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]…
[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!
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.
[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.
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.
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:
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!
[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.
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...
March is both the month in which the leaves
of the big tree at my humble abode start to turn yellow and the month in which
St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated. I must have some Celtic gene in me somewhere,
because I adore Celtic music. As I was thinking about some inspiration for
March, I was reminded of a translation of “My Luve’s Like a Red, Red Rose”
which was translated in the early 1920s by Eugène N. Marais – one of the best
known Afrikaans writers. After this lovely poem I turn my attention to the
“language of flowers” and roses in particular.
As those who often read this blog knows; I find folklore
and mythology fascinating. The meaning of different flowers is one of those
things I wish I could remember more of (but at least I have a few reference books
for when my memory needs some help). In the Brewer’sDictionary of Phrase and Fable – probably one of the best known
dictionaries – the following list of types of roses and their meanings is
given:
“In the language of flowers different roses signify
different characteristics or attributes, among them the following:
