Ageless Words Friday - She stood by the cross of Christ

For this last week before Easter, I chose the song “Stabat iuxta Christi crucem”, written by John Browne.

When I first read the lyrics, I was deeply touched by the emotion of the song. All the sadness of the crucifixion is contained. What really touched me in this song was the personal focus on the sadness and horror of a mother having to watch her child killed.

Here is a video of the song, but it can also be listened to here. Below the video is the English lyrics, followed by and Afrikaans translation[1].

Or listen to Anonymous 4's rendition here.

She stood by the cross of Christ

She stood by the cross of Christ

seeing the true light suffer,

the mother of the king of all;

seeing his head crowned

with thorns, his side pierced,

she saw her son die.

She saw his body beaten;

his gentle hands and feet

pierced by cruel men;

she saw his head bent down,

his body stained with the blood of

the shepherd for his sheep.

She saw the bitter drink mixed,

saw her child crucified,

the ruler of all things.

The lashes he endured

the mother and daughter saw,

and she saw the cruel taunts.

The virgin heard these words

from her innocent child:

‘Mother, behold your son.’

The virgin saw her son

saying: ‘It is finished’,

and thus the sword pierced her soul.*

Thus she was left in sorrow

as the loving maiden

saw her son die;

a vast sorrow, a sorrow

that surpassed the martyrdom

of a thousand saints.

Gentle virgin, loving virgin,

hope of all, way of life,

virgin full of grace,

bid and implore your son

that to your servants

he may now grant joy. Amen.

*Luke 11:35, Prophecy of Simeon

Sy het by Christus se kruis gestaan

Sy het by Christus se kruis gestaan

en gesien hoe die ware lig ly,

die moeder van die koning van almal;

het gesien hoe word sy kop met dorings

gekroon, sy sy deurboor,

sy het gesien hoe sterf haar seun.

Sy het gesien hoe word sy lyf geslaan;

sy sagte hande en voete

deur wrede mans deurboor;

sy het sy kop gebuig gesien,

sy liggaam gevlek met die bloed van

die skaapwagter vir sy skape.

Sy het gesien hoe word die bitter drank gemeng,

sy het gesien hoe word haar kind gekruisig,

die heerser van alle dinge.

die slae wat Hy deurstaan het

het die moeder en die dogter gesien,

en sy het die wrede bespotting gesien.

Die maagd het hierdie woorde

van haar onskuldige kind:

‘Moeder, daar is jou seun.’

Die maagd het haar seun sien

sê: ‘Dit is volbring’,

en die swaard het haar siel deurboor.*

Sy is in verdriet gelaat

soos die liefdevolle maagd

haar seun sien sterf;

’n diepe hartseer, ’n verdriet

wat die martelaarskap

van ’n duisend heiliges oortref het.

Sagte maagd, liefdevolle maagd,

hoop van almal, weg van die lewe,

maagd vol genade,

vra en smeek van jou seun

dat hy aan jou dienaars

nou vreugde sal gee. Amen.

*Lukas 11:35, Profesie van Simeon

The translation of the English lyrics quoted here, has been taken from the booklet of Anonymous4’s album Four Centuries of Chant. More info about the album can be found here at Harmonia Mundi or here at thegroup’s website.

More information about “Stabat iuxta Christi crucem”, John Browne and the Eton Choirbook can befound here.

Page from the Peterborough Psalter

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[1] This translation has been made from the English translation quoted here.

Worldbuilding Wednesday: The Wíslic and the Elders

I’ve been reviewing my old wolrdbuilding posts and stories a bit while working on a major part of Airthai’s history. So, before some more new fiction and worldbuilding next week, here is a look back at some of the other important women of Airthai – it’s not just the Rún whoplay a big role in the world.

Last week I had a look at the Houses of the Keepers of Airthai. This week I’ll tackle part of the hierarchy of the Keepers: the Wíslic and the Elders. The Keepers started on the eastern coast of the Continent, in the lands of the Saerímavolk; and it is with them that today’s post gets under way.

The Wíslic and Elders of the Saerímavolk

Because most of the men of the Saerímavolk towns would leave the land each day for the sea, one of the women of the town would be chosen to act as the leader of the town. She was well-skilled in various kinds of knowledge; including the laws of her people and the ways of healing. Called the Wíslic, she would see to it that the town is run well, disputes are settled and trading is fair.

Various others – usually older than forty – would be chosen to help her in her work and provide schooling for the children of the town. These people were called the Elders and consisted of both men and women. Because the men were ‘married to the sea’ they were mostly called upon in these matters, while the women handled the land disputes and matters. Some even referred to them as ‘Sea Elders’ and ‘Land Elders’.

The most gifted of the girls were tutored further and then, of these young women, seven were chosen. Later one of the seven would be chosen as Wíslic by the people of the town. Although the daughter of a Wíslic may also become a Wíslic, this was not a strict tradition and had to be earned.

The Wíslic and the Elders of the Keepers

The hierarchy of the Keepers worked in much the same way as that of the Saerímavolk, as the Keepers were modeled on this hierarchy when it was started.  The Wíslic of a House, however, could also be a man. The Wíslic was chosen from among the Healers and the Scholars most of the time.

The Elders of the Keepers were chosen because of their level of knowledge or skill. Although most were older in years, some had been given the rank at a young age. One of the most notable Elders was the scholar and scribe Nëane, a Ciph from Ellanda.  He was sixteen years old when he joined the Keepers and only twenty-one years old when made an Elder.

Ameragh was also very young and was made Wíslic of the House of Eamidtheo before her thirtieth birthday; making her the youngest Wíslic of a House of Keepers. 

The youngest Wíslic of a House of Keepers

Inspiration for a Monday – Of Many Worlds in This World

I came across this lovely poem while searching for another (yes, I got sidetracked a little) and thought it very appropriate for Hersenskim.

Of Many Worlds in This World

Just like as in a nest of boxes round,

degrees of sizes in each box are found:

So, in this world, may many others be

Thinner and less, and less still by degree:

Although they are not subject to our sense,

A world may be no bigger than two-pence,

Nature is curious, and such works may shape,

Which our dull senses easily escape:

For creatures, small as atoms, may be there,

If every one a creature’s figure bear.

If atoms four, a world can make, then see

What several worlds might in an ear-ring be:

For, millions of those atoms may be in

The head of one small, little, single pin.

And if thus small, then ladies may well wear

A world of worlds, as pendents in each ear.

Written in 1668 by Margaret Cavendish (1623 – 1673)

Quoted from TheNorton Anthology of Poetry, Fourth Edition.

Margaret Cavendish

Find out more about Margaret Cavendish here.

From the Archive – Smoke, Mirrors and Herbs

To read the first part of these worldbuilding posts, click here. 


The Rún (Part 2) – How the healing cloths work

Last week I explained the Talent the Rún of Airthai has been given. Unlike the Ahma who has to be either in close proximity or touch a person to be able to heal them[1]; the Rún can be far away from their healing cloths, but the cloths will still work. This is because they are able to bestow some of their healing talent into the embroidery itself. Putting this cloth on someone in need of healing will cause the healing power to drain from the cloth.

The embroideries

The embroideries of the Rún consist out of depictions of certain plants as well as their own alphabet and language. This ‘secret’ language is taught orally only to the Rún and – even when written down – it is written in this language. These books are also kept only in the House of Rún and Holt Haliern to make sure that they do not fall into the wrong hands. Young Rún, while being taught the language, will make sampler cloths to more easily learn the language, learn to transfer meaning and learn to transfer their talent.

Each cloth is first embroidered with the suitable plants or parts of plants, for example flowers, seeds or roots. Next a healing or other prayer may be worked between the flowers. The floss with which the embroideries are made are all coloured by hand by Rún. Some of the Rún may spend all their time dyeing the threads with specific plants, while others only embroider – this depends wholly on their specific Talent.

The Fakes

There are some who copy the Rún style of embroidery while they are not Rún. These cloths are often sold as love charms, binding spells and even curses. While most of these cloths are complete fakes, some are made by Vídolf and can be truly dangerous.

WIPs

A couple of days ago, I mentioned on Twitter that I am busy with a short story. At the moment I’m using the working title “Here but for Grace” and it was one of those ideas that hits you square in the brain and you have to write it down as soon as you can. Building the layers and fleshing out the story, however, needs more research that picking my brain for the right files about mirrors and folklore (which is at the back of the cabinet, covered with some cobwebs and maybe even a lost spider spinning stories in her webs). So, I headed off for a trek across the room to one of the bookcases. I grabbed my trusty Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable and the Penguin Reference Dictionary of Symbols. But, as I am also busy with worldbuilding the Rún, I also grabbed one of the books dealing with herbs and traditional cures[2]…

Blackberries by the artist Helen M. Stevens

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[1] Those of the Ahma given the Talent to heal, that is.

[2] Yes, I really enjoy building my own reference library, ranging from the dictionaries I use in general work and translations to archaeological fieldwork and the trees of the Highveld. Which may also explain why some of the files in my brain gets misplaced every once in a while!

Inspiration Friday – St. Patrick’s Breastplate

 

Tomorrow (17 March) is St. Patrick’s Day – which for me will basically mean a whole day of listening to Irish music while studying[1] and taking a break to watch Riverdance. Anyhow, I’ve decided on posting this beautiful prayer attributed to St. Patrick - St. Patrick's Breastplate. This is the English translation and arrangement by Cecil Frances Alexander, with the Afrikaans translation by me[2].

I bind unto myself today

I bind unto myself today
the strong Name of the Trinity,
by invocation of the same,
the Three in One, and One in Three.

I bind this day to me for ever,
by power of faith, Christ's Incarnation;
his baptism in Jordan river;
his death on cross for my salvation;
his bursting from the spicèd tomb;
his riding up the heavenly way;
his coming at the day of doom:
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power
of the great love of cherubim;
the sweet "Well done" in judgment hour;
the service of the seraphim;
confessors' faith, apostles' word,
the patriarchs' prayers, the prophets' scrolls;
all good deeds done unto the Lord,
and purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today
the virtues of the starlit heaven
the glorious sun's life-giving ray,
the whiteness of the moon at even,
the flashing of the lightning free,
the whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
the stable earth, the deep salt sea,
around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
the power of God to hold and lead,
his eye to watch, his might to stay,
his ear to hearken, to my need;
the wisdom of my God to teach,
his hand to guide, his shield to ward;
the word of God to give me speech,
his heavenly host to be my guard.

Christ be with me,
Christ within me,
Christ behind me,
Christ before me,
Christ beside me,
Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort
and restore me.
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ in quiet,
Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of
all that love me,
Christ in mouth of
friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself today
the strong Name of the Trinity,
by invocation of the same,
the Three in One, and One in Three.
Of whom all nature hath creation,
eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
praise to the Lord of my salvation,
salvation is of Christ the Lord.

Ek bind tot myself vandag

Ek bind tot myself vandag
die sterk naam van die Drie-enigheid,

deur die afsmeking van dieselfde

drie in een, en een in drie.

Ek bind hierdie dag tot my vir ewig,

deur die krag van geloof, Christus se menswording,

Sy doop in die Jordaanrivier,

Sy dood aan die kruis vir my verlossing,

Sy opstanding uit die gekruide graf,

Sy opvaring na die hemel,

Sy koms op die dag van oordeel,

bind ek tot myself vandag.

Ek bind tot myself die krag

van die groot liefde van gerubyn;

die soete “wel gedaan” in oordeelsuur;

die diens van die serafyn;
belydenaar se geloof, apostels se woord,

die stamvaders se gebede, die profete se boekrolle;

alle goeie dade vir die Heer gedoen,

en reinheid van maagdelike siele.

Ek bind tot myself vandag

die deugde van die sterverligte hemel,

die glansryke son se lewegewende strale,

die witheid van die volmaan,

die flitse van die weerlig wat vrylik slaan,

die dwarrelende wind se stormagtige rukke,

die stabiele aarde, die diep sout see

om die ou, ewige rotse.

Ek bind tot myself vandag
die mag van God om te behou en te lei,

Sy oog om te waak, Sy mag om te keer,

Sy oor om na my behoefte te luister,

die wysheid van God om te leer,

Sy hand om te lei, Sy skild om af te weer,

die woord van God om my spraak te gee,

Sy hemelse leërskare om my wag te wees.

Christus wees met my,

Christus wees binne my,

Christus agter my,

Christus voor my,

Christus langs my,

Christus om my te wen,

Christus om my te troos

en my te vernuwe.

Christus onder my,

Christus bo my,

Christus in stilte,

Christus in gevaar,

Christus in die harte

van almal wat my liefhet,

Christus in die mond van

vriend en vreemdeling.

Ek bind tot myself vandag

die sterk naam van die Drie-enigheid,

deur die afsmeking van dieselfde,

die drie in een, en een in drie

deur wie die hele natuur geskep is,

ewige Vader, Gees, Woord.

Lof aan die Heer van my redding;

redding is van Christus die Heer.

More info on St. Patrick’s life and St. Patrick’s Breastplate can be found here, here and here.

Vintage St. Patrick image by The Graphics Fairy

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[1] Because I really need to catch up after I got nothing done last week!

[2] Yes, translation really is fun to me, especially when it’s a text I really enjoy and love. I hope to have the translation of the original St. Patrick’s Breastplate ready for next week’s post. 

From the Worldbuilding Archive: The Rún

I started working on a new (shorter...) Airthai story, and decided to revisit these Worldbuilding posts - enjoy!

Worldbuilding Airthai: The Rún

While the Shadow have the female servants called Vídolf (Women of the Dark Arts), the Light has those called the Rún (or the Hidden Ones). The Rún, like the Vídolf, consisted of far more women than men. So much so, in fact, that a male Rún was unheard of except in the southwest of the Western Lands and Western Isles; where there was one male Rún to every five female Rún. Although gifted with a special talent for healing, they were human and mortal, although they were more likely to reach the age of one hundred and twenty than other mortals. This made their life spans shorter than the average Ciph life span by only about thirty years.

Part 1 – The Name: Why the Hidden Ones?

This name was given to these women for two reasons. The first is that they usually hid in plain sight, living as just another member of the community. Only when living as one of the Keepers or as servant of one of the rich families could they wear the garments associated with the Rún with more freedom. This was because they could then be kept safe from the Servants of the Lewjan who wished always to do them harm because they held such power. Those living in villages or towns serving the Light would be referred to simply as “healers” or even “the needlewoman”, because their talents were with needle and thread. By using certain signs, depictions of living things (like plants) and words, they could make cloths that could heal wounds and illnesses that most healers can’t.

These signs, words and other depictions made into tapestries, embroideries and even sometimes lace and cords, were only known by the Rún (and is therefore hidden). The knowledge of these signs is taught orally from one Rún to the next. This means that Rún, once they are known as such, takes up apprenticeship with an older and accomplished Rún either from their own or another village or go to one of the Keepers’ Houses to learn. Holt Haliern in the Midlands and the House of Rún in the Western Lands have the Rún with the most talent and are therefore sought after places to go to and learn the language of the Rún.

The best of the Rún can fashion cloaks that make the wearer invisible to the eyes of the Lewjan servants or those who want to harm them. More than one Rún would often work on a cloth meant to heal a specific illness or wound; as it is extremely draining work. 

Unfortunately the cloths’ abilities can also be drained and can not be used indefinitely. The healing houses usually have cloths to help lessen pain, help knit bones or serve as an antidote to some poisons. These can be used for cases where the medicine available is not working or simply to ease extreme pain.  

I came across this painting by Mary Cassat, called The Young Bride in the beautiful book In Praise of the Needlewoman by Gail C. Sirna.  

Inspiration Friday – Siúil a Rúin

In keeping with the Celtic theme of March’s Inspiration Fridays, I’ve decided on one of my favourite Irish folk songs and which is also one of the first Irish songs I learnt. Those who often read these blogs will know by now that I love history as much as folklore and mythology. I also seem to be pulled more towards songs which tell a story and have some history (no, ‘golden oldies’ from the year 2000 do not count…).

“Siúil a Rúin” is a traditional Irish song, sung from the point of view of a woman lamenting a lover who has embarked on a military career, and indicating her willingness to support him. The song has English language verses and an Irish language chorus, a style known as macaronic.” (More information here.)

As with many traditional or folk songs, there are various versions of the song. The one I’m quoting below is the version I know best. But first, two music videos – one of “Siúil a Rúin” and the other “Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier”; an American variant of the song. I’ve also included an Afrikaans translation of the song just for fun.

The English lyrics:

Siúil a Rúin

I wish I was on yonder hill

'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill

And every tear would turn a mill

Is go dté tú mo mhuirnín slán

Chorus

Siúil, siúil, siúil a rúin

Siúil go socair agus siúil go ciúin

Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom

Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán

(Walk, walk, walk, O love,
Walk quickly to me, softly move;
Walk to the door, and away we'll flee,
And safe may my darling be)

I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel

I'll sell my only spinning wheel

To buy my love a sword of steel

Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán

I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red

And round the world I'll beg my bread

Until my parents shall wish me dead

Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán

I wish, I wish, I wish in vain

I wish I had my heart again

And vainly think I'd not complain

Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán

The Afrikaans translation of this version:/Die Afrikaanse vertaling van hierdie weergawe:

Gaan, my liefling

Ek wens ek was op daardie heuwel,

Daar sal ek sit en al my trane stort,

En elke traan sal ’n meul laat draai,

Mag jy veilig gaan my liefling.

Refrein:

Siúil, siúil, siúil a rúin

Siúil go socair agus siúil go ciúin

Siúil go doras agus éalaigh liom

Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán

(Stap, stap, stap my lief,

Stap saggies en stap stil,

Stap na die deur en ontsnap saam met my,

En mag jy veilig gaan my liefling.)[1]

Ek sal my spinstok, my spintol

En my enigste spinwiel verkoop,

Om vir my geliefde ’n swaard van staal te koop,

Mag jy veilig gaan my liefling.

Ek sal my onderrokke kleur, ek sal hulle rooi kleur,

En oor die wêreld heen vir my brood bedel,

Totdat my ouers my sal dood wens,

En mag jy veilig gaan my liefling.

Ek wens, ek wens, ek wens tevergeefs,

Ek wens ek het my hart weer gehad,

En dink vergeefs dan sal ek nie kla,

Mag jy veilig gaan my liefling.

Picture of this beautiful spinning reel found here.

Have a lovely weekend!

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[1] Die refrain ka nook vertaal word as: Kom, kom, kom, o liefling,/ Kom vinnig na my, beweeg saggies;/ Kom na die deur en ons sal wegvlug/ En mag jy, liefling, vir altyd veilig wees! maar ek hou meer van die ‘s’ alliterasie in die ander vertaling saam met die betekenis van die refrein en die oorspronklike klanke van die Ierse woorde.

Worldbuilding Wednesday – Worldbuilder’s Disease

Laudanum

Laudanum stared at the blank page in front of him. From the kitchen he could hear the muffled voices of his parents as they tried not to lead on that they were fighting. He wished for a normal life. Nothing here seemed normal; and every time he heard his name he was reminded of it. No normal parent would name their child Laudanum. It was a wonder his baby sister was christened ’Rose' and not something like ‘Latrine' just because his parents liked the way the word sounded.

He brought his attention back to the page and stared until his vision blurred. Then he closed his eyes and stared at the darkness around him until he could perceive nothing but that black abyss. If he did it correctly, the other world appeared. It was a strange world hidden in the darkness behind his eyes, but a world where he felt more at home than in his own bed. He did not know if he had been the creator; he was quite sure he wasn't.

Yet he did seem to have some say in how it looked and the things which happened there. He added a few people here and there, a couple of dragons and a mythical quest or two. Those he did create. But the rest he was not so sure of. He remembered the first time he visited the place. It had no mountains then, but was simply grassland as far as the eye could see. Then he thought ‘mountains’ and the next moment they were there. A deckled blue edge appeared on the horizon and he was at first not sure what it was until he moved closer and the edge became stone stretching away into mist. One peak even had snow on top. He had never even seen snow. He changed the weather patterns that day with his mountains. He also crushed a few villages and one ended up straddling cliff edges high in the mountains.

After that he tried not to think too much while he visited. But, sometimes, a thought did slip through. And, today, it rained. Not the light drizzle that cooled summer mornings or even the heavy downpours which came at night. This was torrential sheets of water whipped about by wind which beat the leaves from the trees and churned the dust into thick mud. It was freezing. Up in the mountains an avalanche slid down the great mountain and the ground trembled as if from a great fever.

He thought as hard as he could about sunshine, rainbows, and the absence of water. Soon the rain stopped. The mud sprouted into orange and purple flowers as far as his eyes could see. But now the sun was too warm. He needed to cool everything down.

A slight wind began to blow and flowers rippled like waves. The plants needed water. Just enough water, he concentrated, and could feel the water from underground springs and rivers rising towards the surface. The sun not too warm, he thought and could feel the sun's rays fading, although sudden flashes of light streamed from the mountains like northern lights appearing at midday.

“Not too warm,” he mumbled again, staring at the world behind his eyes.

“He’s been like this for days now doctor,” Laudanum’s mother said. “Is there nothing we can do?”

The doctor took his small torch and shone it into Laudanum's right eye. Then he shook his head.

“Not until we can figure out what is going on in there,” he said. “There is a response, but so slight…” his words trailed off as the boy mumbled again. The nurse lifted one of the blankets off of him and drew the curtains.

Laudanum watched the streaming lights with glee. It must be some source of magic of this world that he had not discovered yet. He focused on the light for a moment before he decided that he needed some shade. He thought of beautiful woodland he had seen in a picture once and fully grown trees sprung from the ground all around him. In the dappled shade he smiled at his handiwork.

Laudanum watched the streaming lights with glee... (with thanks to this blog)

Behind the story

Although this story, in its first incarnation, was written a good four years ago, I can still remember what sparked it. Much as Laudanum unwittingly crushed a few villages, I once wondered aloud (while working on a map of a fantasy setting) if the people minded much that I just moved their river to the north and instead gave them a fountain. In my mind, as I erased the pencilled line from beside the town, I saw the perplexed people scattering from the disappearing water, leaving behind a muddy track, some washing and a row boat or two.

When asked “what people?” and “which river?” after airing this thought I realized that it was probably not quite a normal worry to have.

I did give them a very nice fountain, though. It doesn’t even dry up in the winter...