like warm amber, shying away from the touches of others that she so yearns for— out of fear.

Let us keep imagining. Let us imagine her being told by her loving mother that her options in life are this, this poling up and down the wide slow Oslir, pretending to be an ordinary Holayan merchant bringing amber and furs and wool to her betters and returning with fine metalwork and hard-packed incense and Darjiini weeds, never letting on what she is— or else going home and getting by scraping what she can from pilgrims visiting the Bell Temple, or else being hunted out in the wild without Elura’s protection to keep her safe. She is skilled in Illusion, this girl, and her greatest trick is that she hides herself, and she knows in her heart the Truth that this life is the best that she can aspire to. For if she were caught with those dots beneath her breast, with that tail so sleek behind her, with her good ears on display, that would be the ruin of her trade, and her mother’s in turn.

Do you understand why all the accounts of her life, even the ones written by fools who fell for the trick, call her frustrated?

When I first heard the story of Etyries offering the Goddess a coin as her due, I understood the revelation of Etyries from my ears to my tail’s tip. She was steeped in Illusion; she was an Illusion. In that moment, she saw all the other Illusions, too.

Afterwards, when she was brought to the Goddess’s tent in a swoon— we know this story, even if others do not— the Goddess held the hat in Her hands, and said: you dropped this. And Etyries Goodears hid her face and wept, because even the enlightened cannot overcome their deepest fears in the space of a breath. But the Goddess knelt by the cot and cupped one ear in Her hand, and with one thumb explored it, and said: you are soft, daughter of Issaries, and you have been hiding for such a long time. And ever after, sometimes Etyries would wear the hat and sometimes she would not, and she would say: great is the goddess of the Rinliddi! Her gifts she brings to Man and Beast alike! Have you not heard the Song of the Animals? I have icons here depicting this and other, greater deeds, and each one comes with a voucher for a sermon on how to be your own Queen! Come and see! Come and listen! Come and buy!

And this was only the first of her wonderful deeds, for it was she who made the map of the Shadow Marsh and brought back a heron cloak, smiling and only somewhat pecked, and from this learned the very best of lessons. She mastered the gambling art in conjunction with the Brown Man. It was Etyries Goodears who bought the fabrics for the tent, and purchased the incense, and made arrangements for the bulls; she did not hold the knives, but she procured them too. She proved she was the Daughter of Issaries in truth when she led Yanafal Tarnils through Hell while carrying the torch, and when they were separated, she proved that she had the magic of the Two Skins and One, and no trap could hold her. She danced the Spiral Path wearing these skins.

This is the word of the Goddess concerning Her Messenger: "If anyone here has stolen my voice, it is my Goodears; if anyone here can go there in the way that is needed, it is my Goodears."

Within this book are the secrets of Etyries who arranges the markets; Etyries who knows the secrets of the Not-Forgeable Token; Etyries who knows the secret ways; Etyries who blesses the Beast People with Her knowledge; Etyries who was the goddess's beloved companion. May she kindle her fires within you, and may your sacrifices always be equitable! And I who write this now say to you, as she said to me: entice, invite, incentivize!