Worldbuilding Wednesday: Festivals, Fasts and Feasts

With the year galloping towards its end and various celebrations being held all over the world, I decided to do a worldbuilding post about some of Airthai’s festivals, focusing on those relating to the Sundering.

For a brilliant podcast about holidays in fiction – and especially in fictional worlds, I highly recommend listening to this one by the team ofWriting Excuses.

With the Sundering being such a big part of the history of Airthai, there are various festivals across the lands of Airthai which in some way commemorate this event.

The most wide-spread festivals or days which are commemorated at the time at which the Sundering happened, which touched everyone on Airthai. The Coastal Peoples have, for the most part, the most or the longest festivals that has to do with the Sundering. Different days are added or removed depending on what had happened during the Sundering in that specific part of the world. 

Festivals of the Sundering in the Eastern Lands

In the Eastern Lands some of the biggest festivals are held by the Saerímavolk and their neighbours and are set around the events of the Sundering and the events thereafter. The Saerímavolk holds the Festival of the Sundering at the end of summer every year. This festival incorporates the following: the Day of Sundering, the Night of Fire, the Week of the Lost and the Day of Thanks.

The Feast of the Sundering

The Feast of the Sundering is made up of four different holidays, starting with the Day of Sundering. The fourth month of the year, when the plants slowly recede and lose their leaves, is a month which includes a week of fasting - known as The Week of the Lost as the loss of the Sundered Lands to the Shadow is remembered. The month ends with a great feast on the Day of Thanks to give thanks that the Continent was saved through the Sundering. 

The Day of Sundering

The Day of Sundering is commemorated in the third month of the year, at the end of summer, on the day before the full moon. On this day a fest is eaten and the beaches are readied for the Night of Fire.  

The Night of Fire

The Night of Fire was the night on which the Flotaferan attacked the coast of the Eastern Lands after the Sundering. The Night of Fire is commemorated every year at the first new moon after The Day of Sundering, at the end of summer. This night is commemorated by the lighting of bonfires on the beaches and has come to include mock battles and feasting, where the first nights were held in austerity, recounting the tales of the Sundering around fires on the beaches over a simple meal. 

The Week of the Lost

The Week of the Lost is held during the week after the Night of Fire. During this week people fast to commemorate the loss of Sundered Lands as well as those who still live there.

Day of Thanks

The Day of Thanks is the last day of the Festival of the Sundering, where thanks are given that the Continent was spared the Shadow of the Sundered Lands. On this day the week-long fast is broken and a feast is held to end the Feast of the Sundering. 

The Lands of Airthai before the Sundering

The Continent and the Sundered Lands after the Sundering

Worldbuilding Wednesday – Cities of promises and riches

Worldbuilding Wednesday & Behind the Story

In the next part of The Price of Freedom (to be posted next Monday), I return to one of the parts of Airthai I have only written one short piece about (that has seen the light of the blog). One of the flash pieces I wrote for NaShoStoMo earlier in the year, entitled “The City of Promise”, was set on route to one of the larger and richer cities of the Southern Lands – Marglóthborg.

City of Promise

While this piece started out with the quite cliché ‘young-man-with-father’s-sword-setting-out-to-big-city’, I wanted it specifically not to be epic or have the young man’s life influence a whole kingdom. He wasn’t going to overthrow an evil empire, dark lord or even gather great riches. He was simply a young man with an heirloom setting out to find work in a large city so that he could send money home to his family. I doubt there are many families on the whole of the earth that doesn’t have this story in some form or another in their family. His choice to become a guard for one of the rich families did mean, however, that he was able to send more money home than he would have if he had gone to work in the mines. I specifically wanted to write a fantasy piece where the hero of the story is simply a hero to his family because he could help care for them. Yet, he also makes a choice to go against his father’s wishes and becomes someone who earns his living with a sword.

Worldbuilding the Dry Bay – Marglóthborg and Black Harbour

Northwest of the lands of the Seafolk, after the Dragon Cliffs and Dhôr Mountains, lies a large, semi-desert bay area called Dry Bay. The land here is rich in minerals and metals and are known for its various kinds of mines as well as the extravagant lifestyle of the cities’ rich.

There are different kinds of mines in the parts situated around the Dry Bay. There are salt mines – some of the richest in Airthai and the salt of which is said to have health properties as well and are very costly and traded throughout the Continent. The most important mines, however, are those where dragon tears are mined – one of only two places in the whole of Airthai where this is done. The second is in Naeddre, where the tears of Skáhag is mined on a much smaller scale[1] and traded with the Northern Lands (the only time dragon tears have been mined where the name of the dragon is known). The dragon tears of Marglóthborg, however, have been laid down by generations of dragons before and right after the Great Sundering.

Black Harbour is named after the black rocks and sand found in the area – a reference of which is also made in “The City of Promise”. This is the most southerly part of the western coast of Airthai where this black ground and rocks are found and the harbour here is also the most southerly one from where ships can sail in relative safety around the Dragon Cliffs (accompanied by one of the southern dragons) to the harbour at Diuzisborg.

To read “The City of Promise”, click here.

A Map of Part of the Southern Lands

The Lands of Airthai after the Great Sundering

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[1] No pun intended.

A Christmas Story: Cookies and Milk

Cookies and milk

“Do you think I’ve lost some weight?” Nick asked, looking at himself in the hallway mirror. The green carpet beneath his feet was scuffed and threadbare in places. It was much, much older than the new, box-like house in which it now lay. “I’ve tried to cut down on sugar and carbs, you know. Only fat free milk as well.”

“Spot of brandy?” Bob, the younger of the two asked as he made his way from the kitchen to the spare-bedroom-study, past the living room where a boot was thrown through the glass of the TV. He didn’t ask.

“Why not? Boeing's long gone.”

They sat down in identical leather chairs in front of a fake fireplace with fake logs and flames. A small nativity scene stood on a shelf. Bob looked at it and smiled. “I’m glad to see you still have it.”

“Of course, not another in the world that can craft wood like that. And the paint? Perfect. Don’t see much of them anymore.”

The younger blushed. Though wrinkled, his face and eyes still held youth pent up inside. “Made another sheep,” he said and took a small, white, wooden sheep from his pocket. “You need a flock. The shepherds can’t just watch three sheep. And you need a few more angels. I’ll make them next year.”

“Thank you.” The old man placed it reverentially on the mantle with the others.

They sat in silence sipping their drinks.

“How’s life treating you?” Bob asked.

“As it does all old people, Bob,” the man said. “They don’t want you around anymore. No more letters. Small house. Lots of people. The neighbour’s kid cursed at me yesterday for moving too slow and called me fat.” He sighed. “Most are like that now. I prefer to stay here with my memories and thoughts.”

A dull thumping sounded from the house next door.

“And my own music. Not this noise.”

“The TV?”

“They had Santa selling some awful pre-cooked soya turkey dinner. Then he strutted around drunk as sailor on leave, in a nightclub, with what looked like teenagers. I couldn’t find the remote, so I chucked the nearest thing. Let’s just say I’ve not felt that good in years. Didn’t like the damn TV anyway.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“I made a toy for my nephew. Wind up train. Built the whole thing by hand. Painted it. Made the tracks – a replica of the track outside town. Trees, people, buildings, you name it.”

“And?”

“He walked into the garage while I was busy. He laughed.” He took a swallow of brandy. “Later he and his friends set it alight. Apparently they wanted to see if painted wood burns faster than unpainted wood.”

“Did it?”

“The varnish wasn’t dry yet. It was like throwing a butt on dry grass.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Should’ve kept it in my room. The paint fumes just got too much.”

The older man grinned. “Ventilation’s the key, hey.”

Someone hammered on the front door.

The men looked at their watches. “Not four yet, he can wait.”

“I’m not getting in the car if he’s drunk.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, of course he’s drunk the useless –“

“O, say it. I’m thinking it too.”

“The sheep’s nice. I’m glad you brought it. Does look more real with more sheep. The donkey’s still my favourite, though. That hanging ear… the spitting image of old Daisy.”

“You know, my nephew asked me what the sheep was for,” he said.

“And?”

“I said for a nativity scene.”

“And?”

“He didn’t know what it was.”

“His parents?”

“Quite useless, the both of them.”

The knock on the door sounded again, loader this time.

“Not yet four. Anyway, we’re deaf old men.”

“Some cookies? Their home made.”

“Never say no to cookies and milk. Best time of the year for them as well.”

“And some music? We’ll have to put it loud if we want to hear it, what with being deaf and all…”

The eldest of the two turned the stereo on and a carol started to play.

The other went to the fridge to get the milk. It was filled with drinks and jelly shots.

“And this?”

“The neighbours didn’t have enough room in their house for all their liquor. They probably need it for the dry Christmas their having.” Neither of them laughed.

Bob ate another of the Pfefferneuse and took a gulp of milk while the hammering at the door continued. They turned the stereo up.

Come, they told me

“Funny how it’s suddenly two days of binge drinking. Or until the day after New Year’s if their livers last.”

Our finest gifts we bring

“And now all everyone’s wants is video games and expensive gadgets. Nobody even wishes anymore. Everything’s a have-to-have. Do you remember the gifts we made?”

So to honour Him

“And the music. And the lights. The joy of the children’s faces? Now their all greedy little buggers.”

I have no gift to bring

“And that feeling of peace when you walk into the church? That could calm your heart for another year, knowing you’re safe.”

Shall I play for you

“And now?” He didn’t have to say anything. They knew.

There was knocking again. “I’m leaving if you don’t come out now!”

Bob took another two Pfefferneuse and dipped them in the milk.

The ox and lamb kept time

“Do you think they’ll ever find the houses, Nick?”

I played my drum for Him

“No. Never. We made sure of that. Nobody will look there anyway. The whole story was a good idea after all, especially the bit about the elves.”

I played my best for Him

“Humph! Stupid Google Earth, it’s the North Pole! Who goes and searches the North Pole!”

Then He smiled at me

“More milk? There’s another tin Pfefferneuse here somewhere.”

Father Christmas

Die Afrikaanse vertaling kan gevind word by: http://www.woes.co.za/bydrae/kortverhaal/koekies-en-melk 

Rambling Wednesday: The Gift That Is Easy To Wrap

(Or, Why Books Make Good Gifts)

When you are obsessed with books, it is at once very difficult and very easy to buy someone a gift. For someone like me, who is not too imaginative when searching for gifts, books are a natural choice. I find it near impossible to buy someone that doesn’t read a gift. See, for me things like books, chocolates and bubble baths are connected. When I receive a book, I am ecstatic. When I receive chocolate I am ecstatic because I can eat it – while reading. Or I can have a lovely rose/lavender scented bath – while reading. Take reading out of the equation and I am left with other hobbies. But something like paint or a DIY-kit is much more difficult to choose or buy for someone else. For instance – I buy only my own quilling paper, because I am very picky on the type of paper I use. I despise plastic crochet hooks. All paper crafting materials must be acid-free… see, very picky. And what if their hobby is fly fishing? I know nothing about fishing! How am I supposed to buy something fly-fishingy which they will actually use?

Seven reasons why books make good gifts:

1. They are easy to wrap.
2. You get books on any subject – even books on books. So you’re bound to find something.
3. They are easy to wrap. Even I can wrap a book without using a whole roll of sticky tape.
4. They are easy to carry around once wrapped.
5. It’s a lot easier to get a book to suit someone’s personality than choosing between Rose (too girly?), Lavender (am I saying she’s old?), Strange Spicy Scent (too masculine?) and Flower Smell That Will Give You Instant Migraine (stagger out of shop into pharmacy to get pain killers).
6. Did I mention they are easy to wrap? And easy to tie ribbon around.
7. Of course, if you’re buying them an ebook you don’t even have to wrap it. Or carry it somewhere. But I still like writing something inside books I give to people.

 Of course, if you can’t find that elusive book, written by that elusive author and printed by that elusive, independent press that your family member/friend simply has to have… go on, buy a gift card.

(An earlier version of this post was posted last year on Ramblings of a Lone Bibliophile.)

A Summer Christmas

Before you know it, the year is almost at its end. Summer is in full swing, the sale of ice and fans are booming and everyone is getting into a festive spirit. While I love traditional carols and many modern Christmas songs, it is sometimes nice to have songs that doesn’t sing about snow or how cold it is. One of my favourite Christmas songs is called “Somerkersfees” or “Summer Christmas”. It also brings back so many good memories of Christmas and the family or church singing it together. The song was written in 1971 and the lyrics of the first two verses and music was written by Koos du Plessis, while the third verse was added by Jannie du Toit. It has been included as song 358 in the Liedboek van die Kerk with the title “Welkom, o stille nag van vrede”.

Below are a translation of the lyrics along with the original and a video of the song.

Voor mens jou oë uitvee is die jaar amper verby. Somer is in volle gang, die verkope van ys en waaiers is aan die styg en almal kom in die gees van die seisoen. Alhoewel ek baie hou van tradisionele Kersliedere en baie moderne Kersfees-liedjies, is dit partykeer lekker om liedjies te hoor wat nie sing oor sneeu of hoe koud dit is nie. Een van my gunsteling Kersliedere is “Somerkersfees” – hier vertaal as “Summer Christmas”. Dit bring ook soveel goeie herinneringe terug van Kersfees en die familie of kerk wat dit saam sing. Die lied is in 1971 geskryf en lirieke van die eerste twee verse en die musiek is deur Koos du Plessis geskryf, terwyl die derde vers deur Jannie du Toit geskryf is. Dit is as lied 358 in die Liedboekvan die Kerk opgeneem met die titel “Welkom, o stille nag van vrede”.

Hieronder is ’n vertaling van die lirieke, saam met die oorspronklike teks en ’n video van die liedjie.

Summer Christmas

Welcome o silent night of peace

beneath the southern cross,

while voices from the old past

murmur across the starry heaven

Christmas comes, Christmas comes –

give the glory to God.

Gift to us a bright summer Christmas

in this country, o Lord.

Do you hear how softly the bells chime

in language centuries old.

Look, even the silence of the night

tells the old tale.

Christmas comes, Christmas comes –

give the glory to God.

Gift to us a bright summer Christmas

in this country, o Lord.

Do you also now feel his warm love

when we commemorate this day.

When He gave His Son to us –

our biggest Christmas gift.

Christ comes, Christ comes –

give glory to God.

Gift to us a bright summer Christmas

in this country, o Lord.

Somerkersfees/ Welkom, o stille nag van vrede[1]

Welkom, o stille nag van vrede, 
onder die suiderkruis, 
wyl stemme uit die ou verlede 
oor sterrehemel ruis. 

Kersfees kom, Kersfees kom – 
gee aan God die eer. 
Skenk ons ‘n helder Somerkersfees 
in hierdie land, o Heer.

Hoor jy hoe sag die  klokke beier 
In eeue-oue taal. 
Kyk, selfs die nagtelike swye 
vertel die ou verhaal. 

Kersfees kom, Kersfees kom – 
gee aan God die eer. 
Skenk ons ‘n helder Somerkersfees 
in hierdie land, o Heer. 

Voel jy ook nou sy warm liefde 
As ons die dag gedenk, 
Toe Hy sy Seun aan ons gegee het – 
Ons grootste kersgeskenk. 

Christus kom, Christus kom – 
gee aan God die eer. 
Skenk ons ‘n helder Somerkersfees 
in hierdie land, o Heer. 

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[1] Text from the new edition of the Liedboek van die Kerk (2001) by NG-Kerk Uitgewers./Teks uit die nuwe uitgawe van die Liedboek van die Kerk (2001) deur NG-Kerk Uitgewers. 

Story Building – Security

“Security” was one of the flash pieces written for the NaShoStoMo challenge earlier this year. Perhaps you have heard of the “little” problem of crime in Johannesburg? (Not to mention the rest of SA, but anyway…) So, between armed response patrols, electrified fences, spikes and razor wire, the thought of what means could be used for security was turned into the flash piece. Of course, the paranormal and folklore had to feature. It was supposed to be a humorous look at the lengths people would go to to secure their homes; like seeing the funny side of getting your hair caught in razor wire when you’re simply hanging the laundry (something I seem to do quite often :P). But it did not quite turn out as planned…

Security – Day 4 – April 4 – NaShoStoMo Challenge

We were one of the last complexes in the suburb to upgrade our security. The Jones’ residential complex across the street was, of course, the first ones to employ a golem to guard their property. Sometimes you could see it behind the wrought iron gate or its glowing, red eyes at night as it peered between the electric fence wires on the wall. The wall spikes below glowed like bloodied spears and I tried not to look across to their place at all and even kept my living area curtains closed the whole day as well.

Scared that the robbers would come to their properties if they were left protected only by wires, alarms and armed response panic buttons; the other neighbours soon followed suit. As golems could be formed out of clay, it was the cheapest choice in New Era Security. Only the excessively rich and politicians could afford cyborgs to patrol their grounds. But none of them lived near this part of town. As the inner city slums had mushroomed, the suburbs were soon taken over; and previous open tracks of land were walled in before sprawling houses were built and their elite clients driven with police protection into the scattered idylls still existing in the Golden Province. Inside those walls were everything a person could want – solar electricity and water, schools and enough access to the internet that no one ever had to leave to go to work or look further than the fifteen foot walls enclosing their part of the world.

So the rest of us – the middle classes and the lower classes – lived outside the sprawling mansions of the rich; supplying their power, water and food and trying our best to stay alive. The golems worked for a while. Crime in the area dropped steeply and the few “unsavoury persons” that did try to enter property without the owner’s consent were found dead in the street the next morning. Some were not found at all. But it still seemed the best option – after all, those whose golems had killed a robber or two argued, they could have seen the “WARNING: GOLEM GUARD” notice on the gate and the glowing red eyes glaring at them should have been a clue as well. So we all took to checking the street for any bodies before letting the kids out to go to school. We figured that the bodies would stop turning up in a couple of weeks anyway – word would obviously spread that our area was well-guarded. But our complex still did not have a golem.

Then, about a week after the last corpse was found, my house was burgled. Luckily during the day when no one was home; but almost nothing was left inside. They had even emptied the pantry shelf and left only a box of cake mix long past its sell-by date. We had to face up to it – we had to get a guard for our complex. I called the toll-free Guards-R-Us number, but gave up after twenty minutes of tuneless electronic music. Figuring there was nothing left to steal anyway, I booked a cheap room at a local hotel and waited for the next morning to come and the call centres to open.

I wasn’t there when a couple of teenagers tried to sneak into a friend’s house for a surprise birthday wake-up. I also wasn’t there when the parents found that the golem had taken the task of keeping unauthorised persons from the property too seriously. I was thankful that I wasn’t the first one to check the road that day and that only came home after the paramedics and police had left. The grieving parents removed the letter from the golem’s brow and watched its enormous bulk turn to dust. Probably the others will follow suit.

Some people are talking about getting a troll or two for the whole neighbourhood as they would still be cheaper than a cyborg. At least trolls have more intelligence than the man-made hunk of clay and would only attack on command if their owner’s lives weren’t in danger. I left the neighbourhood meeting early. When Jones talked of trolls attacking on command, his eyes seemed just a bit too bright as he looked at his neighbour; Smith I think his name is. I think I would rather have a cyborg – at least they have voice and face recognition. Of course, as they are only available to the few elite in the mansions, I will have to quit my job and move away. I hope someone in the mansions have need of a live-in maid or nanny.  

But there’s more!

For more NaShoStoMo stories, click here.

Or, to learn more about golems from Jewish folklore, click here.

Normality from Wednesday. I hope.

I thought I had the week perfectly planned. A whole week of vacation after a tough time at work (those following me on Twitter probably saw an increase in coffee-tweets...). I would write, I would blog, I would get Top Secret Plans A and B into working order. I would spring clean (even though it’s already summer).

As usual, things didn’t go as planned. But I did get most of the cleaning done. This was helped by me not being able to connect to the internet for more than a couple of minutes at a time. Never mind being able to post, I couldn’t even get a page open to post from. But I’ve almost got it sorted – and should be able to get the normal posts up and running from tomorrow or Wednesday. Here’s holding thumbs. And hoping this post posts. :P