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Lands of Red and Gold #56: What Becomes Of Memory
  • Lands of Red and Gold #56: What Becomes Of Memory

    Lands of Red and Gold #56: What Becomes Of Memory

    Lands of Red and Gold has been on hiatus for a while, and the bad news is that it will mostly remain that way for a few more weeks. I'm getting married in a few days, and for some strange reason I think that should take precedence. I'll probably check in briefly over the next couple of days, and after that I'll be offline until after the honeymoon.

    The good news is that, in line with the recent suggestion for having shorter but more frequent updates, I do have a series of short posts ready to go. I'll start posting them when I get back, and hopefully that means that I'll be able to keep up fortnightly LoRaG posts after that.

    As something of a teaser, here’s the first part of what happens when William Baffin meets Aururia’s premier glass-makers...

    * * *

    “Yesterday is today’s memory. Tomorrow is today’s dream.”
    - Daluming proverb

    * * *

    First touch of the morning. Eastward the horizon glows crimson and amber as the sky begins its slow transformation from black of the night to blue of the day.

    Golden is the light, shining from the first rising of the sun’s disc, reflecting from the fragments of cloud wafting above. Golden too is the water, shining around the Intrepid as if the vessel floats on an ocean of endless wealth.

    William Baffin stands at the bow. He watches the land, not the sea. Waves and clouds he has seen many times before, even those with the hue of gold. He cares more for what he may see on the shore of what he calls the Land of Gold.

    He is about to be rewarded for his attention.

    Westward the shore waits, stretching out in an endless line as the Intrepid passes north, darkness of sand taking on hues golden and white as the first shards of light touch it. Beyond the beach, the shore is merely hints and shadows, glimpses of trees and hills that await the full rising of the sun to be brought into light.

    Northward the Intrepid sails, while Baffin keeps vigil. The shore draws closer to the vessel, not from the direction of the ship, but because here the land extends further east. Baffin turns back for a moment, and sees the helmsman is alert and in place at the stern. No further words are needed, so he returns his gaze to the nearing shore.

    Or so he tries.

    Light shines brilliantly at him, a triangular constellation. A thousand individual flashes, perfectly positioned to reflect the dawning sun back at him in golden splendour. Dazzling, blinding, a myriad of starlets reaching an apex far higher than the masts of the Intrepid.

    He lowers his gaze rather than lose his sight.

    Baffin snaps orders to bring the ship nearer the shore, and then heave to in preparation for dropping the anchor. More cautiously this time, he raises a hand to shade his eyes and look back at the shore.

    Golden light shines back at him still, but the passage of the ship has been far enough that he can take in the spectacle. A thousand mirrors give back the sun’s touch in silent testament. Housed in a fitting edifice, a pyramid of some pale stone that itself takes on the same lustrous golden hue in the morning light.

    And so William Baffin, already the first European captain to visit the shores of eastern Aururia, becomes the first Raw Man to gaze upon the largest single monument built in the Third World.

    Glass, he quickly realises. The thousand lights must be glass. Nothing else could be found or made in enough abundance to shine like that. Set in a pyramid built in several steps. Ten levels, he counts.

    A pyramid. Is this Land of Gold truly not so isolated after all? Did some band of the ancient Egyptians land here ages ago, and built this monument to their arrival?

    Impatience grips him. He must find out more about this pyramid. The order to sail close and lower the boats has already been given, so he can do naught but look longer upon this shining construction, and around it for any sign of the people who built it.

    He sees a few trees and fields on the shore, but if there is any large town nearby, it must be to the north. An island takes shape just off the coast to the north; it will probably create a sheltered harbour beyond. For now, though, he sees nothing of the makers; he must find what he can from the pyramid itself.

    Slower than he likes, the Intrepid anchors near the shore. Baffin is in the first boat, taking a place at oar nearest the bow of the smaller vessel. Eagerness runs through him, enough that he mistimes his oar strokes; he keeps rowing faster than the others.

    When the boat runs into the shallows, Baffin leaps out and runs toward the pyramid. Leave others to pull that boat ashore. He hurries to something much more important.

    The approach of the boats has brought him nearest to the southern face of the pyramid. Easier to investigate here anyway; the eastern face is still swathed in dawnlight.

    The pyramid rises up above him. Up close, he realises just how tall it stands. The first step-level is far above him, well over twenty feet, perhaps thirty.

    Now, though, he sees what makes the shining lights. Niches have been set at regular intervals into the top of each step. A sheet of clear – or almost-clear – glass has been set in each one. It is those mirrors, positioned to reflect the light, which so dazzled him on his first glimpse. If the glass niches hold anything, he cannot see it from down here.

    Only after a few moments of gazing up in frustration does he look around and realise that there is a way to climb up. A staircase has been cut into the first level of the pyramid, about a third of the way along the southern face. The stairs are very steep, but he runs up them quickly anyhow.

    A glass-covered niche is set at the top of each side of the staircase. Looking into them is not easy; the staircase is set deep enough into the first level that he cannot see into them during the climb. Baffin gets onto the first level of the pyramid, lies down on the ground, and carefully pushes his head over the edge for an upside down look into the first niche.

    A skull stares back at him.

    Surely not!

    Baffin rises to his knees and crawls across to look into the next niche.

    Another skull grins back at him.

    Baffin pulls himself to his feet, feeling numb inside. He runs his gaze across the immense length of the first level, with the regular glass niches, then finds his eyes drawn inexorably upward. To where nine more levels of the pyramid still tower above him, every one of them filled with skull-niches.

    Baffin sinks back to his knees, his mouth open but incapable of shaping words, and he cannot tear his eyes away from the monument rising above him.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #57: Long White Clouds
  • Lands of Red and Gold #57: Long White Clouds

    Lands of Red and Gold #57: Long White Clouds

    Ka pu te ruha ka hao te rangatahi.” (As an old net withers another is remade.)
    - Maori proverb

    * * *

    Eagle Day, Cycle of Bronze, 398th Year of Harmony (12.5.398) [19 May 1637]
    Ngamotu, Lands of the Ngati Apa iwi, Te Ika a Maui, Aotearoa [New Plymouth, Taranaki, North Island, New Zealand]

    With gently undulating waves in front of him, and a steady breeze blowing behind him, Tjirubal of the Kalendi felt as if he could sail forever. Which would be a welcome prospect, right now. On board a ship, surrounded by his fellow Kalendi sailors, he felt truly safe. No danger, here, of a knife in the back.

    The Dawn Hunter – as he had renamed the vessel – was a fine ship, and this had been a pleasant voyage. Still, the coast of Aotearoa was close ahead of him, a reminder that all voyages must end. At least the end of this voyage would be amongst the Maori, who posed their own dangers, but ones which could perhaps be managed. Not like back on the Island, where it seemed that any man he did not personally know might be a man of the Nyumatta bloodline seeking to deliver the next blow in the vendetta.

    Ahead, a bank of white clouds awaited. A long bank of clouds, stretching from horizon to horizon. Clouds which formed above land, and which would inform even the youngest and most stupid sailor that a shore was nearby.

    Tjirubal was young, he knew, one of four young sailors raised to captains by the new Kalendi elder two years ago. Only one day after the elder himself was raised. All five of them, elder and captains, had been chosen as replacements for those killed in a few particularly bloody months of the vendetta. That elder was dead now too. His replacement, Bunban, was now the fourth elder to lead the Kalendi in seven years; unless Bunban himself had died in the time since the Dawn Hunter let the Island.

    Young or not, Tjirubal had been given his opportunity, and he would make every use of it. His first efforts had been with the Atjuntja in the far west. Regrettably, these had accomplished little. The Kalendi’s strongest trade ties had been with the Atjuntja, but of late those ties had been weakened. The new Raw Men, these Nedlandj, brought marvellous new goods, but traded with whom they wished, breaking the old trading hierarchies amongst both Atjuntja and Nangu.

    Worse had followed. The long-serving elder of the Kalendi – who had been nicknamed the Beard for so long that Tjirubal struggled to recall his true name – had been the man with the vital contacts within the Atjuntja nobility. With his death, major revolt amongst the Atjuntja, and the coronation of a new monarch, new trading relationships needed to be established. The Kalendi had lost their foremost place in the western trade. Tjirubal’s best endeavours in the west had won only small quantities of gold, and none at all of the more valuable sandalwood [1].

    Bold action was required, and after some thought, Tjirubal had decided to strike far to the east. To a land where few Nangu ever successfully visited. The land of long white clouds. The land of the Maori. Aotearoa.

    One thought led to another. He was still a young captain, with only a ship, not a great-ship [2]. He could not carry a large cargo, so he needed something small, valuable, and to which the Maori would not already have easy access. Kunduri would normally have been the obvious choice, but the price for that drug was now beyond the means of a minor captain. Nedlandj and Nangu bid against each other to buy kunduri.

    Nor could he use spices. Most spices worthy of the name came from the east [i.e. east coast of Aururia] anyway, where the Maori could trade for them as easily as any Nangu. Bronze would be similar: the Maori welcomed it, but they could trade directly with the Cider Isle. Tjirubal doubted that the Maori would accept a price for bronze which would still let him turn a profit [3]. He had considered dyes, so many of which were grown on the Island itself, and indeed he had some of those on the Dawn Hunter.

    Tjirubal’s great moment of inspiration – perhaps Turnong the Glider had granted it to him – came from one of the stories he was told when he made inquiries about Aotearoa. According to the story, the Maori were inordinately fond of a kind of sea shell called paua [4], which had an iridescent, multi-hued interior shell which the Maori used to adorn themselves or their goods.

    Tjirubal’s inspiration came when he remembered something else iridescent: opals. By themselves, opals were reasonably common gemstones; they had been mined in the desert since time immemorial and brought to Dogport [Port Augusta, South Australia]. However, some of the rarer opals were translucent and iridescent, too; rainbow opals [crystal opals] which showed every hue known to man.

    If the Maori valued paua, surely they would revere rainbow opals all the more.

    Better, as far as he was concerned, the Nedlandj did not seem to care at all for opals. Their price remained largely unchanged since before the coming of the Raw Men. Trading for opals – especially rainbow opals – still demanded a price, but not an impossibly high one.

    Tjirubal had taken the Dawn Hunter to Dogport and secured some opals, a few rainbow, the rest solid, for his ship’s cargo. Then to Dabuni [Hobart] in the Cider Isle [Tasmania]. War still raged there between Tjunini and Kurnawal, but that mattered little for his purposes. Tjirubal had recruited a Maori-speaking Kurnawal to serve as an interpreter. He had to pay a stiff price to find someone willing to visit Maori in Aotearoa, but that had been as he expected.

    What he had not expected was for a priest to ask to join the voyage to Aotearoa. Priests visited the Cider Isle fairly regularly, of course, and would regularly claim right of passage on any visiting Nangu vessel to come home. Yet it was a rare priest who would want to visit further afield, especially to a place as distant as Aotearoa.

    Whatever his reasons, the priest had claimed a place on the Dawn Hunter, and what true Nangu could refuse such a request? Having a priest on any voyage was a blessing.

    The priest was an odd fellow: tall, bearded like the Atjuntja or the Beard himself, and who said little apart from leading the crew in the dawn and dusk prayers. Who had ever heard of a quiet priest? Still, the priest had a sense of humour: whenever asked his name, he just said “Call me Bana [Nameless].”

    As if called by Tjirubal’s thoughts of him, the priest came to the front of the left prow, just behind Tjirubal. True to form, Bana said nothing for a time, just watched the white clouds ahead build in size as the Dawn Hunter neared Aotearoa.

    Soon enough, land appeared off the right as the ship sailed further east. Tjirubal did not need to order the helmsman to come closer and follow it; he had made sure that he recruited decent sailors before beginning his voyage.

    “How will you know when you reach Ngamotu?” the priest asked.

    Polite as always to a priest, Tjirubal said, “The port has four or five small islands just off the coast [5]. Coming from the west, we will see them just before we reach there.”

    Bana smiled. “Then you need only convince the Maori themselves to welcome you.”

    “It can be done,” Tjirubal said. Any Nangu knew of the Maori reputation for bellicose hostility to outsiders, but trade still happened. He did not trouble himself to explain to the priest that he had chosen Ngamotu because the Maori here were said to be more open than most; some of them even followed the Seven-fold Path.

    Bana shook his head. “With boldness comes reward. If others have not already claimed the reward. Will they know your bloodline?”

    “I don’t know,” Tjirubal said. The Dawn Hunter announced his bloodline to the world, of course. The triangular sail was dyed in Kalendi colours: a base of scarlet, divided into four uneven quarters by two crossed lines of undyed white. But who could say how much the Maori here knew about the Island and its bloodlines? “If they don’t, I’ll gladly tell them.”

    Bana chuckled, then went back to watching the coast.

    Before much longer, the first of the promised islands appeared: pyramids of dark rock rising out of the sea, partly covered in trees, with waves breaking against their shores. “We draw near,” he said, then whispered a quiet prayer of thanks to Turnong for the inspiration that brought him here.

    Past the islands, the Dawn Hunter tacked into Ngamotu. A small town had been built up along the harbour. Most prominently, a wharf had been built out to sea.

    Could that be a bad sign? Maori boats were designed for hauling straight up onto the beach. So were standard Nangu ships. The only vessels large enough to require a wharf were Nangu great-ships or Raw Men fluyts. And yet the Maori had built a wharf here. Were foreign visitors a regular sight at Ngamotu?

    The sight of the wharf almost made him wish that he had earned the right to command a great-ship. That would let him carry larger cargoes, and, of course, profits. Still, that was not a good wish to make. The only way he would be given a great-ship now would be if the vendetta which consumed the Kalendi had claimed yet another high-status victim, and that he had been promoted despite youth and without due accomplishment.

    Perhaps if his voyage here succeeded, and he turned this into a regular trade route, that might be enough to earn him a promotion.

    If the wharf was there, though, he would use it. A brief order saw that the Dawn Hunter was brought alongside the wharf. The Maori must expect visitors to use it, if any came. Certainly, they kept a watch on the sea, for a group of Maori had gathered at the end of the wharf.

    Tjirubal was first onto the wharf, Bana right behind, and the interpreter third. As he walked closer, he saw that the Maori were clearly warriors. All men, with curving black lines tattooed onto their faces, and carrying spears or similar weapons.

    “Now we find out if they will welcome us or kill us,” Tjirubal said.

    * * *

    [1] To Europeans and other outsiders, gold is a more valuable commodity than sandalwood, particularly Aururian sandalwood (which is viewed as inferior to the Indian variety). To eastern Aururians, though, the reverse holds true; sandalwood, used by Gunnagal perfume makers amongst others, is harder to obtain than gold which can be mined in abundance in several locations.

    [2] The Nangu word which is best translated ship refers to the older style of Nangu vessels: twin-hulled, lateen-rigged, shallow-draft vessels with a steering oar rather than the newer rudders. The Nangu mostly use these ships for shorter voyages between the Island and nearby destinations like the Seven Sisters [Eyre Peninsula] or Jugara [Victor Harbor, the main trading port for the Five Rivers], while the larger great-ships are used for longer distance voyages. Even the basic Nangu ships are still quite seaworthy, though, and capable of undertaking a voyage to Aotearoa.

    [3] As it happens, Tjirubal is wrong about that. Bronze is still in sufficient demand amongst the Maori, and the voyage across the Gray Sea [Tasman Sea] sufficiently challenging, that any trader who can bring bronze to Aotearoa can still earn a decent profit. The real difficulty is in establishing a trading relationship with the Maori, who are so often hostile to outsiders.

    [4] Paua is the Maori name for several species of abalone (principally Haliotis iris) which have particularly iridescent mother-of-pearl inside their shells. Both historically and allohistorically, the Maori favoured paua for adornment and other decorative purposes.

    [5] Historically, these are called the Sugar Loaf Islands, just offshore of New Plymouth.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #58: Preparing A Head Of Time
  • Lands of Red and Gold #58: Preparing A Head Of Time

    “The Bunditch [Bungudjimay] keep their heads during trouble. That’s good. The problem is that they keep other people’s heads too.”
    - Quote attributed to William Baffin (possibly apocryphal) during his time in Daluming, 1636

    * * *

    Time of the Closure [August 1636]
    Yuragir [Coffs Harbour, New South Wales], Kingdom of Daluming

    Dawn in the Land of Gold; a time when the colour of the light matches the wealth of the land.

    William Baffin kneels on the first level of the pyramid, as he stares upward at the towering levels of above him. Each holds niche after niche filled with skulls and sealed in with glass. A testament to a savage people. This is no Egyptian-built pyramid. Have some Mexicans brought their pagan human sacrifices across the Pacific?

    He hears his sailors climbing up the stairs to join him, but another set of footsteps approach from the east. Someone new. A native.

    Baffin stands, but finds that the newcomer is silhouetted against the dazzling sun. He cannot see much of the man, save that he is tall and has the dark skin of a native Aururian.

    The native speaks quickly in his own language, of which Baffin cannot understand a word, or even anything close to it.

    His confusion must be apparent, for the native speaks again. This time in the Islander language, of which Baffin knows but a little. Enough, though, to understand the few words the native speaks.

    “Greetings, you who come at the end of the world.”

    *

    “Be diligent. Observe everything. Remember all. Report all that is important,” said Ilangi the priest. He sounded as if he were hissing. But then he always sounded like that. Most priests did.

    “I will,” Keajura said simply. Worthless to argue. The priests expected a miracle, but they should have asked one of the ancestral heads at the Mound of Memory or in the western mountains. Keajura was merely a still-living man.

    Oh, he had a gift, one the priests knew about, but they always expected that gift to be greater than it was.

    Keajura had a talent for learning languages quickly. A son of a minor chieftain of the Jubula people, he had been born in Anaiwal [Armidale] to the west. As a young man he had been among the hostages brought to Yuragir to ensure the good behaviour of the newly-conquered subjects. While a hostage, he had demonstrated his gift by learning the Bungudjimay language so fluently that he was often mistaken for a member of that people.

    Bungudjimay priests were sharp, in some ways, and they soon recognised his gifts. While still young, he had been given duties as an interpreter. Duties which endured as the weeks turned into months and now into years. No longer was he quite a hostage, but nor was he permitted to return to his homeland. A priest much like Ilangi had said, in his usual hissing way, that someone of his gifts and rank could not be allowed to return to threaten Daluming rule with revolt.

    In truth, Keajura found that he preferred life here in Yuragir. He would inherit no rank, but there were many other benefits. Comfort, food, wealth, all were here in abundance in the heart of the kingdom. Best of all, Bungudjimay women favoured those who had a gift for words. So long as he was careful never to touch a weapon, then his gift and reputation ensured his safety even from the even most challenge-mad Bungudjimay warrior.

    He still served as an interpreter. He had learned the Kiyungu language from a couple of their women who had been brought from the north as captives, and who found his protection useful. Of course, many interpreters had learned the Kiyungu language. More recently, and with more difficulty, he had learned the Islander language from their sporadic visits.

    Now, the priests expected him to understand the pink men’s language simply by hearing a few words of it. A gift he had, but miracles were not his forte.

    “What tongue do they speak?” Keajura asked.

    “Some few words of the Islander tongue,” Ilangi said. “So say those who met them at the Mound of Memory, where they came with the dawn. But they speak another language amongst themselves.” He did not quite say you will learn their language immediately, but his expectations were clear.

    “I will go to them,” Keajura said. No point to staying longer and letting the priest make his demands for a miracle more explicit.

    The pink men had been brought to the largest feast hall in the palace. A place filled with large tables occupied by a swirling, rowdy mixture of warriors, priests, and other royal hangers-on. On occasion the king would even come here himself, though not when outlanders were present. Even most of his own subjects would rarely get such a close glimpse of their revered monarch.

    The pink men were easily recognised, and not just from the odd unfinished colour of their skins. In a hall filled with noise and celebration, the outlanders were almost silent. Keajura took a vacant seat close to them – left empty by priestly order, no doubt – and studied them more closely.

    Their clothing was distinctive: white ruffled collars that covered half their shoulders and overlaid tight-fitting clothes of black and red, made of some strange fabric, and which covered arms and legs entirely, leaving only hands unclothed. Their hair was remarkable too, some brown, some the colour of sand, and some, strangest of all, nut-red in hue.

    The first servants appeared, bringing food for the guests alone, while the others simply spoke and drank. An odd practice, but then Keajura was not exactly sure what status the priests were giving these new pink men. Honoured guests? Captives? Warriors about to be blooded? Even the priests did not know, he suspected. Looking forward to the Closure for your whole life was one thing. Reaching it was another altogether.

    Keajura had planned simply to observe the pink men for a time while they ate, to learn what he could. Yet before the outlanders started eating, one of them looked over at him and made an unmistakable come-here gesture. Odd to see that some things remained common no matter where men came from; he had seen the same gesture made both by Kiyungu and Islanders.

    The outlander who had called him over was one with the nut-red coloured hair. Clean-shaven, or almost so, with perhaps a day’s growth. His clothing had the same ruffled collar and full sleeves and leggings as the rest, but with more decoration than most of his fellows. Their priest, perhaps, or maybe their lord.

    The outlander spoke in the Islander tongue. Awkwardly, with hesitations and mispronounced words, but his meaning was usually clear. “You here to... watch us?”

    “To guide you,” he said. He almost added and learn your language, but restrained himself.

    “Good. I name Wilyembatin.”

    “Keajura son of Ngamunda.”

    “What this land called?” the outlander asked.

    “Daluming. The lands of King Otella.”

    Wilyembatin frowned, as if he had not understood such simple words. However much of the Islander tongue this man thought he had learned, it was not adequate.

    “What land do your people come from?”

    “Inglund. We serve... Company.” Keajura repeated the foreign word, the first he had heard of the Inglund tongue.

    Wilyembatin had a brief discussion with one of his neighbours, who looked as if he spoke more of the Islander tongue. Yet it was Wilyembatin who spoke again. “Association.”

    “Does your association forbid you from eating?” Keajura gestured to the still untouched food.

    “No. Not sure what food is or... rules when men eat,” Wilyembatin said.

    That showed more cunning that most visitors; any Kiyungu brought to Daluming would immediately any food put in front of them. “Others will not eat at the same time as you. They are not sure yet what rank you have, so will not know whether to eat at the same time or later.”

    Wilyembatin started to speak, stopped, then had another colloquy with his neighbour, repeating Islander phrases a couple of time between themselves. “What rank do we have here?”

    “You are outlanders. I cannot say.” The priests would have to decide that. Let them make whatever choice pleased them. It was them who believed in the Closure, in that time when all that was needed would be completed. However much Keajura enjoyed life in Yuragir, in his own heart he still prayed to Eagle and Goanna, not to the heads of other people’s ancestors.

    Wilyembatin still looked perplexed, so Keajura gestured to the food. “Eat. It is for you.”

    Wilyembatin spoke briefly to his companions again in their own language. It was too long simply to be an instruction to eat. Which also meant that, for now, Keajura had still only learned one word of their Inglund language.

    The pink men started eating, almost as one. Wilyembatin stopped after the first mouthful. “This good. Very good. What it?”

    “Fish fried in linseed oil [1],” Keajura said. The fish was flathead [2], but he did not know the Islander word for it, and he doubted the name would mean much to the Inglund people. “Spiced with sweet peppers and lemon myrtle.”

    “Very good,” the outlander captain repeated, then went back to finishing the fish, with obvious relish.

    Keajura stayed quiet while they ate the first course, listening to their occasional chatter amongst themselves. He was not learning words, yet, but it let him familiarise himself with the sounds of their language. And it was alien; it had sounds which no other tongue contained. He suspected that Wilyembatin was not exactly how that man said his own name, either, but learning to pronounce it properly would take time [3].

    The next course arrived in due time. He announced without being asked. “Noroon [emu] meat, roasted and flavoured with lemongrass and white ginger [4].” He started to explain that the hot drink being served with it was jeeree [lemon-scented tea], but stopped when he saw that Wilyembatin already knew what it was.

    Wilyembatin ate a little, and his face spoke for itself of his regard for the food. This time, he got his more fluent neighbour to ask questions. The other outlander said, “This food is splendid.”

    “The palace has some fine cooks,” Keajura said. Most of them were in fact captives like himself, brought in from the western highlands or from the north. The Bungudjimay appreciated fine food, even if they often did not know how to cook properly.

    “No doubt,” the outlander said. “But even then, we have tasted these spices elsewhere in this land, and they have not been so flavoursome.”

    “In the far west?” Keajura said, and the other man shook his head.

    “What you have eaten in the west, that is what we trade to westerners after it has been dried for storage. That must be done with spices if they are to be traded. But those we use in the palace are fresh, grown in the highlands and brought quickly down the river. The taste is better when fresh.”

    “So I must agree,” the outlander said, then he and his fellows went back to eating the meal.

    The third course came in time. “Kumara [sweet potato] chunks, roasted with caramelised sweet gum [wattle gum] flavoured with cinnamon myrtle and strawberry gum leaves,” he said. The sweetest part of the meal, and his favourite.

    Wilyembatin did not start on this part of the meal, though. He gave Keajura a long glance, then said, “If you guide us, what most important that we know?”

    Keajura considered that for a moment, then lowered his voice. No telling if others around also knew the Islander tongue. “If anyone here asked you whether you have killed a man, say no. Always say no.”

    * * *

    [1] The Aururian linseed oil is grown from native flax (Linum marginale). Much like common flax, some cultivars of this plant have been grown for fibre, but others – particularly on the eastern seaboard – have been selected for large, oil-rich seeds.

    [2] This species of fish is dusky flathead (Platycephalus fuscus), which lives in estuaries, of which there are several around Yuragir / Coffs Harbour.

    [3] Keajura is experiencing difficulties because native Aururian languages, like their historical equivalents, almost entirely lack some classes of consonants which occur in most other languages (including English).

    The main examples of these are fricative (and pseudo-fricative) consonants, which among others include sounds represented in English by “h”, “s”, “f” and “th”. Aururians tend to mishear these sounds as other consonants which are more familiar to them. For example, Keajura pronounces “Baffin” more or less as “Batin”.

    [4] Lemon-scented grass (Cymbopogon ambiguus) is a relative of common lemongrass (various Cymbopogon species), and has similar flavour and culinary uses. Native ginger (Alpinia caerulea) is a plant whose various parts can be used for different spices. The one which has been used here is the crushed fruit and seeds, which has a pleasantly sour taste and is used in Daluming cuisine both for its flavour and for the visual effect of the red hue it adds to food.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #3: A Christmas Beverage
  • Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #3: A Christmas Beverage

    In keeping with the LoRaG tradition of Christmas specials, here is a brief exploration of one allohistorical Christmas tradition...

    * * *

    From: “Blue Wine, Good Time: The Making of a Christmas Tradition

    Wine that bubbles and sparkles is nowadays considered by most connoisseurs to be the finest and most deserving of wines.

    This was not always so. The effervescence of bubbling wines is caused by carbon dioxide dissolved in the wine, making it fizz and sparkle when opened. The properties of some wines to effervesce were known to the ancient Greeks and Romans, if not earlier.

    For many centuries, this quality of wines was thought a fault, not a blessing. Lacking glass with the strength to withstand the pressure of bubbling wine, effervescing wine created an occupational hazard for medieval winemakers. Bottles that bubbled could explode, and set off a chain reaction amongst neighbouring bottles that could destroy an entire wine cellar. To say nothing of the risks to the winemakers themselves.

    Since medieval times, wine from the Champagne region was known for its tendency to lightly bubble. The reason, though local vintners did not know it for centuries, was because the cold winters of Champagne would stop fermentation in the stored wine. When warmed up again in spring, or after transportation to more temperate climes, fermentation would restart inside the bottles, creating the effervescence. And, in some cases, exploding bottles.

    Champagne vintners detested bubbling wine, and sought techniques to stop it. In England, though, imported Champagne wines were noted for their effervescence, and became popular for it.

    Two men were the catalyst for transforming this desire into the creation of proper bubbling wines. The first, Sir Robert Mansell, was an English admiral and parliamentarian. In the early seventeenth century, he used his political connections to obtain a monopoly on English glass-making, and pioneered the establishment of glass factories which used sea coal rather than wood or charcoal in glass-making. Glass bottles made in this manner were strong enough to withstand the pressure of bubbling wine.

    The second man, Christopher Merret, was an English physician, scientist, and industrial pioneer. As well as practicing medicine, Merret studied botany, agriculture, metallurgy, glassmaking, and mining. Despite his varied interests, his most important achievement was his study of the process of effervescence in wine. Merret found that the bubbling quality of wine was caused by the presence of sugar left in the bottle, and that adding sugar to a wine before bottling could turn any wine into a bubbling wine.

    These discoveries set the scene for good bubbling wine. This would first, and most famously, be taken up in the Champagne region. During the later seventeenth and early eighteenth century, bubbling Champagne wine became a favourite of royalty and aristocracy in France and England alike.

    For a long time, the very name Champagne became synonymous with bubbling wine; in some countries it still is. The manufacture of bubbling wine quickly spread beyond the Champagne region, to elsewhere in Europe, and in time to other winemaking regions around the globe. For the story of blue wine, however, what matters is when the craft of effervescent winemaking spread to Spain...

    The practice of adding spices to wine was ancient in Europe. Wine – or other alcoholic beverages such as cider or mead – were often heated and mixed with spices or fruit. Anciently called Hipocris after the physician Hippocrates, in England they came to be called mulled wine.

    Essential to making mulled wine is the process of heating it. The process which led to blue wine, however, came from another tradition entirely. One which did not rely on heating wine, but rather on adding choice, piquant flavours from spices alone.

    In ancient Aururia, grapes were not known, and the alcoholic beverage of choice was ganyu, made from fermented yams. Yam “wine” in itself has little flavour, and the early Aururian brewers added the crushed pulps of local limes to the yams before fermentation, producing the basic flavour of ganyu. Different varieties of ganyu were further flavoured by combinations of the varied spices of the Great Spice Land, leading to a distinctive culture of local spiced beverages which continues in Aururia to the present day.

    The road which led to blue wine started when some Aururian brewers adopted another fruit to flavour their wines. Instead of using their local limes, the Aururians turned to a plant which they called yolnu, but which is better known nowadays as the wineberry [1].

    Wineberries are sweet, but not cloyingly so. While small as berries go, their distinctive flavour and sweetness proved an excellent accompaniment to regular ganyu, and in some brewing cultures, replaced the local limes entirely. Interestingly, wineberries exist in both red and blue forms, both of which give similar sweetness, but lend different colours to the finished beverage. The early Aururians seem to have chosen the blue variety as much for its colour as for any other reason.

    Blue ganyu spread throughout much of the continent, and developed the same local varieties as other beverages. The form which would become most popular, however, developed around the Lower Nyalananga. Using imported spices, the local brewers created a flavour that would be treasured around the world: aniseed verbena and cinnamon verbena in roughly equal proportions, with a small portion of lemon verbena.

    While blue ganyu itself became an exported product from Aururia to the world, the tale of blue wine is the story of how wineberries and spiced wine-making knowledge was brought from Aururia to Catalonia...

    Medieval Champagne vintners had tried adding elderberries to their wine to improve the flavour. History does not record whether this practice was remembered and gave inspiration to adopt the Aururian practice of flavouring wine with berries. For whatever the reason, in Catalonia the vintners turned to this practice after the importation of wineberries from Aururia.

    The first European wineberries were grown in the Penedés region of Catalonia, along the banks of the River Foix. The distinctive colour and flavour of “Penedés blue” became noted throughout Europe by the early eighteenth century, even before the Penedés farmers started using imported Aururian spices to create premium spiced wines.

    In 1721, a rich vintner named Bartomeu Gavarró i Berdugo, whose vineyards were near the village of Sant Sadurní d'Anoia [2], successfully imported the first verbena trees, and began their cultivation. The hills of the Alt Penedés region turned out to have sufficient rainfall to sustain production of productive verbena trees, and within a few years Gavarró’s vineyards were producing Penedés blue flavoured by fresh rather than imported spices. The new vintage was still expensive, but did not require the same massive premium demanded by wines flavoured from imported spices.

    The culmination of true blue wine production came when knowledge of effervescent Champagne-style wines came together with Aururian-style spiced wine to produce the greatest of modern beverages. The first recorded deliberate creation of bubbling blue wine is in 1786, when vintners in Sant Sadurní d'Anoia are described as adding sugar to blue wine before bottling and exporting the completed bubbling blue to the Algarve. Like spiced blue wines before them, effervescent blue wines soon took Europe by storm...

    Only a few favoured locations in the world possess in close proximity the right microclimates needed to produce blue wine. A region must have three locales, the first warm and moist enough to grow the fresh spices needed to flavour the wine, the second warm and moderately humid to grow the grapes, and the third warm and dry enough to produce a good wineberry harvest.

    Connoisseurs usually agree that Spanish blue wine from Penedés (Catalan blue) or La Rioja (Castilian blue) is the premier blue wine. The closest competitor is Kuyal Valley [Hunter Valley, NSW] blue wines from Aururia. A few other regions also produce noteworthy blues, with California and the Cape being perhaps the most well-known...

    Like knowledge of creating bubbling wine, understanding of the merits of blue wine for Christmas began in England. In mid-nineteenth-century England, the wealthiest technocrats took to imbibing premium Castilian blues as an appropriate toast for the turning of Christ’s Mass. As production of blue wine increased, so the tradition spread throughout the British dominions, and in time to much of the world.

    Today, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good Castilian blue will not lack for company over Christmas...

    * * *

    [1] This plant is the one known historically as ruby saltbush (Enchylaena tomentosa). In its wild form, it is a small shrub that grows in semiarid areas, and like many Aururian plants is tolerant of drought and poor soils. It produces foliage which is readily eaten by grazing animals, and also produces sweet but rather small berries.

    Ruby saltbush has different domesticated forms grown either for their agricultural properties or as berry-producing varieties. The berry-producing cultivars have much larger berries than their wild relatives. The agricultural versions have larger leaves, and take advantage of the saltbush’s ability store salt in its leaves, and are thus very useful for desalinating any over-irrigated, salinised soil.

    [2] Historically, the village of Sant Sadurní d'Anoia is in the centre of one of the most productive Spanish wine-producing regions, and is the centre of cava (Spanish champagne) production in Catalonia.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #59: In The Balance
  • Lands of Red and Gold #59: In The Balance

    Ki te kahore he whakakitenga ka ngaro te iwi.” (Without foresight or vision the people will be lost.)
    - Maori proverb

    * * *

    19 May 1637
    Ngamotu, Lands of the Ngati Apa iwi, Te Ika a Maui, Aotearoa [New Plymouth, Taranaki, North Island, New Zealand]

    Sometimes the Balance merely involves weighing two almost equally unpalatable alternatives, Nardoo thought.

    The choice to join the Dawn Hunter on its voyage to Aotearoa had been one of those occasions. There, one option had been to stay at home on the Big Island [Tasmania] and risk being levied into joining the ever more bitter war with the accursed Tjunini. With the war going on so long, the risk of conscription was great. The other option had been to accept the invitation to act as an interpreter on the voyage. A long voyage across the seas, on a smaller Islander ship and with an impossibly young captain.

    Nardoo had prayed and taken counsel with his wife, the one person he could trust to keep his dilemma secret. He had not dared to seek advice even from his priest; a lack of courage was one thing he would never admit.

    In time, he had decided that the sea offered a less bad choice.

    So here he was, having survived the first half of the voyage, about to step foot onto a jetty in Aotearoa. Another choice of two unpalatable alternatives. Stay on the ship and be known as a coward, or step onto the land and risk the fickle hospitality of the bloodthirsty Maori.

    This choice resolved itself more quickly; he did not want to admit cowardice. So he became the third member of the ship’s complement to stand on the jetty, with the captain and the priest in front of them, and Maori warriors waiting on the shore.

    “Now we find out if they will welcome us or kill us,” the captain said.

    Thank you for the reassurance, captain, Nardoo thought. Fear gave him enough urging to speak, though. “Remember what I have said, captain. Go down on one knee. Ask to speak to the ariki iwi [king], or his kin, to seek permission to enter his dominions. And offer your gift in recognition of his mana.”

    The captain would have to say those words, too, not just let Nardoo interpret. Some Maori might know the Islander tongue.

    Young the captain might be, but he had at least the rudiments of wisdom. At the end of the jetty, the captain went down on his right knee and gave his introduction. “I am Tjirubal of the Kalendi, captain of the Dawn Hunter, from the Island. I ask for the permission of the ariki iwi to sojourn in his lands, and to offer certain items in trade. In recognition of his mana, I offer this gift.”

    The captain held out a small cast bronze figurine of the Rainbow Serpent.

    A disrespectful choice, that. Not for the Maori themselves, whose lust for bronze was legendary on the Big Island. But a poor choice all the same, because the figurine would not be properly revered. The Maori valued bronze too much, and they did not know the true faith. They would melt down the figurine and use its bronze for some other purpose. The captain should know better; he was a good Plirite from the Island itself.

    No-one showed any signs of understanding the captain’s words, so Nardoo translated.

    One of the Maori warriors took the figurine. “Your gift is accepted, in the name of ariki iwi Arapeta. Who is the other man who stands behind Tjirubal?”

    When that was translated, the priest said, “Tell them that I honour the mana of Arapeta son of Naeroa, whose name and deeds are known even across the sea in Toka Moana [Australia].”

    Nardoo said, “They have asked for your name.”

    The priest smiled. “Tell them to call me Nameless.”

    “Are you mad?” Nardoo asked, shock pushing him to show discourtesy even to a priest. “You would insult the Maori king by refusing to give your name?”

    “Do not translate it, then. Just use the word,” the priest said.

    What makes the priest take such a risk? Like any good Kurnawal, Nardoo found an unsolved puzzle something that nagged at him, but he did not have time to consider this one. In the Maori language, he said, “This is Bana [Nameless], a priest of the Sevenfold Path.” He translated the rest of the priest’s words.

    The Maori warrior appeared unoffended. Fortunate. “Come. We will bring you to the marae.”

    About half of the dozen or so Maori warriors started to walk ahead of them into the town. Nardoo, the captain and the priest followed them, and then the rest of the warriors took a position behind.

    Maori crowded the town of Ngamotu: men, women and children, young and old, high and low status. Nardoo had met plenty of Maori traders when they visited Dabuni [Hobart, Tasmania], and had believed he knew what they looked like. Light-skinned, usually armed, faces tattooed with swirling lines, and usually decorated with pendants or other artefacts of their favoured greenstone [jade].

    Now, he saw more. Only a few Maori they passed had tattooed faces; mostly men, and those were the ones who were armed. They had more decorations too; not just greenstone, but feathers in their heads, or ornaments of bronze or, in one case, gold. The other Maori were dressed in simpler clothes: skirts or kilts and cloaks woven from that marvellous kind of flax which grew on Aotearoa, but with fewer patterns or colours to mark their rank.

    The warriors led them up a sloping road, until they arrived at a large open area paved with stones, bordered with wooden posts, and surrounded by large buildings on three sides. Nardoo had an impression of strange figures carved into the front of each building, but returned his gaze to the single man waiting for them in the centre of the open space.

    A Maori chieftain; that much was obvious. The man’s only item of clothing was a kilt belted around his waist, with no particular decoration. He wore ornamentation, though: a large carved pendant and earrings of greenstone, and gold bracelets on each wrist. More than his ornamentation, though, his bearing was that of a man used to being obeyed.

    Nardoo kept behind the captain and the priest as they stopped in front of the chieftain. One of the warriors handed over the serpent figurine, then the chieftain said, “I am Riwha Titokowaru, kin to ariki iwi Arapeta. Why have you come to the lands of the Ngati Apa iwi?”

    The captain went down on one knee. “I am Tjirubal of the Kalendi, captain of the Dawn Hunter, from the Island. I have come to sojourn in the lands of the Ngati Apa, if it please the ariki iwi. I wish to talk of many things, of this iwi and its deeds, and to trade in gemstones and dyes and other items, if it please the ariki iwi.”

    “Many have come from your Island before and seek to trade,” Riwha said. “Few have been permitted to remain. These are the lands of the Ngati Apa, where we honour our ancestors, and we have this land in our bones [1]. Why should we allow you to stand on our land?”

    “While many may have come to trade, I have brought gems and dyes from far away. They cannot be found in the Cider Isle or any of the places in Toka Moana where the Maori visit to trade.”

    The priest added, “And because I wish to hear more of the deeds of Arapeta son of Naeroa and his ancestors, back to Ruatea who came in his great canoe from Hawaiki.”

    The chieftain was silent for a long moment after Nardoo translated. Eventually, he said, “Tell them I am ready to show my choice.”

    Nardoo said, “The chieftain has decided. Take position for their challenge, and remember what I told you: remain on one knee for the entire time. Hand over your knives, hilt first, when the challenge is finished. A warrior will take them. If the chieftain hands them back hilt first, you are under the king’s protection and may rise and be welcomed.”

    “And if we are not welcome?” the captain asked, as he went down on one knee.

    “He will drop your knives on the ground and withdraw. If he does, he says that the only way you can remain here is by force of arms.”

    “So be it,” the captain said.

    The Maori warriors took places around the chieftain. Twelve warriors, standing in two rows. Three on each side of the chieftain in the first row, with the remaining six in a second row behind, spaced so that all of them could be seen.

    The warriors began the haka, the challenge [2]. Thirteen men moving in rhythmic unison, chanting words of ritualised challenge. Arms were folded and unfolded, placed into several positions, accompanied by regular stamping of booted feet onto the stone. All of the men moved at the same time, even when not performing exactly the same movements.

    All designed to be intimidating, Nardoo knew, and with good reason. If the captain and the priest were intimidated, though, they did not show it. Also good, since showing weakness now might make the chieftain decide against admitting them, even if he had previously been minded to grant them permission.

    The warriors moved slowly forward, stamping their feet as they came. Two of them, either side of the chieftain, stepped forward as one to take the knives which the Islanders held out. They stepped back, then with one final shout, all of the warriors brought their legs together and stood motionless.

    The chieftain took the knives from the two warriors beside them, stepped forward, then held them out to the Islanders, hilt first.

    “You are under the protection of ariki iwi Arapeta.”

    * * *

    [1] Riwha is speaking literally here: the Maori word iwi literally means “bones”. Its use derives from the fact that the Maori bury their ancestors and honour their bones.

    [2] Nardoo does not quite understand the Maori word here. Haka is the Maori name (both historical and allohistorical) for a number of ritualised dances, not all of which are challenges. Haka can be used as acknowledgements, as formal welcomes, for funerals, and for other purposes besides challenges.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #60: Heart of Glass, Heart of Stone
  • Lands of Red and Gold #60: Heart of Glass, Heart of Stone

    “What sacrifice of mankind and blood unbound has brought Mexicans to this fatal shore?”
    - William Baffin, recorded in the journal of his voyage to Aururia, 1636

    * * *

    Time of the Closure [August 1636]
    Yuragir [Coffs Harbour, New South Wales], Kingdom of Daluming

    A clamour of voices. A crowding of many priests, from lowly skull-polisher to the Father [high priest] himself, mixed with men of the court. Speaking out of turn, over each other, heedless of rank or propriety.

    All most strange. Against fortune, against custom. But then, who could expect decorum to be honoured when the end of the world drew near?

    Ilangi the priest said little, letting the multi-speaker, disjointed conversation wash over him. He saw little accomplishment in speaking. Not until he had something worth saying. Some times were made for declaration, some for proper thought. Most of the men in the throne room mistook this time for the former.

    Significantly, King Otella said nothing for a long time, too. Content to listen and inform himself, perhaps. The monarch was a difficult man to anticipate.

    Not that any man could predict what would happen at such a time. A time of which much had been foretold, but none that could be confirmed. A time that would bring change, and a future which might not even contain men any longer.

    At length, the king extended one hand and gathered the staff of office from its resting place across his knees. A simple staff of red-brown wood, carved fresh from an ironbark tree [1] at the start of His Majesty’s reign. As were all staves of office. Only the head of the staff was preserved: gold carved into the shape of a miniature skull, its eye sockets inset with a blue sapphire and a white pearl, symbolising the Blue and White Lands.

    The more alert courtiers and priests saw that His Majesty had taken up his staff, and fell silent. The less alert, and the more stupid – those often being the same men – kept talking. Until the king said, not over-loudly, “Attend me.”

    Absolute silence descended soon thereafter. The king was merciful compared to some of his predecessors, and was not known to have had men executed over trivialities. But only an utter fool would knowingly test the limits of the royal patience.

    “How many niches in the Mound of Memory are yet unfilled?” Ortella said.

    The Father said, “Twenty-three.”

    No-one added, but Ilangi knew, that those few niches remained unfilled because the priestly hierarchy had become ever more vigilant in assessing any new heads for suitability. Most had been rejected, over the past couple of years. He had presided over several such judgments himself, and invariably found that those who sought a place in memory were unworthy.

    That practice had caused its own problems. Where rejection of a head had been rare, now it had become commonplace. The remaining few niches could only hold those of the uttermost quality, but that simple truth had been difficult to grasp amongst the warriors. His Majesty may have heard whispers of the discontent that caused, but that would not come from the priests. Their role was to protect His Majesty from any who would interfere with his divine duty.

    “So few, out of so many,” the king said. “Selecting who could fill the remainder must have required great diligence.”

    The Father bowed, neatly avoiding answering. An astute practice, when reading the royal mood was ever more difficult.

    “Even when a head deserves memory, it need not always be on the Mound,” the king said.

    The décor of the throne room proved that. The walls held many niches too, skulls which had been placed here over the years for one reason or another. Being of royal blood ordinarily entitled a man to be preserved on the Mound upon his death, but some chose to be honoured here instead. Other niches had been filled with warriors’ heads to defend the monarch in death as they had in life.

    Not that all the skulls in this room were from the worthy. His Majesty casually sipped his ganyu [spiced yam wine] from the polished skull of the last would-be usurper who sought to claim the throne. The crown of the skull had been smoothly sliced off and re-attached by bronze hinges, while glass had been set to fill the eye sockets, nasal cavity, and ear holes, and both to attach and seal the jaw. The usurper had been denied Memory, but was still remembered.

    “Identifying the worthy skull-bearers to fill the Mound is a formidable task,” the Father said.

    “And it has been yours,” the king said. “So advise me.”

    The Father’s face went smooth. Too smooth. Ilangi, who had long experience judging the moods of the senior priests, knew that this meant that the Father concealed reluctance to speak. Surely due to not wanting to express a view contrary to the decision which the king had already made. Death would be a rare punishment for the highest priest, but more than one previous incumbent of his office had found himself reassigned to spiritual duties in the western highlands for offering statements which the king did not want to hear.

    “A time of change beckons. That is inevitable, as legends and sacred writings foretell. What is not foretold is what the People must do to ensure that we endure through the change.”

    “That is truth, but not a path of action. I keenly await your advice,” the king said.

    “The Mound of Memory must sustain us,” the Father said. “Its near-completion tells us that its purpose is nearly ready to implement, but it is still up to us to fill the remaining niches with the most worthy, so that the Mound can fulfill its destiny. Surely most of the remaining niches must be filled by these raw men – or those capable of besting them. It cannot be chance that these raw men have come now.”

    “No. Their arrival is fated. The Closure is upon us,” the king said.

    That produced a wide murmur of assent, as men prostrated themselves in recognition. Ilangi was among them. His heart started to beat faster. He already knew that the end of the world drew knew, but hearing His Majesty’s declaration made it feel so much more real.

    Otella casually lifted his staff, and quiet returned. “But we still must know what role these raw men will play in the Closure. What do they say they want?”

    The Father looked to another man, the interpreter Keajura, who had spoken most with these raw men. The interpreter said, “They babble of their Association and their desire for trade.”

    “Trade!” the Father said. “As if they are some mere Islanders who care more for baubles than for morals!”

    The king remained quiet, leaving the Father to go smooth-faced again. The highest priest turned back to the interpreter. “Do these men truly say they have sailed from the other side of the world?”

    The interpreter shook his head. “They do.”

    The Father said, “They have come at the Closure of the world, from the uttermost ends of the earth. Surely they cannot be some mere merchants!”

    Weenggina pushed forward to stand beside the Father. Captain of the king’s guard, the man had a notorious reputation. Nicknamed “Twelve-Man”, he had won twelve duels against other blooded warriors whose skulls now resided in the Mound. Fortunately for the priests, Wennggina had not accepted any more duels since his appointment as captain; if he had fought and died, not even the most ardent priest could deny the man’s right to fill one of the remaining niches in the Mound.

    “How many men have these Inglundirr killed?” Weenggina demanded.

    “They deny having killed anybody, let alone a blooded warrior,” the interpreter said. “To a man, they deny it.”

    “Spoken like Islander cowards!” Weenggina said. “Though even they have sometimes been persuaded to fight.”

    The interpreter said, “The right words can persuade almost anyone to fight. Particularly if spoken by a warrior carrying a very large sword.”

    The king laughed. Rather more than the interpreter’s small witticism deserved, to Ilangi’s mind, but he dutifully chuckled along with the rest of the court.

    “If it please the king, I will challenge them personally,” Weenggina said.

    “Your ardour befits you, as always, but that will not be necessary,” the king said. He clicked the staff on the ground beside him three times. I have decided, the action declared.

    “These raw men will be instructed to name two champions to fight each other. The winner will fight a blooded warrior, to determine who is worthy of the Mound. If the raw men refuse to name champions, then blooded warriors will kill two of them, and those warriors may fight each other to determine who shall be added to the Mound.”

    * * *

    [1] The grey ironbark tree, Eucalyptus paniculata, which has distinctive red-brown heartwood. This wood is extremely hard and pest-resistant, and so is the wood chosen to carve the Daluming monarch’s staff of office. Because of these qualities, it is rare that even the most long-reigning monarch would need to replace their staff of office during their lifetime.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #61: A Time For Harmony
  • Lands of Red and Gold #61: A Time For Harmony

    Ta mal-pa Pliri, ni gapu-pa Bula Gakal-girri marang.” (There is but one Harmony, and only the Sevenfold Path will give it balance.)
    - The traditional affirmation of faith made by the Nangu school of Plirism

    * * *

    May-December 1637
    Ngamotu, Lands of the Ngati Apa iwi, Te Ika a Maui, Aotearoa [New Plymouth, Taranaki, North Island, New Zealand]

    Every land has its own rhythm. Its own cycles, its own patterns and ways of conduct into which every man and woman would find themselves falling. Cycles of months and years: the turning of the seasons, the collections of the harvest. Cycles of proper times for conduct: times for festivals, times for restraint, a time for war, and a time for peace. Cycles of life itself: birth to childhood to adolescence to adulthood to marriage, creation of a fresh generation, aging, death and finally rebirth.

    Or so it seemed to Nameless the priest. He had quickly found the rhythm of the Maori lands. Even before he had learned much of their language and their ways, he found himself fitting into their rhythm.

    Much of this land’s rhythm he found familiar. So many crops and spices were the same: red yams, wealth-trees [wattles], murnong, sweet peppers, river mint, and many others. The cycle of planting, tending and harvest was the same on both sides of the Gray Sea [Tasman Sea]. Ducks and noroons [emus] were the same too, both in their behaviour and their taste, though he missed the geese of the Cider Isle [Tasmania], especially food fried in goose fat.

    Yet much of the land’s rhythm was strange, too. Their rituals and worship were entirely alien: acknowledgement of their genealogy and bloodlines; long recitations of deeds, both their own and their ancestors; poetry both spoken and chanted to music; dances and music of most peculiar form.

    Unusual, too, was how their entire town’s life focused around the open, paved area which they called the marae. Everything except eating seemed to happen here: not just their rituals and dances, but everyday discussion of events, welcoming or rejection of visitors, the place to practice their crafts like their odd form of tattooing, and where they had held two weddings and one mass funeral that he had seen so far.

    Or, rather, everything except eating and weaving. Even on the Island, people knew of the superior form of flax which the Maori grew on Aotearoa. On the Cider Isle, he had seen that textiles and rope woven from that flax were the major trade good which the Maori exchanged for bronze and spices. Here in Aotearoa, he saw how it formed the largest part of their lives, at least for the women and slaves: cultivating and harvesting the flax was part of the rhythm of the seasons, while washing, bleaching, fixing, softening, dyeing and drying the completed fibres became part of the rhythm of many individual lives [1].

    In all, living in Aotearoa had quickly shown Nameless that this land had its own rhythm and customs, and that the Maori used this to bring themselves into their own form of marang [balance]. Not a perfect balance, naturally; only the Sevenfold Path could bring that to a land. But still, living here had reminded him that many peoples had part of the truth.

    The Maori king and his chieftains here, for instance, considered it a mark of their mana to harshly punish someone who acted outside of their station. Death could come quickly to anyone who transgressed the unwritten codes of Maori life. A woman who spoke out of turn, a low-ranking person who failed to show proper respect, or a slave who committed even a minor infraction. All of them could face death.

    On the Island, or the Cider Isle, or any place which had learned much of the true path, death would be considered too severe an action. Yet for all of that, all Maori understood their station in life. They had grasped part of the Second Path, that everyone should act in accordance with tradition and station.

    Indeed, it seemed to him that the Maori were closer to the truth than some other peoples. Take the barbaric Atjuntja, as Nameless had discovered when he resided for a time in the Nangu Quarter of the White City [Albany, Western Australia]. The Atjuntja had grasped a little truth, no matter how they concealed it in their fables of Lord and Lady. Even part had a pain in life, Nameless knew. Some priests spoke of a world in perfect harmony as being one without pain, but he knew better. Pain can help, or can be necessary, much as a Gunnagal physician caused pain when removing a diseased tooth.

    The Maori, too, with their endless cycle of revenge and retribution, knew that every action has consequences. What they had not yet learned – though perhaps he might teach them – was how to choose the best response. Sometimes violence must answer violence, but at other times the answer would be not to respond. The Maori had to balance their knowledge of the Second Path with the guidance of the First and Third Paths.

    So Nameless had remained among the Maori to learn their ways, as he done among the Atjuntja and Kurnawal before them. The weeks turned into months, and he found the rhythm of the land, and he learned. The Kalendi had conducted their trade mission and gone, and while Nameless cared little for the minutiae of commerce, that young captain seemed to have done well for himself. The captain had made various intimations that he or another Kalendi captain would return. Perhaps they would; it did not matter. There would be a way home if Nameless needed one. There was always a way, for one who followed the Sevenfold Path properly.

    When the Kalendi traders had departed, they took the interpreter Nardoo with them. The interpreter was a coward – though he concealed it well enough that anyone who was not a priest might not recognise it – but still, the man had been very helpful in communicating with the Maori. His departure left Nameless much more hard-pressed to understand the people of Aotearoa.

    Nameless persisted, though. He had never been a man to lose hope easily, and the Third Path dictated that an action, once commenced, should not be lightly abandoned. He learned the Maori language as quickly as he could, aided by those here who knew something of the Nangu language.

    Soon enough, he found himself in a position where he could give proper advice, to those who sought it. A considerable number of people wanted his guidance. For these Maori, who called themselves the Ngati Apa, had a surprising number of Plirites. Distressingly, most of these adherents were men and women of lower classes. That would never do, in the long run. All must be Plirite for a society to be properly harmonious, but most notably the rulers. The head controlled the body, and the rulers set the tone for the land.

    None of which stopped him giving proper advice to all who asked. Sadly, those who called themselves priests here were but half-trained locals, bereft of communication with other more experienced priests on the Island who could help them along the Seventh Path to improve their own understanding. He found out, eventually, that the last Island-born priest had died five years before, and the people here had been lacking in guidance ever since.

    Nameless had expected to be in a position to give advice to individuals. Respectful of Maori custom, though, and mindful of the maxim that counsel is usually best given alone, at first he gave his instruction away from the marae. What surprised him –though, on reflection, it should not have – was when the Maori started to call on him to speak during the discussions at the marae.

    He struggled with that concept, at its inception. A community needed to work together to be in proper harmony, but nonetheless the road to understanding was one each individual must tread alone, at their own pace. But the Maori were much for speaking at the marae, at least for individuals who were deemed to have mana. The Maori king eventually made his decisions privately – or in conference with his high kin – but he usually first informed himself by letting the high-ranking men and women of the community offer their views.

    So, for all that it went against his preferences, Nameless adapted to the rhythm of this land, and began to speak at the marae, offering his counsel on matters as they arose. He spoke at times of the Paths and how they offered guidance, though he was careful never to couch his views as absolutes, only as part of what would help the community reach understanding. He offered choice quotes from Oora Gulalu [The Endless Road] where he found its eloquence greater than his own.

    And the Maori listened. Nameless was one voice among many, at first, but as he found more of the rhythm of this land, he found that his voice was heeded more and more.

    One day, the marae saw a particularly vigorous debate about how to manage a dispute between two subkings. Or ariki hapu, as the Maori called them [2]. Nameless offered his views, as he always did, about how best to avoid turning the dispute into a vendetta. The debate ended, as it usually did, with King Arapeta withdrawing into the wharenui, the great hall which formed the more private part of his palace. As normal, the king invited a number of the high-status speakers to join him. More unusually, the invitation was extended to Nameless.

    Inside the wharenui, the king said, “Tell me more about why you believe that I should end the conflict between Pomare and Henare Kaihau... equally, you say?”

    “Without favouring one side over the other,” Nameless said.

    One of the younger chieftains said, “A leader must be strong and reward those who show the greatest mana.”

    The king held up a hand. “Let Bana [Nameless] speak. I would hear him.”

    Nameless said, “Pomare and Henare Kaihau lead different hapu, but they are part of the same iwi. Part of the same community. Fighting between them only weakens the iwi as a whole. Favouring one over the other would bring disharmony to the iwi.”

    “If I order them to stop fighting, then their warriors will be deprived of war, of the chance to prove themselves and their deeds. Do you say that warriors should not fight?” the king asked.

    “Sometimes war is proper. Sometimes it is not. I have not heard anyone say what Pomare and Henare Kaihau have done that makes war proper, only that each fights because the other does.”

    “Once the first blow is struck – for whatever reason – the other must respond,” the king said.

    The lack of a clear explanation could only mean that no-one really knew which of the two hapu had the right of it. Which was why this dispute must be ended. “And then the other must respond to the second blow, and again and again.”

    “That is how life works,” the same younger chieftain – Ngata – said.

    “And so should they fight each other in perpetuity?” Nameless said. “Both are of this iwi; if their hapu are weakened by endless warfare, the iwi is diminished.”

    The king said, “And is this how your people solve disputes on your Island?”

    Nameless said, “Sometimes. Many things must be considered. Feuds and vendettas are part of our history.” More frequently than Nameless would have liked, in fact, but he glossed over that. “Sometimes they are necessary. Sometimes they are not. And even when they are necessary, in time they must be ended. Or the whole Island would be harmed.”

    Ngata said, “A feud ends when one side concedes the superior mana of the other.”

    “Or when the fighting between them goes on for so long that another iwi invades,” Nameless said. “One who is not weakened by infighting between its hapu.”

    The king gave Nameless a long, steady gaze. The priest returned it calmly. At length, the monarch said, “I would speak with the priest alone.”

    After the others departed, the king said, “You held back many of your thoughts. Speak plainly now.”

    Nameless said, “What we have learned on the Island is that the response to a vendetta is one of the measures of a true leader, rather than a mere man who gives orders. Sometimes vendettas must happen. What marks a true leader is one who can determine when such feuds must end. Sometimes a feud or raid must be done, for honour, to ensure that men learn that their actions have consequences.”

    “And so?”

    “What you must remember is the consequences of your own actions. If those actions mean that what follows will be worse for you and the iwi who depend on you, that is when you must consider what must be done to end a vendetta.”

    The king shook his head. “I will consider this.”

    Nameless bowed, and started to withdraw, until the king held up a hand.

    “I would like to hear more of your Island, in the days ahead,” King Arapeta said.

    Nameless almost offered to give the king a copy of The Endless Road, to let the king find out for himself. Then he decided against it. That book contained too much truth for the king to absorb at once. Too many things which a Maori mind would need to unlearn, and to hear all of them at once might be too repelling.

    Besides, he was not even sure if the king could read. Some Maori could, but most did not. The role of scribe was not particularly prestigious in this land, no matter how essential they were to running the kingdom.

    Instead, Nameless said, “I will tell you more.”

    * * *

    [1] Historically, the Maori in Aotearoa made extensive use of textiles created from New Zealand flax (Phormium tenax and P. colensoi), creating everything from clothing to fishing nets to cooking utensils to baskets to cordage to lash together ocean-going canoes. However, the plants were abundant enough that the Maori simply harvested what they needed from the wild; they rarely (if ever) cultivated the plants. Despite this, cultivation of New Zealand flax is quite simple, and the plant has been established overseas as a fibre crop, e.g. the island of St Helena had an economy which was basically dependent on a monoculture of New Zealand flax for much of the twentieth century.

    Allohistorically, the much higher population in Aotearoa means that the Maori have taken up active cultivation of New Zealand flax, and also conduct more slave raids to secure slaves to work it. The greater demand means that the gender divide about working the plant has also been reduced; the historical Maori regarded weaving of flax as women’s work, and Maori men did not take up weaving flax until the development of an export trade in the nineteenth century.

    [2] Each Maori iwi, or kingdom, is divided into a number of hapu (roughly translated as clans), which in turn are further subdivided into whanau (roughly translated as localities). An ariki, or leader, rules each of these subdivisions: ariki whanau lead a locality, ariki hapu lead a clan of various whanau, and the ariki iwi is more or less a king.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #62: Heaven’s Mandate
  • Lands of Red and Gold #62: Heaven’s Mandate

    Taken from Intellipedia.

    Absolute Monarchy

    Absolute monarchy or supreme monarchy is a monarchical form of government where the monarch wields supreme governing authority. The monarch fills the role of head of state and head of government, with powers that are unrestricted by a constitution, law, or any other official constraints. An absolute monarch possesses full sovereignty over both the state and its people. Absolute monarchies are usually hereditary but other forms of succession are sometimes applied, such as elective (a designated body chooses the successor) or selective (the monarch chooses the successor). Absolute monarchy contrasts with bound monarchy, where the monarch’s authority is constrained by a constitution or other legal or religious limits.

    Notionally, an absolute monarch possesses supreme, unrestricted power over the land and the people. Examples of such pure [questionable term: discuss] absolute monarchs are rare; in most instances the monarchy is still subject to political constraints from other social groups or classes, e.g. the aristocracy or clergy.

    Some contemporary monarchies have ineffectual or façade legislatures or other governmental bodies which the monarch can remove or change without constraint...

    Historical Examples

    In the words of historian Matthew Perry: “The history of early modern Europe is the history of the transition from feudal contract to absolute monarchy.”

    Among the most apt examples of an absolute monarch is James II of England [1], epitomised in his famous declarations: “I cannot break the law; I am the law.” and “In my heart, that is England.” While some modern historians [who?] criticise him for his opulent lifestyle, he ruled England for nearly half a century, and he is widely recognised [dubious: discuss] for his achievements both domestic and foreign.

    As King of England, he held in his person the supreme executive, legislative and judicial powers. As head of state, he had the power to declare war and to raise war funds by any means he chose. He was the ultimate judicial authority, with final right to condemn men to death with no appeal. He considered it his duty to punish all crimes, and to prevent crimes being committed. While advised by the Privy Council, he alone retained the power to enact and repeal legislation.

    Absolutism in early modern Europe first found formal written expression in the 1656 Kongeloven (“King's Law”) of Denmark [2]. The Danish monarchy already exercised absolute authority in its realm of Rugen, where as King of the Vends he had no constraints on his authority. The 1656 declaration extended this authority to all of the realms of Denmark and Norway, and ordered that the monarch “shall from this day forth be revered and considered the most perfect and supreme person on the Earth by all his subjects, standing above all human laws and having no judge above his person, neither in spiritual nor temporal matters, except God alone.

    Under this authority, the Danish monarch removed all other sources of power. The most significant of these was the abolition of the Rigsraadet, the Danish Council of the Realm, which had been a long opponent of unfettered royal power.

    However, testament to the limits of absolutism also came from Denmark. Even an absolute monarch turned out to be not so absolute after all. In the next year after the Kongeloven Declaration, King Ulrik sought to enforce his personal rule on the city of Bremen. Bremen had historically been a free city within the Holy Roman Empire, but Denmark had claimed sovereignty over the city at the end of the Twenty Years’ War. However, Bremen continued to hold itself to be a free city. In response to the absolutist declaration, the city council of Bremen declared that it was a free imperial city, paid homage to the Emperor, and sought a seat and vote in the Imperial Diet.

    King Ulrik responded by ordering a siege of Bremen to force the city to acknowledge his rule. Heavily fortified, Bremen could not be easily conquered, and the city found support from the Netherlands and the Emperor, the one on the grounds of religion and commerce, the other on the grounds of imperial prestige, and the both on the grounds that Denmark already had too much power. With imperial and Dutch troops on the border, Ulrik had to abandon the siege. While Denmark did not yield its formal claim to absolute rule of Bremen along with its other territories, it did allow Bremen to remain de facto separate, with levels of taxes and duties paid that were minimal in comparison to the Danish norm, and the Emperor sought to preserve this peace by removing Bremen’s participation in the Diet.

    Sweden under King Charles X instituted a form of government which was never formally called absolute monarchy, but which in practice conformed to that standard. Under Charles X and his son Charles XI [3] all other centres of power were systematically removed or reduced to impotence. The Riksrådet, the Swedish Council of the Realm, had served as a bastion of aristocracy with nobles who advised the monarch. The institution was rarely called under Kristina and was dissolved by Charles X in 1672, replaced by a Royal Council of bureaucrats who advised and were chosen by the monarch, and served at his pleasure. In 1675 the power of the aristocrats was further curbed by the Great Reduction which returned most of the noble estates to the Swedish crown.

    The Swedish legislature, the Riksdag of the Estates, was not formally abolished, but became ineffectual because the Swedish monarchs treated it as having authority only in the pre-1618 borders, and not in the lands acquired during the Twenty Years’ War. In the new territories, Sweden broke the power of the local aristocracy, with most of their lands falling under the rule of the monarchy, leading to Kristina and Charles X being absolute monarchs within those dominions, which comprised the majority of the population of the Swedish empire. With these lands and resources at their command, Charles X and Charles XI reduced the Riksdag to a rubber stamp that approved their decisions, when they bothered to assemble the Estates...

    For most of history, absolute monarchy found its theological underpinnings via the Divine Right of Kings. European monarchs such as those of Russia claimed supreme power by divine right, with subjects having no rights to check monarchical authority. The House of Stuart (James I, Charles I, and Charles II) imported this concept to England during the seventeenth century, leading to political dissension, rebellion, and ultimately the English Civil War during the reign of Charles II and the beginning of the era of English Absolutism. However, Portugal [flagged for irrelevance: discuss] never had a period of absolute monarchy in early modern Europe [citation needed].

    Even where the concept of Divine Right had been abandoned or become outmoded, except in Russia, absolute monarchs continued to claim their supreme sovereignty on the grounds of the State; the monarch was the state. This doctrine of personal sovereignty first found explicit expression in France: “L’état, c’est le roi” – the State, it is the King. The same fundamental concept was adopted during the Absolutist period in England, and in most other European states, however, Russia retained the explicit trapping of Divine Right.

    Objections to the doctrines of divine right and personal sovereignty were prominent in the ideas expressed during the Age of Enlightenment...

    Saxony

    Saxony had a nearly unique political framework in early modern Europe: a de facto absolute monarch in a de jure limited monarchy. The emphasis in Saxony was on the Elector (and later, the king) in the role of “sovereign servant of the state”, rather than possessing explicit supreme authority. Despite this, over the course of the seventeenth century, especially during and after the Twenty Years’ War, Saxony developed in a way which paralleled the rise of Absolutism.

    John George II (r. 1628-1667), the Musician-Elector, acquired enormous new territories during the later part of the Twenty Years’ War, and in keeping with the trends of the time, these became part of the dominion of the sovereign rather than being awarded to nobles. These new estates supported the extravagant expenditure of the Musician-Elector, who made Dresden a major centre of music and the arts and attracted composers and performers from across Europe [4]. His son John George III had a strict Lutheran education, focused on the duty of the Albertine Wettins as the protectors of the Reformation (as they saw it), and learned more about fortification and warfare than he did about music; those same incomes were used for more martial pursuits. Under John George III and his successors, the “sovereign servant” became simply sovereign, and in time each of the representative assembles of ancestral Saxony [5] granted the monarch the authority to levy taxes without needing their consent: a mark of Absolutism.

    Sicily

    Sicily is the most well-known example [dubious: flagged for discussion] of the replacement of absolute monarchy by limited monarchy within early modern Europe. Insular Sicily had been an absolute monarchy under the Aragonese and Spanish crowns since 1409. However, the Sicilian Agricultural Revolution, starting circa 1660 [6], dramatically increased agricultural productivity, & in turn sent population increasing and economic strength was boosted.

    Lacking in any local sovereign representation, Sicily was ruled by the distant absolutist sovereigns of Spain, who never visited the island except in time of war, and viewed it merely as a source of funds. Discontentment and dissension followed, particularly over arbitrary decisions of Spanish-born magistrates about taxation and sometimes confiscation of the newly-productive lands. Lacking systematic land tenure or inheritance, discontented younger sons turned to agitation, and in time to revolution.

    The Advent Revolution was ignited by objections to the absolutist rule of Spain, and led to the establishment of a new, native monarchy. Lorenzo Piazzi claimed the title of monarch in 1729, and won international recognition of his rank in 1736 with the culmination of the Revolution, but what he could not claim for himself was the role of an absolute monarch.

    Sicily was independent, but reliant on foreign support that constrained it from overseas adventures that might have been used to distract the populace. Lorenzo I had no legitimate claim to royal birth, and thus no hereditary authority to use as sanction for Absolutism. During the revolutionary era, local assemblies had raised both troops and funds to support the rebellion. These assemblies did not willingly disband after the Revolution was successful, but instead demanded a form of permanent recognition. While Lorenzo I would have preferred to establish an absolutist monarchy [citation needed], circumstances forced him to create a constitutional monarchy with a permanent representative assembly...

    * * *

    [1] Not the historical James II of England / James VII of Scotland (b. 1633), who was son of Charles I of England. The historical James II of England does not exist because his father died from the Aururian plagues in 1631. This James II (b.1652) is the allohistorical son of Charles II of England and Luise of Hesse-Kassel (herself the allohistorical daughter of William V, Landgrave of Hesse-Kassel).

    [2] Denmark made a similar declaration historically, but nine years later (1665). The enhanced monarchical power of the Twenty Years’ War leads to the earlier introduction of the King’s Law.

    [3] The allohistorical Charles XI of Sweden (b. 1650) is the son of Charles X Gustav of Sweden (while still only Duke of Öland and heir presumptive to the throne) and his wife and cousin Queen Kristina of Sweden.

    [4] Historically, John George II’s expenditure on music and the arts nearly sent him bankrupt, and he was forced to grant much revenue-raising power to the nobles and burghers. Allohistorically, the income from his new estates lets him indulge his heart as patron of the arts without needing to make any concessions.

    [5] i.e. the pre-Twenty Years’ War territories of Electoral Saxony.

    [6] i.e. the introduction of new Aururian crops and farming methods into the island of Sicily, and the consequent agricultural development with increased output and new farming technology.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #63: The Fatal Shore
  • Lands of Red and Gold #63: The Fatal Shore

    “Duty is doing what others would have you do. Integrity is doing what you know you must do.”
    - Bungudjimay proverb

    * * *

    My pen feels heavier than a mountain. Perhaps duty is what weighs it down, but I must hold it, all the same. The world must know what passes here.

    Gold brought us to this land. Lucre was what the Company sought. We found it here. This place is a land of gold. Some of it is ripe for commerce, with natives who are if not welcoming, at least willing to consider trade. Gold, peppers, greater tobacco, jeeree, will please any Director of the Company.

    Alas, some of this land is much, much worse!

    The people here have built a pyramid. Reaching into the heavens, and decorated with glass, it shines into the heavens when first seen with the dawn. As if Egypt of old has been reborn here. But step closer to it, and you will see the rotten heart of this land.

    This pyramid is properly called Glazkul, for behind each pane of glass is a skull. No Egyptians are here. This is a place of barbarism, of some half-breed Mexicans who have crossed the Pacific to bring their pagan rites to this new land.

    And, though it pains me to write it, this must be told. The Mexican king has declared that more skulls will be added to this pyramid. Our skulls, or those who kill us. We must agree to have two of us fight each other, and the winner fight a Mexican challenger, with the loser of that to give their skull in pagan rite. Or they will kill two of us anyway, and fight among themselves for whose skull will be added to Glazkul.

    What sacrifice of mankind and blood unbound has brought Mexicans to this fatal shore?

    (signed) William Baffin

    * * *

    Cultural clashes are hardly unknown in history, or even in allohistory. Even so, the divergent perspectives of the English and the Bungudjimay of Daluming were spectacular.

    The Bungudjimay had built their state religion on collecting the heads of the worthy dead and interring them behind glass in the pyramid they called the Mound of Memory. The completion of the Mound, with its ten levels of skulls, marked the Closure, the end of the world.

    Quite what the Closure meant was never completely defined. The priests had never built a consensus, although various sacred foretellings described a wide collection of events involving resurrection of the fallen, visitation from various supernatural and perhaps divine beings, and the creation of a new world order. It did not mean the physical destruction of the world as a whole, but the establishment of a new age where all that had gone before was overturned.

    The arrival of the Closure had been long-awaited, but not hastened. Many of the existing priests, while fervent in their beliefs, did not want the Closure to begin until there were suitable signs. So as the number of empty niches in the Mound declined, they became more cautious about who was chosen to have their heads interred behind glass. That would let them respond to the right portents when they appeared, and discover what the end of the world involved.

    Whatever the Closure meant, the last thing which the Bungudjimay priests expected was that it would be heralded by another group of traders come looking for spices.

    An English expedition under William Baffin had explored Aururia, with discovery motivated by profit. The English East India Company had charged Baffin with finding new markets and new trade goods.

    Baffin had fulfilled his instructions well, reaching what was an entirely new world to English eyes, and one which until recently had developed in complete cultural isolation. In time-honoured European fashion, Baffin tried to relate the inhabitants of Aururia into other peoples who were already known from the Old World, though he was often unsuccessful.

    The early English contact with the other natives of Aururia – Mutjing and Islander, Yadji and Tjunini – found peoples with strange ways and beliefs, to European eyes. Yet at least these people were comprehensible, if unusual, and more importantly, showed receptiveness to trade. Or indeed, open-handed eagerness, in the case of the Islanders.

    After this, coming to face to face with Daluming and its pyramid of skulls was the very model of a modern major culture shock.

    Alien as the Bungudjimay were, the English sought for cultural analogies. Brief visions of Egyptians were shattered when Baffin first glimpsed the skulls in the Mound of Memory. To be replaced by fumbling explanations of Mexicans and human sacrifice. A forgivable misunderstanding, perhaps, given what followed.

    Baffin and seven sailors had been invited as guests to the royal palace in Yuragir [Coffs Harbour, NSW]. While there, they were summoned to their first audience with the Daluming monarch, in the royal hall decorated with interred skulls. Those skulls were from previous princes and warriors who had chosen to be preserved there, but the English sailors naturally assumed that the skulls were from sacrificial victims.

    In this same hall of skulls, Baffin and his sailors were informed that they were to name two champions to fight each other, with the winner to fight a Bungudjimay warrior for a place on the Mound of Memory. Or with the option of having two random sailors killed by Bungudjimay warriors instead, and those would kill each other as the price of admission to Glazkul.

    The English reaction to this pagan rite needs little imagining. However imperfect their faith might be, Baffin and his crew considered themselves Christian, and more precisely as adherents of the Church of England. No Christian could countenance such human sacrifice. Even if the alternative was merciless slaughter of two of their own.

    In the account which was recorded in Baffin’s journal, the dilemma was solved when two of his sailors, Jonathan Bradford and Nicholas Beveridge, volunteered to fight each other to save their companions’ lives. Baffin tried to dissuade them, but they remained steadfast in their desire. Bradford and Beveridge fought what was meant to be an even fight to the death, but Bradford deliberately stumbled during the duel, allowing Beveridge to kill him.

    Beveridge went on to fight a Bungudjimay warrior, Weenggina – or Wing Jonah as Baffin misunderstood the name – who killed him with ease, and Beveridge’s skull was added to the pyramid of skulls. Bradford’s skull was given back to the English, where Baffin took it with him to be returned to England for a proper Christian burial.

    With that challenge completed, Baffin fled with all haste from Daluming, and this time he was unhindered. He recorded in his journal that he hoped that the next English ships which came to “Mexico of the Orient” should send a volley of cannonballs into Glazkul. He charted the rest of the eastern coast of Aururia, including an island at the southern end of a great reef which would later bear his name [Fraser Island], but refused to set foot on the Land of Gold again. He skirted New Guinea and returned to Surat in India, where he gave his report and asked for a ship to be sent to rejoin the sailors who he had left among the Yadji. After that, he brought his ships back to England.

    Of course, that was what was recorded in Baffin’s journal. The story was matched by every account ever given of the experience by the five remaining sailors who had accompanied Baffin onto land. Bradford’s skull was interred in Wells Cathedral in Somerset, where he quickly became venerated as a martyr and in time as a saint (hero) of the Church of England.

    On Baffin’s eventual return to England, however, Nicholas Beveridge’s wife Mary refused to believe that her husband would have gone to his death in such a manner. She insisted that Baffin and the other sailors must have forced him into it, giving up her husband for a pagan rite, and that Baffin had effectively condemned him to death. She began a public campaign of letter-writing and denouncements which continued for as long as she lived; her efforts only ended with her death from smallpox in 1651.

    No matter how many times Baffin denied Mary Beveridge’s tale, he was never completely believed. Opprobrium lingered on William Baffin. No matter how much of a plutocrat he became in later years, he never quite gained acceptance into wealthy society, thanks in part to the lingering suspicion which clung to him.

    The Company, however, was greatly pleased with Baffin’s discoveries. While Daluming itself seemed to be a place to be avoided, establishing permanent relations with the Yadji was an immediate priority, with the gold of the Tjunini and the spices of the eastern seaboard also seen as promising opportunities.

    The next English ship to visit the Yadji had been sent from Surat before Baffin returned to England, and it would not be the last. The English East India Company now actively pursued an interest in Aururia. A fact which greatly displeased the Dutch East India Company, for they considered the continent their private preserve, and the greatest spice island.

    Within a handful of years, the two companies were in a state of undeclared war. The first blow was struck in Aururia itself; in 1642 the Dutch raided Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria], the first English outpost in the Yadji realm. But the campaign would be a much more wide-ranging one, fought across Aururia, the East Indies, Ceylon, India and southern Africa...

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #64: From the Island to the World
  • Lands of Red and Gold #64: From the Island to the World

    “Mourn not for the past, learn from it.
    Hope not for the future, plan for it
    Complain not about the present, experience it.”

    - From Oora Gulalu [The Endless Road], a text composed in Tjibarr in the fifteenth century, and widely respected by both Plirite and Tjarrling believers

    * * *

    Crimson Day, Cycle of Strength, 398th Year of Harmony (1.26.398) / 15 January 1638
    Ngamotu, Lands of the Ngati Apa iwi, Te Ika a Maui, Aotearoa [New Plymouth, Taranaki, North Island, New Zealand]

    Life among the Maori in Aotearoa: a place where reputation had made them out to be barely better than the Yadji, bloodthirsty warriors ready to kill without provocation. As Nameless the priest had expected, that reputation held some truth, but only some.

    The Maori had their own social code, their own customs. Within the limits of that code, they were hospitality personified: welcoming, generous, polite, helpful. Anyone who transgressed the bounds of the Maori code would be punished, though. Severely punished.

    Nameless had learned what he could of their customs before visiting, based on what he was told by some Maori and Maori-speakers living on the Cider Isle [Tasmania]. That had helped. When he finally arrived in Aotearoa, the Maori were open enough for him to learn more.

    In turn, Nameless started providing advice to the Maori. At first, he gave individual guidance to those Maori who had accepted the true faith, who followed the Sevenfold Path [Plirism]. The Maori being as they were, they soon started inviting him to speak at their communal meetings at their marae. And, in time, he found himself giving advice to the Maori king himself.

    Ariki iwi [King] Arapeta proved to be far more thoughtful and open to proper guidance than Nameless had expected. Like any Maori chieftain, he was inclined to harshly punish anyone who transgressed the Maori social code. They believed that demonstrated a chieftain’s mana. But Arapeta was willing to think about things, to hear alternative perspectives even if he did not agree with them.

    Nameless found, in fact, that he had become a private counsellor to the king. Sometimes on particular matters which affected the kingdom, but also about how to conduct life in general. To provide that advice, Nameless usually turned to The Endless Road – which in his opinion was the most helpful single text ever written – or one of the half-dozen other writings he had brought with him to Aotearoa.

    There was no point in giving the king a copy of the book itself. Even if it could be translated into Maori – a feat beyond Nameless’ ability – the king could not read. Arapeta relied on scribes to record information and read it to him when needed.

    In any case, this let Nameless choose the best passages to read to the king. Like any non-believer, too much truth at once could overwhelm him. Nameless chose those passages which were most appropriate to the king’s current level of understanding.

    Among his preferred segments were about how the Good Man had lived, back in the long-vanished days of the kingdom of Lopitja. How the Good Man had wealth and power, and had abandoned it. How he believed that his mana – a word which Nameless translated loosely – would benefit all men, spreading his advice by words rather than by force of arms. The Good Man did not decry warfare, as Nameless was at pains to point out, but helped people to see how it fit into the broader pattern of their lives. The Good Man showed how everyone could order their lives to ensure maximum harmony for all, within their own stations in life.

    The king seemed to be more and more intrigued, as Nameless chose other passages from The Endless Road which explained about how to live. Until, one morning, the king turned his attention to another of the endless feuds which dominated Maori life. Nameless had given advice before on resolving a vendetta between two subtribes [hapu] within the kingdom. This vendetta was more complex, involving an endless cycle of raids and revenge attacks between one subtribe of Arapeta’s realm, and that of the neighbouring Muaupoko kingdom.

    Nameless saw his opening when the king mentioned that these endless raids were costing too many warriors from the subtribe for its subking to answer properly when the king called for warriors.

    “What stops you from negotiating a settlement with the ariki iwi of the Muaupoko to end the raids?” Nameless asked.

    “A raid cannot go unanswered,” the king said. “A leader of strong mana cannot afford to show weakness.”

    “Doing nothing is not always weakness,” Nameless said. “Sometimes having the self-control to do nothing is the greatest strength of all.”

    “And have my ariki hapu whisper that I lack the courage to respond to their weakness?” the king asked, but he sounded intrigued. Nameless had long since learnt how to tell when the king did not want to hear more on a subject.

    “Sometimes revenge is not the best demonstration of mana,” Nameless said. “Sometimes the ability to ignore trivial raids shows your mana more: how better to show your strength that you do not need to waste your time with minor raids. All you need to remember is that if their raids continue for long enough, and that if they do not learn this wisdom, then you will punish them severely enough that they will be afraid to respond.”

    “That is how your Island maintains its peace?” Arapeta asked.

    “It is. We still have feuds from time to time – there are a couple now – but they are rare, and they can be ended if required. Or a bloodline is exterminated entirely, as has happened, if they would not learn when to end a vendetta.”

    King Arapeta was silent for a long time after that. Nameless knew better than to interrupt. At length, the king asked one, rather pointed question. Nameless give the only answer he could give, in the circumstances.

    “Accompany me,” the king said, then rose and walked to the entrance to the wharenui [great hall of the palace].

    Outside, there were various clusters of Maori having whatever discussions they wished at the marae. They saw the king at the entrance, of course, and quickly fell silent as they assembled in a rough semi-circle, well back from the entrance.

    King Arapeta stepped outside, paused for a moment, then took seven paces forward. He raised his voice. “Ta mal-pa Pliri, ni gapu-pa Bula Gakal-girri marang.” There is but one Harmony, and only the Sevenfold Path will give it balance.

    * * *

    Taken from: “People of the Seas: The Nangu Diaspora”
    By Accord Anderson [1]
    New London, Alleghania: 1985

    3. Breakup of the Seven Sisters

    Long the Seven Sisters [Eyre Peninsula, South Australia] had been the granary of the Island. Red yams and cornnarts [wattles] from Mutjing farmers came, endless-seeming harvest to sustain the people of an Island too small to feed itself. Rulership of the Seven Sisters remained with Mutjing, not Nangu, yet guidance and mediation came from the Island to ensure harmony remained.

    The Island now riven with feud and discord, with plagues and Dutch competition rampant, failed to sustain the vital guidance. City-kings of the Seven Sisters strove now in waal [bringing discord], hatreds once old now renewed, and alliance with Dutch now contemplated by those who once revered the Island alone.

    With legacy of friendship most ancient, no Mutjing would commit to war against the Island itself, yet catastrophe most severe could fall without one direct blow from Mutjing to Nangu. City-king Maralinga of Luyandi [Port Kenny] formed pact with the Dutch, and formed pride within himself, bringing the Seven Sisters into imbalance. Pankala [Port Lincoln], pre-eminent Sister for so long in reputation and commerce, to the Island remained steadfast.

    Courage and rivalry dominated, wise counsel was forsaken. The Seven Sisters descended into war most troublesome. No longer could the Island’s influence quell bloodshed, with the confluence of Dutch supporting the western Sisters, and the Island itself riven, incapable of speaking with one voice.

    Mutjing and Nangu alike suffered. Victory elusive, strife continued over years too numerous. Surplus harvest consumed by the fires of war, no longer could the Seven Sisters sustain the Island, and misery and famine took the helm as the fate of the Island shifted onto a new course. Population reduced already from European plagues, notwithstanding, no boldness from the Nangu remaining on the Island could conjure food from nothing.

    Discord had previously troubled the Nangu, ancient bloodlines contesting over scraps of Dutch trade, dislocation of old trade markets, and loss of experienced mediators with the plagues. Famine looming, people of the Island cared little even for which faction won victory in the Seven Sisters; the war itself marked disaster. The Island now shattered, and the shards fell where they willed...

    Where the Island could no longer provide, exodus now beckoned for those astute and for those defeated. The former knew opportunity and seized it, the latter hoped for opportunity and sought it. Some few bloodlines had fled already, in whole or in part, a trickle of Nangu across the waves, which uncivil war in the Seven Sisters pushed into flood.

    Bloodlines four, more shrewd than most, already had established their Nuttana [trading association] on a coast most distant within Aururia [far north Queensland]. Two more bloodlines secured common purpose, Mudontji and Nyawala acceding to the syndicate previously formed. In union most beneficial, to the Nuttana came more knowledge, more workers, and a future where the old surety departed but new hope remained. Kiyungu of the Coral Coast joined them in numbers, whether volunteers for indenture or migrants most buoyant...

    Across the Tethys Sea [Tasman Sea], another shard fell on ground most fertile and fortunate. Whether auspicious or prudent, years before the Kalendi bloodline gained trade connexions with Maori in Aotearoa. Missionaries had striven to prepare the way, until Bana [Nameless] guided the first Maori king into acceptance of the Seven-fold Path.

    Vendetta driving them, and old trade routes fallen, Kalendi found new aspiration among the Ngati Apa in Aotearoa. To the Maori, they brought wisdom: the true faith, shipbuilding, iron, dyes, spices [2], and determination...

    * * *

    [1] Accord Anderson is a Congxie (see post #47) author who thinks that he speaks English fluently enough not to need a translator. He may perhaps be mistaken in that view.

    [2] That is, those spices which could grow in Aotearoa. Some Aururian spices can, generally the ones which are native to historical Victoria and Tasmania or alpine areas further north (e.g. some sweet peppers, sea celery, river mint), though many Aururian spices are subtropical (e.g. lemon myrtle and other myrtles) and will not grow in Aotearoa.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #4: Eostre of the Dawn
  • Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #4: Eostre of the Dawn

    In similar vein to the LoRaG Christmas specials, here is a short exploration of another significant day seen through the distorted mirror of allohistory...

    * * *

    14 April 1974 [Easter Sunday, Western Christian reckoning]
    Kesteven [Boston, Massachusetts], New England

    The man handcuffed to the chair looks too young in all respects, save one. Fresh-faced, his smooth cheeks hardly need a razor; a scraggly blond moustache almost disappears into those same cheeks. Cap worn to the side like some disaffected youth who confuses poor fashion sense with parental rebelliousness. But his gaze is steady, eyes wide, unflinching.

    “You are alone,” says Detective-Cornet Jamet Mabbinck. “Captive. Never to be released until I am satisfied.”

    The man’s gaze stays fixed on Jamet. “I am never alone, so long as one member of the League continues the fight.

    The detective-cornet laughs. “Companions who you will tell me about. Who they are. Where they plan to strike next.”

    “You will never know,” the fresh-faced man says.

    Never is a short word for a long time,” Jamet says. “Even one day can seem a very long time, in the right circumstances.”

    “You will never know,” the man repeats.

    Jamet smiles. “We already know. About you and your League, and your plans. How you few foolish hot-heads want something that no other nation in the world supports.”

    “We have more support than you know! We will continue the fight. We will-” Abruptly, the man stops.

    “Oh, you will never win your little war, as the GG has so aptly called it,” Jamet says.

    The man’s gaze still remains fixed on him, despite everything. “A little war, but our “little warriors” are part of a big struggle. We will prove that to you. And to the world.”

    “Yes, your little warriors. Your boyz, you call yourselves.” Jamet’s grin returns. “That proves merely that you are much poor spellers as you are misguided.”

    “The boyz will never give up. We will make the world listen to us, and heed us. New England is just the start.” His glare still has not moved.

    “What you will do is tell me what I want to know,” the detective-cornet says. “How long that takes is up to you. It may take a day, or a year. But I promise that even a day will seem like a year.”

    * * *

    27 April 2008
    Tensaye [Easter Sunday, Ethiopian Orthodox reckoning]
    Gondar, Ethiopia

    Yared Bikila smiled as he looked across the back yard of his new house. The early morning sun showed it for what it was: small, as yards went, with a handful of gum trees overshading most of it. But the yard was his. The house was his.

    For the last week, the yard had kept the noroon [emu] he had been feeding himself, twice a day. Too many people nowadays seemed to have given up on tradition. They just bought their “Paschal chicken” from the megamart rather than feeding it and slaughtering it themselves. But they should know better. The proper way had always been to feed the Paschal feast before it fed you.

    His wife, Tirunesh, came to the door. “Pity you couldn’t buy one that lays,” she said, with a smile on her face. “Would’ve saved me buying an egg for the omelette.”

    Yared laughed. “One egg, for the Paschal omelette.” This is the first year he has felt rich enough to buy a proper noroon egg. Before that, he and his family had always made do with chicken eggs. Though costly at the best of times, noroon eggs always became ten times the usual price in the days before Tensaye.

    The egg sits in a bowl in the kitchen. A large bowl. The dark green shell holds the weight of a dozen chicken eggs, or thereabouts. Enough to make a good-sized omelette for him, his wife, and their three sons.

    That is his wife’s job, of course, along with helping the boys decorate the cast-aside eggshell. His job waits outdoors. And even in a small yard, it is difficult to catch a noroon which does not want to be caught.

    Yared said, “Be back soon. I’ve got to go catch the Paschal chicken.”

    * * *

    30 March 1975 [Easter Sunday, Western Christian reckoning]
    Horeb [Providence, Rhode Island], New England

    “Mother of God!” Detective-Cornet Jamet Mabbinck knew it would be bad, to be called down from Kesteven for something the local wrecks [1] cannot handle.

    Now, he sees for himself. The megamall is a large two-storey building, a good two hundred yards long just on this side, filled with stores. Or it was. Now smoke rises from a gaping hole where most of the nearest wall and its roof have collapsed, with only small portions at either end still upright.

    He barely hears the explanation from the local sheriff how the League boyz somehow broke in and drove a car laden with explosives through the megamall until they detonated it between some shops.

    When the sheriff’s account winds down, Jamet says, “The only mercy is that no-one was inside.” He pauses. “Was anyone inside?”

    “None we’ve found, sir. Not that the League bastards would’ve cared.” The sheriff spits expertly into the gutter.

    Jamet is not so sure about that. The boyz are bastards, but know that they are fighting their “little war” for the hearts and minds of the people. Easter Sunday is one of the very few days where not only can they get in undetected, but expect that they will not kill anyone while doing so. All the same, he holds his peace.

    “Do you know what shops were closest to where the car bomb went off?” Jamet asks.

    The sheriff nods. “Two fashion stores. Delarkey’s and Musora.”

    “Those won’t have been the targets,” Jamet says. The League cares nothing for women’s fashion stores, unless they are selling lingerie. “What else was nearby?”

    “On one side a doctor’s practice and a shoe store, on the other, a pharmacy and a tobacconist.”

    “Ha! That says enough,” the detective-cornet says. “I’m surprised they didn’t use two cars.”

    “Sir?” the sheriff asks. A perfect example of Horeb’s finest.

    “Never mind,” Jamet says. “Let’s get to work. We have some boyz to track down.”

    * * *

    3 April 1994 [Easter Sunday, Western Christian reckoning]
    Oxford, Pembroke [Cambridge, Maryland], Alleghania

    Jessica Cuffin counted the Easter eggs in front of her, slowly. Then she counted them again. Twelve eggs! Twelve! She had to count them a third time, just to be sure.

    “Twelve eggs!” she said. The Easter Duck had really come! So much for Emily next door saying that the Easter Duck wasn’t real! How else could she have gotten twelve eggs to eat?

    * * *

    26 March 1978 [Easter Sunday, Western Christian reckoning]
    Newport [New Haven, Connecticut], New England

    “This is turning into a very bad Easter tradition.” Detective-Cornet Jamet Mabbinck frowns. “Five years in a row, responding to the League.” For what he has done to fight the League, he should now be a detective-ensign, but he keeps that thought to himself.

    “I don’t know what you’ve done before, but this must be the worst,” the sheriff says. One of the few surviving sheriffs from the Second Precinct, and that only because he was off-duty at the time and too far away to respond to the call to duty.

    They have left the ruins of the station, but Jamet knows that the images of the destroyed Second Precinct will forever burn in his memory. No-one who was inside at the time still breathes. Nor do most of those who answered the call to duty. Or should it have been called a call to arms?

    “Fifty armed men, if not more,” Jamet says. “In three groups who struck with well-coordinated precision.”

    He has never believed the rumours of League training camps in the Nya Sverige backwoods. But how else to explain a blow on this scale? No mere collection of disaffected boyz could manage this.

    “One thing’s for sure, sir.” When Jamet raises a polite eyebrow, the sheriff continues, “Containing the League can’t be called a police action. Not anymore.”

    Jamet lets out a long, slow breath. “I fear you’re right. Not even the riot squad could handle this.” What will it take? Special armed forces, perhaps. God forbid that the Army needs to be deployed on its own soil, against its own citizens.

    Another sheriff comes up to them, and hands over a photograph. “This shows what was left at the entrance to the Precinct, sirs.”

    Jamet takes the photo. It shows a note placed carefully amongst blackened ruins of what was once a door. The message is simple:

    That for the lackey’s of inaction! The League will triumph!” The signature reads: Mary Jane.

    The detective-cornet stares at the photograph, reading the message over and over without taking in the words.

    * * *

    22 April 1984 [Easter Sunday, Western Christian reckoning]
    Irving [Columbus, Georgia], Alleghania

    The first rays of the sun just began to poke between the apartment blocks to the east. The light was dim, but enough for what Barcoo and his friends planned. They stood on the parkland that ran along Jacks River [Chattahoochee River]. The grass was still cool with the night’s dew.

    Importantly, the park had a walkway that ran alongside the road, all the way to downtown. Even now, early in the morning on what the unegas [whites] and blacks called Easter Sunday, a few people strolled back and forth along it. Enough people, for their purposes.

    Jimmy unveiled the statue: a three-foot high wooden figure carved from river oak [2]. It showed a naked woman, abundantly female, with her hair hanging in artfully-carved tresses down her back. The boy had done the carving himself, and was justifiably proud of it. Barcoo had never been able to ask which girl, or memory of a girl, had been the inspiration.

    The four boys arranged themselves to the west of the statue, and went down on their knees. Jimmy spoke first, in a loud voice, “Hear us, o, Ēostre, Goddess of the Dawn. Heed us, your faithful servants.”

    The ceremony went on in a similar vein. Barcoo, Jimmy, Hando and Modibo took it in turns to offer loud invocations to Ēostre, the pagan goddess that the unegas and blacks had named their supposedly Christian festival after. They raised their voices even louder whenever someone white or black came by, and quietly chuckled whenever the passers-by passed by even faster after realising what they were seeing. Barcoo and his friends did not bother to raise their voices whenever the occasional Congxie wandered past.

    After a time, Hando pulled the eggs out of the cartoon, and handed three eggs to each of the other boys. “Time for a sacrifice.”

    Jimmy took the first turn, as he usually did, cracking one of the eggs open at the base of the statue, and invoking Ēostre’s name. Hando took the next turn, then Barcoo stepped forward to do the same.

    “Stop right there, you boys!” a commanding voice demanded.

    Barcoo looked up to see a woman bearing down on them. A large woman, who he didn’t recognise, but whose prominent jawline and high cheekbones proclaimed her as Congxie. Her skin was on the lighter side for a Congxie; either she was one of the few remaining descendants of the old great families, or she had a more recent unega in her ancestry.

    “Young fools, you! Why borrow trouble?”

    Jimmy ventured, “We are venerating our God-”

    “Bringing discord is what you are doing!” The woman was tall; she overtopped even Hando. But the command in her voice would have given her the same authority even if she had been shorter than Modibo. “Get rid of this nonsense right now, and go somewhere that you can do something decent.”

    The boys exchanged glances, but no-one dared disagree. Jimmy reached for the sack and re-covered the statue.

    “Better,” the woman said. “Save that kind of mockery for Christmas where it belongs.”

    * * *

    15 April 1979 [Easter Sunday, Western Christian reckoning]
    Green Mountains [Vermont], New England

    From his seat at the front of the rotorala [helicopter], Sergeant Mitchell Rabson keeps a keen eye out on the passing mountain slopes. So do the other troopers at every window. No-one wants to let the League boyz go unspotted, if any of them is out here today, of all days.

    The sun still hangs low in the sky to the east, but there is enough light for what they need. The boyz rarely move in daylight, even this early, but they may have been careless.

    Trees and mountain slopes stretch out below them. To the west, the rocky profile of Mount Vert [Mount Maxwell] stretches out like an elongated human face. The boyz might be there; it would be like the League to choose the highest peak in the Green Mountains for one of their refuges.

    “Stay on the game, lads,” Mitchell says. In truth, he expects his men will do well. Corporals Winston Rose, whose prickly nature belies his name, and Johnny Champion, nicknamed “Chimpo” in the manner of soldiers, are both very good men. He would call them super troopers, if he were not afraid of boosting their egos too much to listen.

    “Movement!” Chimpo calls. “Ten o’clock!”

    “Human?” Mitchell asks, as the pilot brings the rotorala around to the new vector. He brings the binoculars to his eyes and starts searching.

    “Think so. Didn’t look like no deer,” Chimpo says. If it is people, they have to be the League, or their supporters. Half the Green Mountains are excluded territory these days, including Mount Vert.

    Mitchell looks back and forth, with binoculars and without. His fellow troopers do likewise. No-one finds any signs of movement.

    Knullar!” Chimpo says. “I’m sure I saw something.”

    “Take us closer,” Mitchell says. The pilot complies, and the rotorala slips forward slowly.

    Something streaks out of the trees, ascending on a pillar of smoke. Mitchell just has time to yell “Torpedo!” before it hits the rotorala.

    * * *

    30 April 2000 [Easter Sunday, Eastern Christian reckoning]
    Nizhny Novgorod, Russia

    Yelena Ivanovna knew she should have done more to celebrate Pascha [Easter] properly. Morning was giving way to afternoon, but she had not eaten the kulich [Easter bread] before breakfast, as she should have. She had certainly not attended the Paschal Vigil to have the kulich blessed. Even for Pascha, she would not go to church at midnight!

    She should have made pashka [3], but she had broken the mould last year, and not bothered to buy a replacement or some store-made pashka either.

    Motivation was hard to find nowadays.

    She could not believe that the government had followed New England’s lead. With so many obscure countries to listen to, why would anyone listen to the dictates of a handful of ideologues turned revolutionaries on the other side of the world?

    Alas, for whatever misguided reason, the government had listened, and now her favourite hobby was illegal. Deathly illegal.

    What was the point?

    * * *

    7 April 1985 [Easter Sunday, Western Christian reckoning]
    Taken from the Chelmsford [Hartford] Courant

    LITTLE WAR OVER!
    LEAGUE TRIUMPHANT!

    ... Under the deal, the siege of Kesteven was lifted. In emergency session, Parliament passed the enabling legislation last night as the Prohibited Substances Act 1985. No changes were made to the draft bill tabled by the League at the start of the Little War...

    The Cannabis Abolition League of Insurrectionists has fulfilled the vision laid out by its founders, after thirteen years of armed struggle. New England is now the first nation in the world to prohibit the possession and inhalation of Cannabis...

    * * *

    [1] “Wrecks” is the informal name used among themselves by the Republican Elite Constabulary in New England; the closest equivalent they have to the contemporary FBI. Not recommended to be used by those they catch, unless they no longer feel attached to their teeth.

    [2] River oak is the common name for a tree that is widespread in allohistorical Georgia and Alabama. It is a species of Casuarina (C. cunninghamiana) that is used for agroforestry purposes to prevent soil erosion, as a windbreak, and to revitalise the soil. Historically, the species (misnamed Australian pine) has become invasive in Florida.

    [3] Pashka is a cottage cheese dish moulded into the form of a pyramid, and in both historical and allohistorical Russia is traditionally eaten on Easter Sunday (after being blessed the previous night).

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Last edited:
    Lands of Red and Gold #65: Empire State of Mind
  • Lands of Red and Gold #65: Empire State of Mind

    The World he found was New
    And Death on swift wings Flew
    To Men who sweet maize Grew
    .”
    - From “Elegy to Columbus”, by Piety “Chancellor” Jackson

    * * *

    Taken from: “Cannon, Clocks and Crops: The Destinies of Human Societies.”
    By Julius Sanford
    Newport [New Haven, Connecticut]: Winthrop & Jessup, 1993.

    Prologue

    It is both commonplace and misunderstood that history has yielded different fates for peoples from different parts of the world. The Ice Age ended some 13,000 years ago, at a time when all humans in existence lived similar lifestyles: small, usually nomadic bands of hunter-gatherers equipped with stone tools similar to those which our prehuman ancestors had wielded on the savannahs of ancient Africa.

    In the millennia which followed, some of those peoples went on to develop literate societies with metal tools, some peoples became farmers but remained illiterate, and some remained hunter-gatherers with only stone tools. A smaller subset of those literate metal tool using societies went on to dominate the globe, conquering or exterminating the non-literate societies, and then with the twin prongs of commerce and industrialisation, overcoming even the other literate metal tool using societies.

    The legacy of these historical inequalities continues to shape the modern world. While the fact of these inequalities is one of the most basic items of world history, the cause of these inequalities remains shrouded in ambiguity and controversy...

    Examination of the differences between these societies poses a host of questions. Why were Europeans the ones who sailed to Cathay, and later dominated it, rather than the other way around? Why did Europeans conquer and settle so much of the New World, while no New World society established itself outside of the Americas? Why did Bantu farmers from West Africa settle and displace the Pygmies and Khoisan peoples from sub-equatorial Africa? Why were Austronesian peoples successful in expanding across a distance that spans half the globe, from Madagascar to Easter Island, while the more ancient farming societies of New Guinea remained confined to that land and nearby islands? Why were the Nuttana the first to contact Japan and Cathay, rather than the other way around?

    Technology clearly plays a role in many of these cases, most prominently in the European conquest and large-scale population replacements in the New World. Yet technology is not in itself a complete answer, as shown by the Nuttana who were less advanced than Cathay and Japan, but still reached those nations first.

    The answers to these questions can be found in the explanation for the differences which have shaped the modern history of the world. Where did these differences originate? What did they mean for the fate of different peoples?

    This book is an attempt to answer these questions...

    Chapter 2: Collisions of Continents

    For the first 12,000 years after the end of the last Ice Age, different human societies on separate continents largely developed in isolation. While there was some contact between them, this was usually sporadic or carried on by a chain of intermediaries. For most of their course those societies developed along their own paths. Only over the last thousand years have the different societies of the world come into direct, sustained contact.

    These collisions of continents are most dramatically demonstrated in Hernan Cortes’ conquest of the Aztecs, and Francisco Pizzaro’s triumph over the Incas. These two clashes marked the defeat of the two greatest empires of the New World by a handful of men from one society in the Old World, and would be followed by the large-scale population replacement of most of the Americas’ inhabitants with peoples from the Old World, and in some cases from the Third World.

    Other collisions of continents often lacked the same defining moments that marked the Spanish conquests in the Americas, but their consequences were profound for all peoples involved. The modern history of sub-Saharan Africa is the story of the collision of Africans with invaders from Europe and the Near East, and of a cultural though non-political invasion from Aururia. The history of the Indian continent is likewise shaped by the collision with European societies, and the different consequences for the societies within India. The modern history of Aururia is the story of multiple collisions, both as European and Polynesian cultures collided with it, and Aururian societies colliding with others across the globe.

    The different outcomes of these cultural collisions were shaped by the differences which had emerged in the societies of each continent over the last 13,000 years. These differences are simply illustrated by using the year 1500 AD as a convenient dividing line. This marked the beginning of a watershed moment, when continents were about to collide. The separate destinies of each continent became merged after that time...

    In 1500 AD, each of the continents had diverse societies, in most cases ranging from stone-tool using, non-literate hunter-gatherer bands to sedentary, literate, metal-tool using farmers at least partially into states. The gulf between the continents was vast, and these differences would quickly become pivotal in world history. For our purposes, Europe should be considered to include North Africa and West Asia, as both are joined by the Mediterranean. Europe was almost exclusively occupied by literate, metal-using sedentary farmers, with only a few herders and hunter-gatherers in the arctic and desert fringes. India was similarly controlled largely by organised states, as were large parts of Asia, although that continent also had vast northern reaches controlled by nomadic herders or hunter-gatherers.

    Other continents, however, were not at the same level of development. Aururia was occupied by several organised, literate, iron-using farming states in its south-eastern and south-western corners, but much of the southern half of the continent was still occupied only by bronze-using non-literate chiefdoms, while the northern half of the continent was still occupied almost exclusively by stone-tool using hunter-gatherer bands whose way of life had not changed significantly since the end of the last Ice Age. Africa likewise had a few metal-tool using, literate, farming states such as Ethiopia, but large parts of the continent were non-literate and were not organised beyond the level of chiefdoms. North and South America each had only one large organised metal-tool using state, the Aztecs and Incas, and most of both continents were still at a lower level of technology and social organisation...

    These differences were brought into sharp contrast as continents collided after 1500 AD. These collisions saw societies in many continents conquered or dominated, and in many cases replaced entirely, by a relative handful of organised societies, mostly from Europe.

    The collision between Spain and Inca, between Old World and New, is the most iconic example of this collision. The advantages which Spain possessed were many: cannon both as artillery and handcannon, seafaring technology, literacy, steel armour and weapons, horses, and diseases. The Incas were overwhelmed, as were the Aztecs before them and many other cultures would be in the years afterward, by cannon and the other technology that accompanied them.

    The fate of the Incas is illustrative of the collision of continents, but as other examples demonstrate, differences in technology were not the only differences that mattered. In 1500 AD, Cathay was unquestionably the most advanced society on the globe. Over the preceding millennia, Cathay had developed a host of technological innovations, including the predecessors of the same cannon which the Spanish used in the New World.

    In some measure Cathayan technology continued to develop even after 1500. Notably, though, Cathay also rejected some aspects of technology, both home-grown and foreign. Cathayan voyagers such as Zheng He had pioneered seafaring technology which extended Cathayan influence across two other continents. Yet Cathay abandoned its own maritime adventures. It also resisted superior technology when introduced from other continents. European clocks were mechanically superior timepieces than those produced in Cathay, but the Cathayans treated them merely as toys. Cathay’s spurning of practical clock technology is the best symbol of some cultures’ rejection of advances in technology...

    The world’s history since 1500 has been one of transfer, of technology, crops and animals, diseases, and populations, all moved around the globe. The fate of different societies has been determined by how they adapted to these great exchanges.

    The differences in technology made a major part in deciding this adaptation, but this provides only part of the tale. What mattered was whether each society was both capable and willing to adapt to the global transfers after 1500, including the diseases which would shape so much of later history.

    A society needed to be capable of adapting. If the gap in technology was too large, no amount of willingness would change the destiny of a society when continents collided. Such was the fate of most stone tool using hunter-gatherers who fought cannon-using literate farmers; the consequences were obvious and largely pre-destined. Early cannon, both artillery and hand cannon, were significant in the European irruption into the New World and the Third World [1]. More advanced cannon, and the broader developments in military technology which they symbolised, became more significant in later centuries as the collisions continued between Europe, Aururia, Africa, India and Asia.

    Where the gap in technology was smaller, if both sides had cannon or at least quick capacity to learn how to use them, then the receptiveness and other institutions of state mattered. If a society was prepared to take up clocks, and all of the other new technologies which they symbolise, then that society was much better-placed to triumph during the upheavals that followed.

    And, as the next section of this book will explore, it was the crops and animals that were available to each continent which largely determined whether societies got up to the starting gate in 1500 AD...

    Chapter 5: Nature’s Bounty

    Crops permit farming. That is a truism. The fact of history which takes more examination is that even in areas where domesticable plants existed, those crops were different the world over. Their differing characteristics drove much of the destiny of the societies which they fed.

    Ease of domesticability varied considerably between crops of different regions. Some regions included a diversity of crops that were readily and quickly domesticated. Others had fewer crops, or ones which needed much longer unconscious human selection before a package of crops emerged which supported agriculture. This single characteristic of regions goes far in explaining the different destinies of societies on different continents...

    The Near East, Cathay, and New Guinea were most blessed in their native crops, with agriculture emerging soonest in those regions (by 7500 BC, as shown in Table 5.2). The Andes and Aururia were intermediate in their ease of domestication, with full agriculture emerging later in Mesoamerica, while eastern North America was the most recent independent centre of domestication. For the remaining continent, archaeology has not yet determined with African agriculture emerged independently or was initiated by transfer from the Near East...

    The crop packages developed in each centre of domestication each had their own individual suite of characteristics, which shaped the societies that they fed. Two examples of this are the red yam and maize.

    The red yam is the main staple of the ancient Aururian crop package. It provided the largest source of agricultural calories for ancient Aururian farmers. Even today it is the single most calorific crop on the continent. Maize filled a similar role in Mesoamerican agriculture, and after its transfer, to pre-Columbian North American agriculture, too. It is entirely possible that without those particular crops, there would have been no independent emergence of agriculture in either Aururia or Mesoamerica, with major ramifications for world history.

    With such a dominating agricultural presence, the characteristics of these two plants had major consequences for the societies which developed on each continent.

    Red yams, like most root crops, have a decent carbohydrate yield but are very low in protein. Unlike most other domesticated root crops, red yams are a perennial crop which can be harvested and replanted for a decade or more. Red yams grow well even in arid conditions, a valuable ability in a frequently drought-scourged continent.

    Maize, like most cereals, is a high-energy crop which has a reasonable protein content. Maize provides a very high yield of calories per acre, more than most other staple crops such as wheat, and is also more water-efficient than most staple crops [2], except for red yams and cornnarts [wattles]. Maize is typically thought of as a tropical or subtropical crop, though it can be harvested in temperate zones with spring planting.

    As perennial crops, red yams needed less effort to plant and harvest than most annual crops. The tubers can stay in the soil for several months, so harvesting is not as time-critical as it is for cereals or fruit. These characteristics mean that red yams, and the other perennial Aururian crops, need fewer labourers to produce an agricultural surplus than comparable societies. In turn, red-yam-based societies can support more non-agricultural specialists. Aururian societies were notable for their larger urban populations and more vigorous trade networks.

    The drought-resistant nature of red yams meant in turn that red yams allowed remarkable agricultural stability. Aururia has the most irregular climate of any inhabited continent, plagued by unpredictable droughts that alternate with devastating floods. The stability brought by red yams allowed Aururian farmers to endure despite these natural challenges.

    Despite these advantages, red yams also placed remarkable constraints on native Aururian agriculture. Red yams are plants very well-adapted to subtropical latitudes, but are simply incapable of growing within the tropics. Not even the best modern plant breeders have produced a variety of yams which can grow productively within tropical latitudes.

    Before European irruption, this meant that productive Aururian agricultural was essentially confined to the south-eastern and south-western corners of the continent. The northern half of the continent was devoid of agriculture, and remained inhabited by hunter-gatherers. This left native Aururian societies severely limited in their available arable land and opportunities for expansion. If Aururia had been 1000 miles further south, the available farmland would have been much larger, and the history of the world would have been entirely different.

    In Mesoamerica, maize agriculture also defined the societies that emerged. Maize was the only major true cereal domesticated in the New World (and none at all in the Third World), as distinguished from the myriad cereals domesticated in the Old World. Maize provided very high farming yields per acre, allowing for the emergence of large urban centres and high populations.

    However, maize’s most defining characteristic is that it exhausts the soil. In Mesoamerican societies without animals to provide fertiliser, or alternative crops to switch to, this left them vulnerable to agricultural collapse. The pattern for maize-based agriculture was for repeated flourishing of urban civilizations, followed by agricultural collapse after soils were exhausted. The Tamochan [Olmecs], Teotihuacan, Classical Mayans, Cahokians, and Puebloans were among the maize-based urban civilizations which emerged and then collapsed in North America. The lack of agricultural stability was characteristic of maize-based cultures, and the impossibility of maintaining long-term cultural continuity had major consequences for the history of the North American peoples...

    Agriculture in the Old World’s continents did not have an equivalent of the single-source crops such as maize and red yams. From early in the emergence of agriculture, Old World farmers had a range of cereals or other staple crops to choose from, and were not so restricted by the characteristics of any single crop. Rice became the key staple in much of India and Asia, but even then rice only reached its dominant position because it was the best available crop, not because it was the only suitable staple crop. Rice was not the initial domesticate in East Asia, but its cultivation became widespread as it replaced the earlier millets that were the original cereals of East Asian agriculture...

    Chapter 9: Happiness and Head Starts

    Each different crop in the world possesses different characteristics, and thus provides different opportunities to societies that grow it. Having more crops available is an advantage to any society, as it gives more flexibility in adapting to different circumstances, and often better agricultural yield.

    The benefits of new crops were often immense. Consider, for instance, the Nuttana of north-eastern Aururia. They were one of the most well-known Aururian societies, and the main way in which Aururian culture was transmitted to the world. But the Nuttana culture was created on land that its forebears did not occupy at the time of European irruption. Indeed, the Nuttana lands were not farmed at all before European contact. The two crops which were foundational to the Nuttana, sweet potato and sugar cane, were not even native to Aururia...

    The Old World, and particularly the Eurasian supercontinent, had the twin advantages of earlier agriculture and multiple centres of domestication. Eurasians received crops from the separate agricultural origins of the Near East, Cathay, and New Guinea, and even a few crops from Africa such as coffee, sorghum and pearl millet. These widespread, earlier exchanges of crops gave the Old World a very long head start when compared to societies in the Americas or Aururia.

    In contrast, geographical barriers were greater in the New World and Third World, such as more deserts and jungles. This, combined with the later start to agriculture compared to the third world, limited the exchanges of crops between regions with independent centres of domestication. For instance, Mesoamerican and Andean agriculture transmitted only a few crops in each direction, such as maize and cassava. Other extremely useful crops such as the potato remained confined to their region of origin. In turn, this meant that the defining characteristics of the native crop packages, and their restrictions, continued in those regions until 1500 and the world upheavals that followed...

    The three continents of Eurasia between them possessed the largest areas of arable land and had access to the largest number of centres of domestication. The earlier dates of domestication, from the greater ease of domesticability of their crops, and the overall greater number of available crops, gave the most opportunity to the Eurasian continents.

    Conversely, eastern North America had the latest start of domestication, and the fewest and least useful crops. This gave eastern North America the least opportunity of any continent...

    Chapter 11: Germs and Livestock

    ...The emergence of epidemic diseases, then, is a function of two factors. The first is the number of domesticated animals, which act as reservoirs for potential diseases. The second factor is the length of stable urban civilizations, which offer the largest population pool of potential infectees for diseases to make the jump to human-centric epidemics.

    Of these factors, the Old World in general and Eurasia in particular were clearly most-suited to acquiring lethal epidemic diseases. Aururia was intermediate as an origin of diseases; a long history of large cities, but only a few domestic animals that could provide their diseases.

    Mesoamerica was the least likely region of any to provide diseases, due to its paucity of domestic animals, and regular collapse of urban centres. This resulted in the paradoxical situation of healthier, larger urban populations in Mesoamerica, but the greatest vulnerability to diseases from elsewhere...

    Chapter 13: Uneven Exchanges

    Europe, Asia and India had the largest head start among the continents, thanks to the earliest exchanges of crops and technology. The example of the Kiyungu in Aururia illustrates how even a small exchange can transform continents. The Kiyungu were one society in Aururia confined by the characteristics of the red yam, which meant that they could not penetrate further north into the northern half of the continent.

    The introduction of a single crop, the sweet potato, around 1300 AD transformed Kiyungu society. The sweet potato was capable of growing in the tropics, and the limitations on the Kiyungu were removed. In the three centuries after receiving the sweet potato, the Kiyungu advanced over a considerable portion of coastal north-eastern Aururia, and would have progressed further if not for European irruption...

    The great exchanges of world history, the Columbian Exchange and the Houtmanian Exchange, transformed the world, uniting the continents, and bringing together all of the crops from their independent centres of domestication. The greatest benefits came to those who already had a head start in both technology and capability: Europeans most of all, and to a lesser degree the Aururians...

    * * *

    [1] When compared to his historical equivalent, Julius Sandford places less emphasis on steel, because there were more iron-using cultures in Aururia and Africa that still suffered from European irruption. Likewise, while he considers germs, he views them as less decisive than they were historically, because of the presence of new diseases waiting in Aururia.

    [2] Sanford’s research is in fact partly incorrect. Some domesticated cereals, including maize and sorghum, use a form of photosynthesis called C4 carbon fixation, unlike the C3 carbon fixation cycle used by other domesticated cereals such as wheat and rice. (Most plants in general use C3 carbon fixation for photosynthesis.) The C4 process is indeed more water-efficient than C3. However, maize is a plant with extremely shallow roots, which means that it is limited to collecting surface moisture, and so is in fact not very drought-tolerant.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #66: Under The Nine-fold Crown
  • Lands of Red and Gold #66: Under The Nine-fold Crown

    “Easier to juggle death adders than wear the Nine-fold Crown.”
    - Proverb in the Kingdom of Tjibarr

    * * *

    Sandstone Day, Cycle of Water, 4th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third [17 August 1636]
    Estates of Nyulinga of the Azures, near Yoorala [Wentworth, New South Wales]
    Kingdom of Tjibarr

    Rain falling outside: soothing, welcoming, blessing. The sound of water bringing bounty to the soil, a rare and most auspicious rhythm here in the West Lands [1]. The lands here were almost as dry as the red heart, among the most marginal lands where crops could grow.

    But how ever poor the rainfall might have been, these lands were Nyulinga’s to manage as he would. Or should have been managed as he had instructed, which was why he had summoned one of his most senior farmers here, to hear his wrath.

    The music of the rain came through the unshuttered windows into his manor-house. Nyulinga needed that sound; it was an anodyne to his soul. It helped to maintain much-needed composure, to preserve his shouting for a time when it would be most appropriate, not when he first saw the misguided farmer.

    Nyulinga settled into a chair in his common meeting-hall. Nothing special distinguished the chair or the table beside him; it was but one of many used to entertain large gatherings. Indeed, a handful of his other guests were breaking their fast at other tables. Greeting the farmer here, instead of privately, was another part of the message he needed to send.

    A brief nod to the nearest servant, and Jarrakana was ushered into his meeting hall.

    If the senior farmer had any idea what fate awaited him, he did not show it. He glanced around the nearly empty meeting hall, then exchanged the usual polite greetings with Nyulinga, the same ones which would be used between even the bitterest rivals in the Dance [2].

    “Be welcome, my guest,” Nyulinga said.

    “Fortune and good health to you,” Jarrakanna replied.

    Nyulinga waited a long moment before speaking again. Enough to make the senior farmer uncomfortable, and to test whether he would have the audacity of trying to speak first before someone of superior status.

    When he decided that the message was clear enough, Nyulinga said, “What have you done to the trees near Three Stone Creek?”

    “Cut down two hundred on the western march. You were told-”

    “You had permission to cut down twenty, no more,” Nyulinga said.

    “I needed the timber for-”

    “Why have you done this on my lands?” Nyulinga said. This farmer overreached his authority. Jarrakanna had authority to farm set lands, but only within the constraints set by Nyulinga. He had no authority to clear land, collect trees, or do anything further without permission.

    “My kin required them. What does a couple of hundred trees matter?” The senior farmer, fool that he was, sounded completely unapologetic.

    “Everything matters!” Nyulinga did let himself shout now; anger fitted properly. “No more trees are to be cut down than are replaced. You have no forethought or management of the forests. If we cut down too many trees, then we would soon run out of trees, and then where would be?”

    Proper management of forests was important anywhere, but doubly so here. Rain was a rare event around Nyulinga’s lands, but floods were all too common. The Anedeli [River Darling] joined the Nyalananga [River Murray] a short distance upriver of his estates. The Anedeli was irregular as a river, but flooded prodigiously at times.

    Floods were a mixed blessing, but one his family had long learned to use. Crops in the ground at the time of floods could be ruined. Likewise, his manor-house had been built on a natural hill that had been further heightened to be above the worst known floods in memory of his own or his father’s time.

    Yet for all of their destruction, floods replenished the soil, quicker and cheaper than leaving each field to be grown with wealth-trees and wandered by noroons [emus] for two years. Trees, too, benefitted from a flood [3]. Timber was more valuable to his estates than crops, in most years. Jarrakanna’s short-sighted actions threatened that.

    The senior farmer paused for a long moment before attempting to answer. “Two hundred trees for good purpose is not-”

    “You do not decide on that!” Nyulinga said. “Even if you had such authority, a man must care not just for today, but for all time. Now, what will I see if I look to the west? Fewer trees than I should.” The bloody man continued to look at him in disbelief. “If there is to be a shift in priorities in my estates, then I will decide it.”

    Another man entered the meeting hall. Nyulinga gave him the briefest of glances, then decided to curtail his condemnation of the senior farmer. “Jarrakanna, you are dismissed from all of your allocated land in my estates. Find something smaller within another faction’s land, if you can. No land controller in the Azures will accept you, not after making such a breach without even asking permission.”

    The senior farmer looked as if he wanted to argue further, even now. Then he caught sight of the newcomer ambling up beside Nyulinga, and darkness fell across his features as he thought better of it. The first glimmer of intelligence he had shown. Jarrakanna gave a curt shake of his head, then turned and stalked out.

    The newcomer settled into the chair which the farmer had vacated. He reached for a kunduri pouch at his waist, and settled into the ritual of mixing the pouch with the cold wealth-tree ash on the table before him. While preparing, the man gave only the briefest of glances around the meeting hall. Suddenly every other guest in the meeting hall decided that they had eaten enough this morning, too. Within a matter of moments, the meeting hall was empty.

    “Your talents are still strong,” Nyulinga said dryly.

    The newcomer grinned, though as with all of his smiles, it did not touch his eyes. “If my greatest gift was to clear a room without words, you would have put me out to chop trees years ago.”

    A casual reference to why Jarrakanna had been punished? With this man, it was hard to say. The minutiae of estate management should have been beneath his notice, but perhaps he had heard a whisper, or reasoned it out from the few sentences he had overheard. With this man’s talents, it was far from impossible.

    Nyulinga said, “What word have you heard from the west?”

    The man shrugged, as casual a gesture as most of those he made. Most things about the man were average: middling height, middling build, middle-aged, so far as anything could be judged of his age. His skin, for now, was as dark as a Junditmara; most unusual for a man of the Five Rivers, and no doubt a product of some skin colouring or other. A story would be behind that, probably the same story about the neatly-trimmed moustache. A story which would never be told. The only real distinguishing feature was his eyes: so narrow he appeared to have a permanent glare etched onto his features.

    “Trade with the Raw Men continues apace,” said the man, who answered to the name of Northwind [4] when he bothered to acknowledge any name at all. “Those with wit and fortune can do well.” He completed mixing the kunduri, and popped the ball into his mouth to start chewing.

    That much, Nyulinga already knew. The Raw Men – Nedlandj, he had heard they called themselves – had some valuable goods to sell, but paying for them was difficult with the produce of his estates. Kunduri and spices, the Nedlandj valued most; rather more than they were worth to anyone of sense, in fact.

    Alas, growing such crops on his frequently-flooded land was seldom easy. Timber fetched a good price along the Nyalananga, but it was useless to bring in bulk across the land road to Jugara [Victor Harbor]. He had considered trading his timber for spices and then trading those with the Nedlandj, but such bargains most benefitted the merchants in the middle.

    “Any word of factions making trade pacts to gain better terms from the Raw Men?”

    Northwind paused to spit, with perfect accuracy, into the bowl on the table reserved for that purpose. “Some small-scale bargains between individual merchants, but naught that suggests a major agreement between two factions.”

    Nyulinga shook his head. He had given some thought to establishing a trade pact between himself and another faction, to find something which the Nedlandj valued more highly, but had made no determination. Offering a pact could bring gains, but it also admitted a certain element of weakness. That was a perilous step in the Endless Dance.

    “Some of the trade with the Raw Men is curious,” Northwind offered. “Someone is buying Raw Men books. Quite a number of them. The agent appeared to be working for the Whites, but I do not know which particular noble was his principal. I judged it better not to probe too closely, so I advised your agent not to bid against him.”

    “Quite. No need to attract attention with a bidding war.” Nyulinga wanted Nedlandj books, if they could be obtained at a decent price, but his wealth was not endless. Nor was he willing to make his interest too open. “There will be more books, now that the Nedlandj know they can be sold.”

    “If their Association approves it,” Northwind said.

    Nyulinga nodded. This Association – Company was their word – was one of the strangest features of the Raw Men. One Association which controlled all of the Nedlandj trade. Odd to think that it worked. Most frustratingly, it meant that certain Nedlandj goods were not for sale.

    “Does their Association still forbid trade in their thunder-weapons?” Nyulinga said.

    “A few have been sold.” Northwind smiled. “Men are men, no matter how much their Association commands. But only a few weapons, and at a high price.”

    A few of those weapons was not enough. Even worse than that, the weapons were not like swords, which needed only to be swung, or even a bow, which needed arrows that any decent fletcher could make. The weapons needed fuel, like a fire, but a fuel which so far only the Nedlandj could supply.

    “Can we force their hand in trade?” he mused aloud, though mostly for his own benefit.

    “They have more knowledge than us,” Northwind said. “In some things, at least.”

    “Not in all,” Nyulinga said. He shook his head for emphasis. “You were in the east at the time, I think, but did you hear what happened when our physician tested the Raw Man doctor?”

    “Only that our physician had some cutting remarks,” Northwind said.

    Ignoring the horrible pun – the man’s talents did not extend to humour – Nyulinga said, “The Raw Men believe that bleeding a sick man can cure them. Our physician, Lopitja, let their doctor test it on three men fevered with swamp rash. Horrible. Two of the men died after the bleeding, and the third worsened; he was only saved when Lopitja intervened and refused to let the doctor bleed him again.”

    “So the Raw Men don’t know everything. Comforting. But then they didn’t know of kunduri before coming to our lands, either.” Northwind chuckled. “Now kunduri they are keenest for of all.”

    “If they value it so much...” Nyulinga’s voice trailed away as he considered options. “What then, would they say to an embargo on their Association: if they will not sell weapons to us, we will not sell kunduri to them?”

    Northwind raised an eyebrow. “Think you that the factions can be persuaded to that?”

    “Not immediately. But the idea can be planted.”

    Northwind thought for a long moment, too. “Even if the factions agree, we still need to sell kunduri. To the Islanders will it go, and they will sell it to the Raw Men.”

    “Of course. But at a higher price. And the Raw Men will know that, too. Let us test their resolve over their thunder-weapons.” Nyulinga smiled, now. “As for spreading the notion... Make sure that it is discussed widely, in every tavern and celebration of the Azures during the coming football season.”

    “That will see it widely heard.”

    “Quite. We can do more to encourage it. Let us see what springs from our first soil, and if need presses, drill more seeds.”

    This had to work. The Raw Men were here, and were changing the world. They would not be giving up their contact with the Five Rivers and going home. Even if ignorant of some things, perhaps they would bring an age of miracles. The Dance is Endless, but I fear that from now on, the dancers will move to a different tune.

    * * *

    [1] The West Lands is the ancient Tjibarr name for the westernmost farmable length of the Murray River, which stretch westward from historical Mildura. Rainfall here is erratic and barely enough to sustain the dryland farming techniques of Aururia.

    [2] i.e. the Endless Dance (Jingella), the eternal competition between the eight factions in Tjibarr.

    [3] The trees which Nyulinga manages are river red gums (Eucalyptus camaldulensis). This is a large, long-lived tree which produces a distinctive hard red wood which is much prized both historically and allohistorically for decorative purposes and where rot-resistant timber is needed. Red river gums live along watercourses, especially in the Murray-Darling basin, and rely on regular flooding to remain healthy.

    [4] To the people of Tjibarr, a northerly wind is a bad omen. Northerly winds blow from the arid heart of the continent, bringing heatwaves and the worst conditions for bushfires. Even when they do not fan bushfires, northerly winds lack any moisture or rain, and are sometimes strong enough to damage crops.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #67: New Partners in the Dance
  • Lands of Red and Gold #67: New Partners in the Dance

    Keep your eyes on the sun and you will not see the shadows.
    - Tjibarr proverb

    * * *

    From: “The Proxy Wars: Colonialism and Conflict in Aururia”
    “Volume 1: Preparing the Ground”
    Chief Editor: Proximity Smathost.
    Editors & Translators: Demitri Leinfellner, Florian Vandermeer, Sebastian Doyle, & Jeera Kunanyi.

    Introduction.

    The conflicts that engulfed much of Aururia during the mid-seventeenth century was known to the European colonialists as the Proxy Wars. They viewed these conflicts as wars between native pawns of the main European protagonists, principally the VOC [Dutch East India Company] and EIC [English East India Company]. To them, and to much of subsequent historiography, these conflicts were created and driven by agendas of company directors in London and Amsterdam, with the Powers successfully agitating the natives to follow their lead.

    A more considered view, however, can be found through the primary sources of the time...

    *

    The Surprise Annal

    Preface

    (by Demitri Leinfellner)

    The Surprise Annal (Jeera Julam) chronicles the history of the main Plirite temple at Warrala [Wemen, Victoria], and some events of the surrounding town. Many Plirite temples in the Five Rivers wrote annals which were reminiscent of those of ancient Rome. Each temple’s annal recorded significant events that happened in the temple or the surrounding region, and sometimes recorded news or rumours that were reported from further away.

    The Surprise Annal is unusual in that the Warrala temple had a tradition of recording events that were julam, a word with nuances of meaning that include “surprising”, “unexpected”, or “out of the ordinary”. Noteworthy events within the temple were recorded in the same fashion as that of other temple annals, but events from the town or broader kingdom were only included if they were somehow surprising.

    For example, the only years when the Surprise Annal records the winner of the annual football competition at the capital city, Tjibarr, were those years when the winner was not one of the favourite teams. If the winner was one of the expected teams, which generally speaking meant the top two or three ranked teams from the previous year, then this would not be recorded in the annal.

    The original version of the Surprise Annal at the Warrala temple is now lost, although it is believed to have been maintained until at least 1660. Two partial copies survive, due to the tradition that when a new temple was founded, it would copy its parent temple’s annal up until the date of the new temple’s founding, then create a new annal with its own entries from that date. The Peetja Annal is based on the original Surprise Annal until 1646, while the Tjomee Annal follows the Surprise Annal until 1589...

    1633
    (Translator’s Note: Then as now, Plirite religious calendars start on the southern hemisphere autumn equinox [1], so this entry covers the time from 21 March 1633 to 20 March 1634)

    In this year, came learned Venerable Brother Wiratjuri hither over sea from the Temple of the Five Winds on the Island, and sojourned at our temple for the Cycle of Falling Stars [2-13 April] to give counsel to the brothers and sisters.

    In the same year, came hither one Bunjil from Yarralinga [Hamley Bridge, South Australia], who was brother to the wife of one who ruled there, to Tjibarr of the Lakes [i.e. the capital city itself], and spoke to the king, and attended a match of football to watch the Reds whom he favoured; whence he proceeded downriver.

    (Translator’s Note: The Whites won the annual football tournament in this year, but they were among the favourites, ranked second the previous year, so in keeping with their usual practice, the priests of Warrala did not mention the winners.)

    When he was about a mile or more above Warrala, he put on his mail, and so did all his companions: and they proceeded to town. When they came hither, they resolved to break their fast wherever they wished. Then came one of Bunjil’s companions, who would claim food at the house of a master of a family against his will; but having wounded the master of the house, was slain by sword. Then was Bunjil quickly into battle, his companions with him, and they slew the master of the family under his own roof, and wounded several other men besides.

    The townsmen slew six of Bunjil’s companions, and Bunjil and his other companions ran to Tapiwal [Robinvale], where the king was then residing, and he was wroth with the townsmen. He called council with the sentinel [2] of the Greens and two land controllers of the Grays, which two factions most of the townsmen supported, and determined that six noroons [emus] and a half-pouch of kunduri should be given to Bunjil by the townsmen; while a footballer of the Reds was found to counsel Bunjil and his companions against excess...

    This same year were the quandongs most bountiful in the harvest, more so than any time in the memory of man, so that the farmers had more than they could barter away for any good purpose, and during the Cycle of Life (16-27 November) called a celebration in the town, and brought in all the quandongs that could not be traded, and the children and townswomen were given to eat as much as they could. Whereas the nuts [edible seed kernels] of the quandong were returned, and in respect traded downriver to a broker in Jugara [Victor Harbor] who found the Islanders most grateful, and returned to the town much gum cider.

    This same year came blister-rash (chickenpox) to the kingdom and the town. The physicians called for quarantine, but the blister-rash spread beyond all excluded towns. More Warrala townsfolk died of the blister-rash than anyone knows of any sickness before; more than swelling-fever (mumps) or the red cough (tuberculosis) or the worst year of the Waiting Death (Marnitja). The king died in Tjibarr of the Lakes, and Guneewin became third of that name to be cast in silver [3].

    (Translator’s Note: The relatively brief reference to what was a massive epidemic is typical of the style of Plirite annals. Events are merely described and not given any particular weight over each other; in the original language, the account of Bunjil’s passage and its aftermath is three times as long as the explanation of chickenpox. The first four infectious diseases known to have reached Aururia by 1635 (syphilis, tuberculosis, mumps and then chickenpox) are estimated to have killed more than ten percent of the population; a million people or more, depending on which estimate of the pre-contact population was correct).

    In this year died Eldest Brother Kalaree of the temple, and Tjuri became Eldest. Nine brothers and three sisters joined their kin (died) during the year.

    *

    Letter 29

    Azure Day, Cycle of Bunya Nuts, 5th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third [4] (2 August 1637)

    To Murranbulla of the Reds from your friend Nyulinga of the Azures [Light Blues]: May your days know honour and good fortune. May your nights know good sleep. May your footballers be favoured whenever they do not play the Azures.

    Refusal of the Raw Men to trade us their weapons is an insult to all who have goods to sell. They have not listened to reason, not in all the ten years since their ships first called at our ports. Where remonstration has failed, manoeuvre must be used to convince them.

    Single action will never make the Nedlandj Association renounce its ban. Joint action is required; for a time, all the partners in the Dance must step in the same direction. We must tell the Raw Men that until they agree to sell their weapons, and at a price which is fair, then we will withhold all kunduri from them. It is the trade good they value above all, and it is needed to bring them to accord.

    The embargo must be collective to succeed. In the short-term, it will bring more costs, but not unacceptable, since we can sell to the Islanders, who will sell to the Association for a greater profit, and more cost to the Raw Men. This cost we must tolerate. The Blues [Dark Blues] and Blacks have voiced their support to me, if we can find agreement elsewhere. The Blues agreeing means that the Greens are reticent, but this can be addressed if every other faction moves in step.

    Joint action is required, anathema though this may be to the Dance. Once the Raw Men have conceded that trade must flow, the factions can return to their ancient habits, but we must do what is necessary first.

    (Translator’s notes: Such open language is unusual in a letter between members of different Gunnagal factions, who usually adopted a much more circumspect style to discuss political manoeuvres. The plain wording adopted means either that this letter was public confirmation of an already agreed plan between the parties, which the author intended the recipient to circulate unofficially as part of further covert negotiations to gain support, or that the author expected the letter to be intercepted and spread widely to build a broader public pressure campaign to bring about the desired collective action.)

    *

    Letter 34

    Wombat Day, Cycle of Life, 5th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (22 November 1637)

    (Translator’s note: According to Tjibarr protocol, a letter addressed to the sentinel of a faction was the way to write to the all of the notable members of a faction, even though in most cases, the sentinel had no real political power within the faction.)

    To Waminung, Sentinel of the Golds, from your comrade (i.e. fellow Gold supporter) Nabool: May your days in this life be long. May you know good health and vigour. May our footballers triumph always over all rivals.

    I hear your requests that more must be done to support our beloved Golds of Renown. Too many players of talent have been lost to blister-rash or swelling-fever or sorrow, and those who would replace them must be searched out and trained.

    People who might attend to cheer our players are fewer in number. It saddens me to hear that there were unfilled seats in the last game between Golds and Reds. The tribulations are growing throughout the kingdom.

    While I am filled with pain to write it, I cannot provide the further silver or musk you have asked for to support the Golds. My estates are afflicted with flood, and lack enough workers to make repairs or harvest what remains in the fields before rot begins. Those of my neighbours suffer even more, for the new land controllers are young after their fathers and uncles joined their kin, and know not yet how to manage the land with one eye to what may come. (Translator’s note: A Gunnagal idiom which means roughly “look both to what must be done now, and to what is needed for the longer term).

    *

    Letter 35

    Eagle Day, Cycle of Fire, 6th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (18 May 1638)

    To Magool Wallira of the Blues from Nyulinga of the Azures: May your dreams be free of nightmares. May you find the harmony you seek.

    (Translator’s Note: Diplomatic letters in Aururian civilizations had a number of large stock phrases which could be used as openings, and Tjibarr was no exception. The reference to harmony indicates that Magool Wallira was among the minority of Gunnagal who followed the Plirite faith. The lack of well-wishers to his footballers also indicates that the Blues land controller (aristocrat) was among those for whom faction membership was for political and economic reasons, not sport.)

    Further truth has been revealed; the nature of things is now clearer. The new Raw Men who visited Jugara, these Inglidj, are no minor splinter of the Nedlandj. They are a nation of their own. So the Raw Men have factions too, their associations, and nations also. If not rivals now, they may become so.

    The rules have changed. Peetanootj [5] brought war to the Yadji, and his failure is our threat and opportunity. The Nedlandj are driven from the Land of the Five Directions; the Inglidj now have the monopoly there. Raw Men weapons and their makers have been captured by the Yadji, and Peetanootj is now in the kingdom [i.e. within Tjibarr’s borders].

    What had been prepared has been overtaken. While successful so far, it has been overtaken. Plans in travois must be unmade; new plans can be formed.

    (Translator’s Note: This is a circumspect reference to earlier attempts by the Azures aristocrat to establish a coalition (see letters 27 and 29) who would proclaim a kunduri embargo unless the Dutch East India Company agreed to trade in weapons. With Pieter Nuyts and fellow captives in Tjibarr, some Dutch captives in Durigal [the Yadji lands] and English traders now likely to arm the Yadji, the Dutch restrictions on trading weapons were now largely superfluous.)

    I invite you to consider these matters with me and several friends.

    *

    Letter 48

    (Translator’s Note: This letter was written in Dutch, and is the first official communication between a Tjibarr monarch and a European body. It is believed to have been composed by Wemba of the Whites, probably with assistance from one or more of the Dutch captives he retained from Nuyts’ failed conquest.

    Three copies are known to have been sent, one to Jugara to await the arrival of the next Dutch ship, one to the Island to be sent to the Dutch trading outpost at the Mutjing city-state of Luyandi [Port Kenny, South Australia], and one via the Nuttana for them to deliver it directly to Batavia on their next trading run to the East Indies.)

    Weemiraga's Day, Cycle of the Sun, 7th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (19 December 1639)

    To Anthony van Diemen, Governor of the Indies in Batavia, and through you to the Lords Seventeen of your East India Company. May your Three-fold God favour you in all of your endeavours throughout your life.

    ... Your Company has chosen to refuse us trade in your guns. While your reasons may have been valid in former times, the world is no longer as it was. The English Company has permission to trade with the Yadji, and has begun to sell them weapons.

    The Yadji hate us with a vigour that stretches back centuries. With their new weapons, they will soon start war with us. If the port of Jugara falls, then you will lose all trade with the Five Rivers, particularly in the kunduri which grows nowhere else. The Yadji will trade only with the English, and your Company will be the weaker for it.

    It is time to lift this restriction, and trade freely with us your guns, your powder, your cannon, for fair prices...

    (Signed with nine signatories, the monarch and a representative of each faction)

    King Guneewin of the Nine-Fold Crown
    Pila Dadi, Premier Land Controller, for the Whites
    Waminung, Sentinel of the Golds
    Gatjibee, Lifetime Champion (Footballer) of the Greens
    Kaalong, Sentinel of the Blacks
    Gumaring, First Speaker of the Azures
    Tjee Burra, Senior Physician, for the Grays
    Magool Wallira, in harmony, for the Blues
    Murranbulla, Land Controller, for the Reds

    * * *

    [1] Most agricultural cultures throughout history have considered the year to start during winter or spring. In Aururia, the nature of perennial farming and the particular crops grown mean that there is not the same connection to new growth in spring. In the Aururian farming cycle, winter is not a dead time of the year, since many of the crops (wattles) flower during winter, and the first harvests (red yams and murnong) can begin in autumn, not in summer. So the Aururian calendars are based on the autumn equinox as the start of the year.

    [2] Sentinel is the usual translation of the Gunnagal word for the person in a faction who is notionally responsible for choosing which players are selected into the football squad for the season. In some factions, the sentinel is a politically important figure who conducts negotiations with other factions over many matters (commerce, military, land control), not just football; in other factions, the sentinel is merely a agent who selects football players, and whose only negotiations with other factions is over exchanges of players and the like.

    [3] Part of the investiture of a new monarch in Tjibarr is to have a statuette of them cast in silver and placed in the Thousand-Fold Palace. The statuette is a symbol of the living monarch, not a permanent reminder; after the monarch’s death, the silver will be melted down and recast into a new statuette for the new monarch.

    [4] In the Gunnagal calendar, the start of each year is fixed at the autumn equinox. The period from the crowning of a new monarch to the next autumn equinox is considered the monarch’s first year, even if it only lasts a single day (or even one hour).

    [5] i.e. Pieter Nuyts, the would-be Dutch conquistador who had just failed in his bid to do a Cortes and become ruler of the Yadji realm. See post #44 (and its predecessors).

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #68: Music of the Dance
  • Lands of Red and Gold #68: Music of the Dance

    “They [the Dutch] are not only to lend us their experience but give every assistance to our merchants trading in the East and West Indies, leaving them free to trade on whatever coasts they choose in full security and liberty and to associate with them [French merchants] in their navigation to the said countries.”
    - Cardinal Richelieu, 1627 (shortly before his death) setting out the conditions that the Dutch would have to accept in exchange for French finance in the Dutch war for independence from Spain

    * * *

    Venus's Day, Cycle of the Moon, 8th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (28 February 1641)
    Hall of Rainbows [1], Tjibarr of the Lakes
    Kingdom of Tjibarr

    Heat lies heavy in the Hall. Summer is all but gone in the turning of the seasons, but its presence lingers yet. A man who has lived as long as Kaalong develops a feel for the weather. No matter what season the calendar proclaims, the north wind, the time of danger and fire, will dwell in Tjibarr of the Lakes for many days to come.

    Inside the Hall, no man forgets what lies outside. The Hall of Rainbows has many qualities, but not those that give coolness during the day. Splendour, yes, that is here in abundance. The Hall is full of marvels that proclaim the triumphs of the factions, most notably the bronzed statues of champion footballers, and other treasures of history passed. Precision, yes, that is here too, from the carefully polished eight-sided table in the centre of the Hall, to the eight equally-sized grand entrances in the centre of each of the eight walls. Ventilation, though, is not a quality that was foremost in the minds of the builders. Heat which enters the Hall lingers long after the daily dying of the sun which gave it birth.

    Kaalong maintains his composure as best he can. Thirty-two men have gathered here in the Hall. Four chosen to represent each faction. The best four. Here is the grand chamber which forms the heart of the Endless Dance. Here, those who are permitted to enter are those who are best suited to the Dance.

    Of the thirty-two men here, Kaalong likes to think that he is the best Dancer. His talents have won him the post of Sentinel of the Blacks, one of only two factions where the Sentinel is in truth the leading man. More than that, his talents have kept him there. In the Endless Dance, a man soon finds that gaining something is only the prelude; holding what he has won is the true achievement.

    For all of his talents, the gap between him and the other Dancers gathered here is not large. A blundering man will soon misstep in the Dance. Even if such a misstep is not fatal, it will be enough to remove a man from consideration for true power.

    A man in plain brown clothes enters through the Grays’ entrance. “Stand! He comes before you! The Nine-fold King! The Essence of Harmony! He who brings balance to the kingdom! He comes before you! Stand!”

    Kaalong smoothly rises to his feet. So does every other man. A king in Tjibarr is no absolute ruler, like the emperor of the Yadji. The emperor of the Yadji has unbounded power over his people. The Yadji ruler can order a man to go bring back a sword to be used for his own execution. No king of Tjibarr has such power. Yet despite that truth, it would be a poor Dancer who failed to show proper respect for the person of the king.

    His Majesty Guneewin, third of that name, is a young man, barely thirty, and his youth shows on his smooth-cheeked face. Mostly smooth-cheeked, that is. The king has not grown a beard in the fashion of the barbaric Atjuntja, but hair grows in front of his ears. It runs down both his cheeks, ending just before his lips.

    Such is the fashion in Tjibarr this season. A fashion Kaalong has not bothered to follow. He has seen too many summers to be comfortable yielding to the ever-changing demands of fashion. More, he deems it unwise to earn a reputation for being needlessly changeable; being seen as such can only hinder the steps of his Dance.

    The king enters through the grand entrance of the Grays. That choice of entrance has been scrupulously chosen by drawing lots beforehand; Kaalong had one of his retired footballers as witness to the choosing. The king walks slowly around the Hall in a full circle, pausing for the same length of time at each of the grand entrances. All accords with custom. No monarch of Tjibarr who openly shows too much preference for one faction will hold the throne for much longer.

    His Majesty takes an ordinary seat – no thrones here, in the Hall of Rainbows – aligned between the table’s centre and the Grays’ grand entrance.

    After the king sits, the faction leaders do the same. Four at each side of the table, with no servants or hangers-on in hearing distance.

    “Let us consider what must be done,” the king says, speaking first as protocol requires. Ritual words, but with import far above their usual meaning. Any full gathering of the factions is time for politics, but every year that passes now makes for a more delicate balance.

    The last full gathering of the factions saw the production of a letter to the Nedlandj Association’s rulers. Now the factions now must decide what other steps Tjibarr will take. The Endless Dance moves ever on, but now it does so across a much larger scale.

    To any normal man of Tjibarr, the discussion which follows is unusually quiet and reserved. Most meetings of Gunnagal are times for loud interjection, for argumentation, quibbling, and laborious exploration of individual points. Sometimes, Kaalong thinks that most Gunnagal seek to convince as much by volume as by reason.

    This is no meeting of ordinary Gunnagal. The best Dancers are well-seasoned, and astute. They know when to be silent. They know when to listen, and when to think. They know not to speak unless they have something worth saying, or until they want people to think that they have nothing worth saying. They can read volumes in any speech, in what is said, in how it is said, and in what is not said. Language of the body can speak more than words which pass the lips. The Dance has many facets, many levels of manoeuvre, and many men who need to think.

    Only the best Dancers are in the room, now.

    Silence descends around the table for a long moment. Further sign that this is no casual meeting of Gunnagal. Most times, five or six men would already being speaking over the top of each other.

    Waminung, Sentinel of the Golds, is first to offer an opinion. “War comes soon. We have held Jugara [2] for over twenty years. The Yadji will not tolerate our control for much longer. Only their mad emperor and succession war has held them from acting for so long.”

    “The succession has cost them much,” says Gumaring, First Speaker of the Azures. A man who obsesses much with status, yet is astute regardless.

    “And won them much,” says Murranbulla, one of the more senior land controllers [aristocrats] among the Reds. “Veteran soldiers who know how to fight. Generals who know how to command. That Bidwadjari understands battle like any seasoned Dancer understands politics.”

    “I hear that the Yadji have fewer soldiers now than when we drove them out of Jugara,” says Tjee Burra of the Grays. A man who rejoices in the title of senior physician, which is true, but only the smallest part of what he does. Tjee Burra has very good hearing, especially for events within Durigal [the Yadji lands].

    “So do we,” says Magool Wallira. Who represents the Blues, in some manner, but in a way which is as ambiguous as any of the manoeuvres of that most troublesome of factions. Magool has neither seniority nor the greatest prestige nor the greatest holdings amongst Blue land controllers. One can never tell whether Magool makes the decisions or if he is a convenient front for the true architects amongst the Blues. “The plagues have cost us much.”

    A most cutting reference, that. His Majesty only holds the throne because of the latest of those plagues. A reminder of that could be an accident. Could. Kaalong tries to watch everyone’s reaction, and has to settle for noticing that Pila Dadi has shown no reaction at all. A sign of great composure, or a sign that the Whites’ greatest land controller awaited that remark?

    “This is not the time to list how many soldiers and factionaries can be found within the lands of the Nine-fold Crown,” His Majesty says calmly. If he is offended, it does not carry into his voice.

    Kaalong says, “Let us ask instead if war comes with the Yadji, what can we gain from it?” An obvious question, but a useful one. Staying silent too long in the Hall carries its own risks, from those who would see plots even where is none, and from those who would interpret quiet as weakness.

    Murranbulla shrugs. “We hold as much land as we can, almost. If we push further, we may take land for a time, but could we hold it?”

    “If we weaken the Yadji hold in the Red Country [3], it will be harder for them to push back to the Nyalananga [River Murray],” says Bili Narra, a senior Gold land controller.

    “Better to consolidate what we hold in the Copper Coast,” Murranbulla says.

    “What do you think we’ve been doing for the last twenty years?” says Waminung. Support for his fellow Gold member, or a sign of dissension within the faction? Or a bid to make the other factions think there is a rift within the Golds, and so see what advances are offered to each?

    “Taking advantage of the Yadji’s internal distractions to manoeuvre amongst factions to gain the best lands. So it always is,” says Magool Wallira. Is that a hint of humour in his voice?

    “What has happened, has happened,” says Pila Dadi of the Whites. “Better to ask if the Yadji are in a condition to advance into the Copper Coast.”

    “They have more soldiers than us,” Kaalong says. He wishes he knew exactly how many more. He is no Gray, to have ears everywhere. Yet what his sources in Durigal can find out suggests that the Yadji have suffered even more from the blister-rash [chickenpox] than the Five Rivers. “It is always so, unless we can persuade both Gutjanal and Yigutji [the inland Five Rivers kingdoms] to stand with us.”

    “Numbers are not everything. Or the Yadji would never lose the Copper Coast,” says Gumaring. The Azures’ First Speaker’s gaze shifts to the king, just for a moment.

    “Truth. Soldiers in the Copper Coast are ever hard for the Yadji to support,” Waminung says.

    “Can the Yadji support their troops better with their new horses?” says Gatjibee of the Greens. The only man here who is a former footballer, he had a reputation for devious tactics on the field, which has carried over into his new role as representative for his faction in the greater Dance.

    “They have few horses. Or so I hear,” says Tjee Burra.

    “Quite. They ate most of those they captured,” Magool Wallira says, amusement plain in his voice this time. “Short-sighted of them.”

    “Ask what we can do with our horses,” Murranbulla says. The Reds land controller looks across the table to the four Whites representatives.

    None of the Whites respond immediately.

    Bili Narra says, “These new beasts can carry much. If we have them, we can push into the Red Country and bring more food with us.”

    “Or the Yadji will get their own from their Inglidj allies, and move more men and supplies along their roads. Whatever else may be said of the Yadji, they are master road builders,” says Gumaring.

    “So in war, we must rip up their roads?” Magool Wallir asks.

    “Most importantly, we must stop their building teams making new roads. Such as one straight to Tjibarr,” Kaalong says. He watches the Whites representatives again when he speaks, but sees nothing. Most quiet on their part, since so far the Whites are the only faction to have horses.

    “Never mind what the Yadji can do with horses,” Gatjibee says. “Ask what we can do.”

    That remark produces much turning of heads to Gatjibee. The Greens footballer meets the gaze with a broad smile.

    Kaalong watches the Whites instead. It is hard to be sure, amongst such skilled Dancers, but Wemba looks less enthusiastic about the whole discussion of horses. Wemba is the man who secured both Peetanootj [Pieter Nuyts] and the first horses to come to Tjibarr. He has been allowed to keep them because he held them first, and because the factions could not – and cannot – agree who will be rewarded with the horses if they were taken off Wemba. The Whites will have plans of their own for horses, surely. No matter that Pila Dadi leads the Whites, Wemba will be the one making plans. He is the one who must be watched carefully.

    Gatjibee says, “Horses can move goods quickly by road. So we know from what the Nedlandj tell us, and what Peetanootj did in Durigal. So let us build a great road from the Great Bend [4] west across the dry lands, to a port on the farther reaches of the Copper Coast. Taparee [Port Pirie], Nookoonoo [Port Broughton], or perhaps even Dogport [Port Augusta].” He grins widely. Insufferably.

    Representatives of four factions try to speak at once. His Majesty holds up a hand. “Murranbulla spoke first... though it was a close-run thing.”

    Muranbulla says, “If horses can run across the dry lands, across a road to a new port, that will reshape the balance.”

    “Jugara and the Bitter Lake [Lake Alexandrina] will no longer be the sole route for trade with the Island and the Raw Men,” Gumaring says. “If the Yadji take Jugara, we will no longer be cut off.”

    “Better, if the Yadji try to advance as far as Dogport, then we can advance along the Nyalananga to threaten their supplies,” says Waminung.

    “Best of all, we can still obtain the Nedlandj weapons even if the Yadji still hold Jugara,” Kaalong says.

    From there, the discussion flows into a more general one of the consequences of the new horses, the muskets – if those could ever be obtained – and of how to face the Yadji threat. Or so it appears on the surface. As Kaalong is all too well aware, much more is being discussed beneath these topics. He strains his awareness to identify what he can. He looks for the hints, the meaning in silences, and in half-spoken sounds. He strives to understand what each means, whether they be truth or deliberately spoken impression.

    Each of the factions does the same, he knows. They watch where each other stands, and what ideas each faction advances. Each faction, each representative, seeks what can be found for their own advantage, as part of the broader struggle. Many offer ideas as if for the first time, presenting them as new inspiration. Most of those ideas will have been heard earlier, by some or perhaps all of the factions. The ground has to be prepared. No Dancer takes his first step onto the dance floor without studying that floor first.

    Kaalong tries to watch each faction. Apart from Wemba and the rest of the Whites, those he observes most are the Azures. That faction has manoeuvred much of late, under Gumaring their First Speaker and Nyulinga who provides the ideas. They had plans of their own for a kunduri embargo that would force the Nedlandj to trade their weapons.

    The outcome has worked, at least in part, but not as Nyulinga had planned. The outlaws’ raid into Durigal and the weapons the Yadji captured there have forced the Nedlandj to trade weapons. Which is far from what Nyulinga had sought: a compact with the Azures at the head, bargaining favourable terms with the Raw Men. They are resentful still, surely, and will be making fresh plans. Another faction to be watch.

    In time, the discussion shifts to the inland kingdoms of Gutjanal and Yigutji. The age-old kingdoms who are allies as often as enemies in the ever-changing steps of the Dance.

    Gumaring says, “Of one thing we can be sure: Yigutji and Gutjanal can never reach the sea to trade for Raw Man weapons.”

    Magool Wallira says, “Quite. They are isolated. Most of what they want to sell must pass through our lands. Now, too, so must what they most dearly need to buy.”

    Bili Narra smiles. “They will rely us. We can threaten them. Advance on them.”

    Murranbulla nods. “Gutjanal, or perhaps both, could buy weapons off the Yadji. If the Yadji agree. But why would they not, if it will give them allies against us?”

    While obvious signs are few, resentment forms in many others around the table. Not just for Murranbulla speaking a voice of caution. As always in the Dance, there is more to the tale.

    The Reds won the football in the season just passed. As always, that has brought them more glory, and some of the people, and perhaps a few land controllers, changing to their faction. Along with more generous support from the land controllers aligned to them. Equally, the victory has brought jealousy, more distrust, and more opposition both covert and overt from land controllers of other factions, in all matters pursued by the Reds. Such is the Dance.

    Waminung says, “Moving the guns by road from the Yadji lands will be much harder than moving them by water is for us.”

    Pila Dadi says, “We could make the inland kingdoms dependent on us. Sell weapons to them, for a good price. They will need fresh powder to come from us. They will not be able to turn on us so easily, for they will find themselves unable to use the weapons they would now rely on.”

    That comment provokes a round of silence; a rare achievement even amongst so accomplished Dancers as here. Perhaps even rarer here; the lingering silence shows that every man here recognises a good idea when he hears one.

    Kaalong does not want that acknowledgement to go so far, so he adds, “Sell some to the hill-men, too. They can always find uses for weapons.”

    Magool Wallira laughs. “The Nguril and Kaoma [5]? Oh, their only problem will be deciding whether to use them on the Yadji or the inland kingdoms.”

    “If we can sell weapons through the eastern kingdoms,” Murranbulla says.

    “With the prices the guns will command, surely that can be managed,” Tjee Burra says.

    Several men shake their heads. With that, and the effects of Pila Dadi’s comments fading, most of the Dancers return to their usual air of silent thoughtfulness. That is the most common appearance of an experienced Dancer. Unless, that is, they decide that acting like an ill-spoken, status-obsessed, typical loudmouth Gunnagal suits their current purpose in a discussion. Or, for the truly subtle, cultivate such an image to ensure that opponents underestimate them.

    The talk continues about the needful actions to meet the changes in the world. Until the king holds up a hand and says, “All that this Council has said must be considered. Now I bid you pay me heed to what the kingdom needs.”

    An ancient phrasing, that, and one best used only by those rulers with the prestige to steer the factions along the royal course. The current monarch lacks that prestige so far, or so Kaalong judges.

    King Guneewin continues, “In all of our actions, dissension must be kept between Nedlandj and Inglidj. While we must trade with the Nedlandj alone for now, as circumstances require, we must keep open some communication with the Inglidj. For the alliance of Yadji and Inglidj may shift. The Inglidj must not be driven from the Land forever.

    “Better still, we must encourage other Raw Men nations to sail to the Land. Since we must Dance with the Raw Men, we must ensure that they provide more Dancers.”

    That produces much shaking of heads amongst the Council. In genuine agreement, if Kaalong is any judge, not just superficial acknowledgement for the Nine-fold Crown. This new king may be young, but he is far from a fool.

    And that truth, too, will become part of the Dance.

    * * *

    [1] The Hall of Rainbows is the tallest building in Tjibarr of the Lakes (the capital city for which the kingdom is named), and its central complex is where the senior representatives of each faction come to meet to resolve issues which concern all factions. Whether the monarch is admitted depends on their personal reputation; a king who has established some credibility as an arbiter may be invited.

    [2] Jugara [Victor Harbor, South Australia] is the closest port to the unnavigable mouth of the Nyalananga [River Murray], and is linked to that river by a much-travelled road. Save for a small handful of high-value goods traded east and north for spices, most of the produce of the Five Rivers is exported via the Jugara Road. As such, Jugara is the most-contested city on the continent, with Tjibarr and Yadji fighting numerous wars for control of the port and the trade control that comes with it.

    [3] The Red Country is the Yadji name for the lands between the Nyalananga and Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]. This is a fertile, low-lying land [called the Limestone Coast historically] that is ruled by the Yadji but populated by subject ethnicities.

    [4] The Great Bend is the Gunnagal name for the point (around modern Morgan, South Australia) where the Nyalananga makes an abrupt change in course, turning from its generally westerly route to a southern course that brings it into the sea about 300 kilometres further south.

    [5] The Nguril and Kaoma (hill-men) live in the highlands of the historical Monaro plateau, among the headwaters of the Matjidi [River Murrumbidgee]. They raid both into the Five Rivers, and into the Yadji’s eastern provinces.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #69: On The Cusp
  • Lands of Red and Gold #69: On The Cusp

    “Faith can move mountains, but dynamite is quicker.”
    - Djiramarra “Jeremy” Uptilli, Junditmara engineer

    * * *

    Venus's Day, Cycle of the Moon, 8th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (28 February 1641)
    Hall of Rainbows, Tjibarr of the Lakes
    Kingdom of Tjibarr

    Wemba of the Whites listened with contentment as the Council debated how to manage the future of the kingdom, how to cope with the changes sweeping over the land with the appearance of the Raw Men and the plagues they brought with them. He did not need to speak much himself; the points which needed to be said emerged from other people, sometimes as planned with the Whites and their political allies, sometimes as members of other factions had been guided to say.

    In time, a new topic emerged in the discussion. Loongana, one of the senior land controllers for the Grays, spoke for the first time. “We Dance around a broader truth. The question this Council must consider is whether all four nations [1] will survive the changes that come with cannon and horses and everything else the Raw Men bring.”

    Murranbulla of the Reds said, “The four nations will long endure, as they have before.”

    “Where is Lopitja nowadays?” said Waminung, Sentinel of the Golds. “Once it was our first rival among the nations, now goannas and desert rats wander over the sands that cover what once were its cities.”

    “The winds and rains changed, dooming Lopitja,” said Gatjibee of the Greens.

    “And do the Raw Men not represent the greatest change in the wind which the land has ever known?” Waminung asked.

    King Guneewin held up a hand. “All that this Council has said must be considered. Now I bid you pay me heed to what the kingdom needs.”

    Wemba kept his expression smooth, but with more effort than usual. The monarch had the power to end the Council meeting when he wished, but better sense would be to wait until the discussion was clearly drifting, rather than when it was productive.

    The king added, “In all of our actions, dissension must be kept between Nedlandj and Inglidj. While we must trade with the Nedlandj alone for now, as circumstances require, we must keep open some communication with the Inglidj. For the alliance of Yadji and Inglidj may shift. The Inglidj must not be driven from the Land forever.

    “Better still, we must encourage other Raw Men nations to sail to the Land. Since we must Dance with the Raw Men, we must ensure that they provide more Dancers.”

    All around the table, the Council members shook their heads. Wemba made sure he was among them; no reason to show disagreement with good sense. The king was not a fool, just young and unseasoned. He was learning, but had not yet learned how to grasp the full subtleties of what was said and not said.

    The Council meeting broke up, and the representatives of each faction walked back to their own grand entrances and their own wings of the Hall of Rainbows. Once inside the Whites’ own rooms, Wemba allowed himself to relax somewhat. Council meetings always required the concentration of a physician performing surgery.

    Even here, he could not end his vigilance completely. The factions competed between each other, but sometimes the struggles within factions were worse. Wemba had acquired considerable standing amongst the Whites, perhaps the second behind Pila Dadi – the great land controller – himself. That brought prestige, but it also made him a target.

    Once back in the Whites’ own council chamber, Pila Dadi said, “That went about as well as we could have expected.”

    Wemba shook his head. “The Blues and Greens have said everything we wished we could say.”

    He did not bother to explain that they had been helped further by the Golds too-transparent disagreement between themselves. That was an obvious ploy of faked dissension, to encourage other factions to contact the apparently competing Waminung and Bili Narra of the Golds to exploit the supposed internal divisions of the Golds. And so reveal their own plans to the actually united Golds. In some lesser factions, Wemba might have wondered whether such disagreement was genuine – it certainly happened, sometimes – but Waminung was too experienced a sentinel to show honest disagreement with his own faction member in the Council Hall.

    Pila Dadi chuckled. “Blues and Greens have been rivals for so long, few suspect that they might ever stand together.” Not that the two ancient rivals were truly standing together – they certainly had their own plans to undermine each other, in time – but they had agreed to a certain measure of cooperation in exchange for access to horses.

    Some of the other factions bore watching, too. Wemba was particularly wary of the Azures. Their old plans had failed. While he had nothing to do with that failure – that was the actions of Pieter Nuyts and the Inglidj – the Azures would still blame him, and the Whites. He had to be careful.

    He had concerns also about the too-quiet Kaalong, Sentinel of the Blacks. The man thought he knew more than he did – another common flaw – but he was no fool. What were the Blacks planning? Why had they said so little during the Council? Perhaps they were just watching and waiting, but what if a trap yawned there, too?

    Pila Dadi said, “Is there anything else you think we should do now?”

    “Not that we can guide the Council toward, yet,” Wemba said. “We almost got there, until His Majesty ended the Council meeting.”

    “True. Unfortunate he came to the throne so soon,” Pila Dadi said. “But the Golds at least, and maybe the Greens, are starting to grasp that we must make a lasting, meaningful alliance with the two inland kingdoms [Gutjanal and Yigutji], or be overwhelmed by the Yadji.”

    “Do you think they grasp that we don’t want that alliance to defeat the Yadji?” Wemba asked.

    “Speak plainly,” Nundjalung said.

    Wemba had almost forgotten Nundjalung, and the other White councillor. Both of them had been invited to the Council only to observe; Pila Dadi did most of the speaking, and Wemba joined in when required. Nundjalung had been a champion footballer in his day, and while he knew much of the Endless Dance, he had not been raised with it like Wemba or Pila Dadi. Sometimes he did not grasp points quickly enough.

    Wemba said, “As long as the Five Rivers and the Yadji are rivals, we can both get aid from our Raw Men “allies”.”

    Pila Dadi added, “And both of them depend on us as their favourable interest here.”

    Comprehension dawned on Nundjalung’s features. “If one of us succeeds in conquering the other, then we become the target of-”

    “Of both Raw Men powers,” Pila Dadi said. “The defeated Raw Men nation will try to control us directly, while our former allies will no longer need us to support their “interests” here.”

    Wemba said, “So they might move to take direct control too.”

    “Or at least dictate terms to us, in trade, and in their weapons, and in all else,” Pila Dadi said.

    Nundjalung shook his head.

    Wemba laughed. “If I thought Gunya Yadji would grasp the concept, I would have the suggestion delivered to him that we make our warfare so indecisive that it drags on forever.”

    Pila Dadi said, “A shame the concept would elude him. Yadji never have much grasp of this world.”

    “They are too busy thinking about their supposed world to come,” Nundjalung said.

    Only partly true, Wemba thought, but did not bother to correct the footballer. In truth, the Yadji were a young empire, who had been shaped from a thousand minor polities into a nation only two or three centuries ago. The factions in Tjibarr had been competing in the subtleties of the Endless Dance since before the fall of the Empire.

    “One truth the factions have grasped, and perhaps even the Yadji,” Pila Dadi said. “We must quickly learn as much as we can of the Raw Men and their ways. Especially their weapons.”

    Wemba said, “Without that, w will be forever dependent on them. And go the same way as the Mexicans and Inca.”

    “Who are they?” Nundjalung asked.

    “Exactly,” Wemba said.

    * * *

    7 September 1639 / 3rd Year of Regent Gunya Yadji
    Near Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria]
    Durigal [Land of the Five Directions]

    “This job is a pile of shit,” Rikert Wulff muttered. Which was true both literally and metaphorically.

    Four sheds were set up in front of him. Each covered what had been laid down as a bed of rammed clay, then manure piled on top of it. Dried pellets of manure from the gloriously oversized chickens these kuros farmed instead of cattle or pigs. These had been mixed with ashes from the wood of the grain-trees [wattles], liberal quantities of branches, leaves and twigs, and plenty of regular soil. The heaps were turned every week or so – fortunately a job for Yadji peasants – and also dosed with urine and dung-water.

    Eventually, this should produce the whitish crust on the heaps which was the first step on the road to making saltpetre.

    This was hardly a job for a master cannoneer. He had to do something, though. These Yadji were barbarous and bloodthirsty, and only the belief that he and his fellow cannoneers could produce something useful kept them alive.

    Making cannon was out of the question. The Yadji didn’t even know what cast iron was, let alone having the artisans or foundry needed to cast it into cannon. One of his junior cannoneers had decided to try casting bronze cannon instead. That was not entirely a fool’s errand – the Yadji did have a few bronzeworkers around – but still Wulff doubted that anything useful could be made for years, if ever. The Yadji’s patience would run out long before then.

    Creating gunpowder had seemed to be a useful alternative. Something that would keep the Yadji happy, and let him keep his own neck intact. Alas, so far, Wulff couldn’t even work out how to produce saltpetre properly. He had seen parts of it being done, over the years, but had never known completely how it worked. Now he had to try to find out, and even producing usable amounts of unleached saltpetre from the manure heaps was difficult. Tackling the leaching and refining process that would be needed afterward would be another challenge altogether.

    The wind shifted, blowing from the sheds, and bringing the pungent smell to his nostrils. “This shit had better work,” he muttered.

    * * *

    Time of the Closure [August 1638]
    Yuragir [Coffs Harbour, New South Wales], Kingdom of Daluming

    Dawn broke over the Mound of Memory. The sun’s first rays should have turned everything golden, but this was a rare day of clouds. Light began to pierce the distant horizon, bringing gray to the blackness, but none of the usual glory of golden sunlight on glass.

    Ilangi the priest stood with several of his fellows at the peak of the Mound. Unusually, the Father himself [the high priest] had come today to lead the dawn invocations.

    Ilangi mouthed the words he had spoken a thousand times before. The same ritual invocations to the worthy heads who had been interred behind blessed glass. All of the words were as they should be, but Ilangi’s thoughts were elsewhere. As he spoke the words, his gaze wandered to the sea, where the cloud-dimmed sun sill allowed enough light to see if any ships were passing by.

    Two years had passed now since the Inglundirr, the Raw Men, had come to Yuragir. Two years since King Otella had formally declared that the Closure, the end of the age, was upon the kingdom. Those Inglundirr had fled in their ships after leaving one of their number behind to be interred in the Mound. The king had let them go, foolishly in Ilangi’s opinion, but no-one had dared gainsay the king.

    With the Inglundirr skull filling its niche, twenty-two empty niches had remained in the Mound. Only the utterly worthy could be considered for inclusion now, the greatest of blooded warriors or those with royal blood. Despite the application of these strict criteria, five niches had been filled since. Seventeen remained, but the Inglundirr had never returned.

    The Raw Men had to be part of the Closure. They had to be. Ilangi was utterly convinced, though not all the priests shared his realisation. So every day he made sure that he was one of the priests who went to the Mound for the dawn invocations, and every day he looked for ships.

    On rare occasions he had seen Islander ships, far out to sea, with their distinctive triangular sails. But as best he could tell, none of the Inglundirr ships with their squarish sails came near to Yuragir.

    When would they return and bring the Closure?

    * * *

    12 May 1642 / 6th Year of Regent Gunya Yadji
    Fort Cumberland [Geelong, Victoria]
    Land of the Five Directions (Yadji Empire)

    Maurice Redman – Governor Maurice Redman – looked out on what the Yadji had made, and saw that it was good.

    The Islanders were right: the Yadji knew much about building in stone. In what seemed like an impossibly short time, they had built a fort here for the Company to occupy. A small fort, but well-made in stone.

    Better, the Yadji had listened to him, when it came to protecting from cannon fire. The fort had been built above earth ramparts, to absorb any bombardment.

    Redman did not know whether such precautions would be necessary. The fort was inside the already-treacherous entrance to the great bay [Port Phillip Bay], and further inside a bay with a sandbar so shallow that seagoing ships could not be sailed directly into the port, but goods had to be loaded onto smaller boats. A raid by the Dutch or even Spanish would be difficult here; the reason he had chosen such a location. But additional safety never hurt.

    Of course, siting Fort Cumberland here had other benefits. One of the great Yadji roads passed here, keeping near to the sea, and ran all the way to their capital of Kirunmara and further to the other main outpost at Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]. There was plenty of fresh water: two rivers ran nearby, though not right beside the fort.

    Most importantly, the site of Fort Cumberland did not have a Yadji town in the immediate vicinity. The Yadji had built their usual water works along both rivers, but there was still a decent emptiness around the new fort. Redman greatly preferred that: living too close to intemperate Yadji was not a prospect which appealed.

    As he looked over the surrounding countryside, he saw someone coming along the great Yadji road. Riding along the road.

    An Englishman. It had to be. The Yadji had no horses, so far as he knew, and even if they had acquired some, he doubted they had learned how to ride properly.

    The man was riding his horse at a gallop, too. If he had come all the way from Gurndjit – the only place that had horses – at near that pace, he must be close to killing his horse.

    Redman looked away from the fort walls and shouted out an order to have the rider brought to him as soon as he was in a fit state to talk.

    Soon enough, William Greentree was brought into his presence. Greentree looked – and smelled – like a man who had not rested or bathed in a week. His first words confirmed it. “Treachery! The Dutch have struck at Gurndjit! A week gone now, their ships appeared and bombarded the fort we were building.”

    Greentree looked around for a moment, as if finally realising that the fort here was finished, though begun much later than the one at Gurndjit. Of course, the fort planned at Gurndjit was about five times the size of this one.

    “War,” Redman said coldly. If not war that was officially declared, war all the same. “War on us, and on the Yadji.” Those two facts must be combined: this must be used to spur the Yadji ruler into active support for the Company.

    * * *

    Taken from: “People of the Seas: The Nangu Diaspora”
    By Accord Anderson
    New London [Charleston, South Carolina], Alleghania: 1985

    4. Island in the Sea of Struggles

    Guidance from the Nangu providing the way, the Manyilti captain Jerimbee led Baffin to the Yadji. Compact formed for English benefit, for Pieter Nuyts then struck at the Yadji heart, while Jerimbee his own course pursued in quest for glory. Most determined all parties were.

    Nuyts routed, and hostility to Dutchmen born, Yadji and East India Company began their accord. Trade and fortifications were their first concern, while Manyilti bloodline found opportunity for its own contacts with previously recalcitrant Yadji.

    Most forthright construction the Company planned, with forts twice established for trade and security. Until the day when the Dutch Company abandoned pretence, and Gurndjit was raided with cannon and soldiers.

    Begun, the Proxy Wars had.

    * * *

    [1] i.e. Tjibarr, Gutjanal, and Yigutji, the three kingdoms of the Five Rivers, and the Yadji Empire. These are the four peoples which political factions in Tjibarr generally recognise as forming civilized nations. Question marks always hang over the Atjuntja, who are regarded as barbaric, and the Nangu on the Island, who are usually regarded as too chaotically run to count as a nation.

    * * *

    Thoughts?

    P.S. This post concludes Act 1 of Lands of Red and Gold (posts #20-69); the previous posts 0-19 formed an extended prologue. I'll shortly be reformatting the website version of the timeline to show the new structure (although this won't change the content of the timeline in any significant way). LoRaG will resume soon with Act 2.
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #70: True Colours
  • Lands of Red and Gold #70: True Colours

    This forms the prologue to Act 2 of Lands of Red and Gold. I’m still reformatting the whole structure of the currently published timeline to date and will eventually repost this, perhaps in a separate thread. But in the meantime, this is the opening framing device (and something of a teaser) for Act 2: The Four Horsemen.

    * * *

    24 December 1912
    Gerang’s Falls [Buckley’s Falls], near Cumberland [Geelong, Victoria]

    Carl Ashkettle paces slowly up and down the road atop a dam. He steps from one length of the dam to the other, then turns around and repeats the process. The dam is small, and in truth he could walk it quickly if he wishes, but he is in no hurry. Or rather, he is in a hurry, but this slow walk will have to do as a means of marking time.

    To his right – as he now paces – the waters of the lake grow ever darker as the sun sets behind them. The lake is only small; the River Wandana [Barwon River] has been dammed here purely to hold water for fishing and aquaculture. He supposes that the dimming glimpses of the lake might be soothing, if he were in the right mind, but all he cares about now is the much-delayed arrival of the source he has arranged to meet here.

    Moments later, he notices a man walking down the road at the far side of the dam. Walking. The man has come here on foot. Strange, that.

    As the man draws nearer, Ashkettle studies him with a practiced chronicler’s [reporter’s] eye. Old and short, are his first impressions. The man barely reaches Ashkettle’s shoulder, and Ashkettle himself is far from the tallest of men. The man’s advanced age is obvious from the whiteness of the hair on his head and neatly-trimmed short beard. Something is odd about his face, though; it nags at Ashkettle, but he cannot place it for now.

    The newcomer’s clothes are undistinguished. He wears dark green linen overalls with a few blackish stains. Nothing that would be out of place in any of Cumberland’s many mills [factories].

    “Good evening, Mr... Clements, is it?” Ashkettle says, with the briefest hint of a bow, but with no effort to shake hands.

    “So I’m called,” Clements answers, with a vague hint of a bow in response. “My most recent name, that is.”

    Ashkettle raises an eyebrow, but the other man does not elaborate. After a moment, Ashkettle says, “Why did you ask me out here, Mr Clements?” A little abrupt, perhaps, but the long waiting past the appointed hour plays on his nerves.

    “Because I want you to tell my story,” Clements says.

    “The tale of your life, or just one particular story that you want the world to hear?”

    Clements grins. “Oh, my life story. Enough as would interest the world, any ways. I dare say they’d be right taken with most of it.”

    “Enough to pay to read it?” Ashkettle says, in what he hopes is a disarming tone. Lots of people think they have stories worth telling, but usually other people do not find those stories worth listening to.

    “I’d say so. Yes, I’d def’nitely say so. Not that it matters much to me, you see.”

    “Oh?”

    “Don’t care nothing for this,” Clement says, and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers of his left hand. “Make what cash off’ve my tale as you can. Only one condition I have for you.” At Ashkettle’s inquiring noise, the old man says, “Write as much as you can while I live, to get yourself ready. But you can’t print nothing in your paper or books til I’ve gone.”

    “Ah.” That kind of story could well be interesting. Perhaps not, but the chances are so much better. And a story for which he pays nothing will cost him only his time. Easy enough to stop hearing the tale if it proves worthless.

    Ashkettle produces a notebook and pencil. “Shall we begin? The short version, to start with.”

    Clement chuckles. “No such thing, with my tale. But we can go from the beginning.”

    “As good a place as any, I suppose. Where were you born?”

    “Yigutji [Wagga Wagga]. The city. The old city.”

    Ashkettle has to think for a moment. History has never been his forte. “Ah, yes. The old – very old city. Must be a tale there. How did you come to be born in an archaeological site?”

    “My mother didn’t live in no place of diggers. When I was born, Yigutji was still a real city. A living, breathing place. The heart of its kingdom.”

    Ashkettle gives a hollow laugh. “Oh, your mother borrowed a time machine before she gave birth?”

    “Not on your life. Born there too, she was, may she rest in peace.”

    Ashkettle considers whether to rip the page out of his notebook and walk away on the spot, but decides to indulge this would-be scammer a little longer. “How old are you, then?”

    “Don’t rightly know, not to the day. Live long enough, and the oldest times start to blur in your head, know what I mean?” Clements looks at him, and apparently recognises how close he is to leaving on the spot. “But I dare say I would’ve been born around 1610, give or take.”

    “You’re telling me you are three hundred years old?”

    “That I am, or thereabouts, any ways.”

    “And I’m Prestor John. I think I’ve wasted enough time here,” Ashkettle says, and tucks the notebook back into his pocket.

    He goes to put the pencil in after it, but Clements lays a hand on his shoulder. “I assure you, Mr. Ashkettle, that hearing me out will be worth your time. I am offering you the biggest scoop of the decade, if not the century, and you are not willing to listen.”

    The change in diction is astonishing. Ashkettle knows he is staring, but cannot stop.

    Clements chuckles. “Oh, yes, I can sound like an educated man, or a common oaf, as I prefer. Or any of several other guises. Live as long as I have, sir, and you will learn to play many roles. If only so you can go on living a while longer.”

    Ashkettle looks at the man more closely. His ancestry appears muddled enough that he could be telling the truth about being a Yigutji man of pure heritage, even if he lies about his age. Or he could have a white man or two somewhere in his ancestry, and be a Junditmara [1]. It is difficult to tell.

    After studying the man, Ashkettle realises what has been nagging him about the old man’s face. There are lines on it, as befits an old man. But there are no other blemishes on it at all. No scars, no moles, nothing but the patchwork of lines. Clements is old, but somehow he looks less worn than he should.

    Three hundred years old?” He does not believe it. He cannot believe it. But he writes it down, just the same. Whatever story Clements has to tell may be worth publishing, even if it is just entertaining fiction.

    “I’ve already said I cannot tell you, not to the year. My family were not wealthy, and in that era, few low-born families kept what you would call accurate records. But I was alive and old enough to hear and remember the first confused tales about the “raw men” – de Houtman’s expedition, that is – when they spread to Yigutji in what would have been 1619 or 1620. I was still considered a child then, and boys were thought of as men quite young in those days. So I think that I was born around 1610, and in any case no later than 1615.”

    “Is there nothing you can place that would... Actually, forget that for now. It can wait. You don’t look that old.”

    Clements smirks. “You expect a three centuries old man to look like some decrepit half-mummified corpse with a beard down to his knees?” He shrugs. “In truth, for most of that time I did not look old at all. I reached the age of twenty-five, and that is where I stayed, in outward appearance. As far as looks go, I did not age at all. Which made saying in one place for too long an unwise idea, as you can imagine. I had to keep moving on and changing my name.”

    Clements clears his throat. “Anyway, until about twenty years ago, I looked young. After that, I started aging. Quicker than a normal man, which is why you see me as I am. I expect that I will live a little longer, but now I can see death approaching. Time to tell my story.”

    The man certainly sounds convincing, enough to make Ashkettle wonder where the scam can be found. “The story of how you met everyone famous in the last three hundred years, I suppose.”

    “A few over the years, but not so many as you might think. My preference has always been to avoid attracting attention. Living in the courts of the rich and aimless was never a good way to remain low-key, since too many people would be likely to remember me.” He pauses, as if thinking. “But I rode with the Hunter during the great crusades. I was in the crowd at Wujal [Cooktown] that cheered Korowal home when he brought his ships back from sailing around the world via the three capes. And Pinjara considered me his friend.”

    Ashkettle makes what he hopes is a non-committal grunt. He would have expected a confidence man to claim that he knew many more famous people than those named. Unless he does not want to be caught out giving false details, of course. But then again, years of journalism have taught Ashkettle how fallible human memory is; any man can misremember things even if they are being honest. “What can you tell in your story, then?”

    “I can tell you about the way things happened to ordinary people. I saw that. I saw it all, from the earliest coming of white men. I saw their coming. I saw the new marvels they brought. The new hope. And I saw what came after. The wars, the plagues, the famines. The deaths, so many deaths. I lived through it all.”

    Ashkettle’s skepticism returns. “You did all that? You lived through the plagues?”

    Clements nods.

    “Even, hmm, smallpox? Where’s your scars?”

    “I do not scar,” Clements says. “That is probably part of why I have lived so long. If I get cut, I heal without scars. I even had half a finger regrow once. Though that is an experience I would prefer not to repeat.”

    That is something that can be verified,” Ashkettle says.

    “Not if I die of infection, thank you all the same,” Clements says. “If you want me to prove my veracity, there are safer ways. I can tell you things about my life, things which history does not remember.

    “Listen, and I will tell you.”

    * * *

    [1] Native Aururians of the Five Rivers (Murray basin) have slightly lighter skin than most other Gunnagalic peoples. In turn, other Gunnagalic peoples have slightly lighter skin when compared to other native Aururians, and the Junditmara have somewhat darker skin than just about everyone else.

    This is a consequence of the history of adoption of agriculture. The shift to agriculture meant a lower animal protein diet, which in turn meant less dietary vitamin D available, and thus led to natural selection for lighter skin (i.e. faster biosynthesis of vitamin D in the skin). This process started earliest with the Gunnagalic peoples (the earliest farmers), and spread with them during the Great Migrations (900 BC – 200 AD) as they expanded across eastern Aururia (see also post #6).

    However, during these migrations, the dispersing Gunnagalic peoples were hunters as much as farmers (due to the disruption), and so the selection pressure halted for most of the millennium. Within the Five Rivers itself, however, the hunting grounds had largely been exhausted, and the aquaculture collapsed with the Interregnum, so the selection pressure continued throughout that period. Even after the Interregnum ended and aquaculture (and domesticated birds) became more common, they were still a high-status commodity, and so the selection pressure continues.

    The Junditmara maintained a long tradition of aquaculture throughout this period, and thus had as much vitamin D as they needed, and retained a darker skin tone.

    * * *

    Thoughts?
     
    Lands of Red and Gold #71: World Out Of Balance
  • Lands of Red and Gold #71: World Out Of Balance

    Carl Ashkettle asks, “When you were born in Yigutji all those years ago, were your family Plirite?”

    “Not as you would understand things today,” Mr. Clements says. “Religion was not something you were, it was something you did. My family took me to the local temples from time to time, on the right occasions. Weddings, most often. When the occasion demanded it, we attended other ceremonies that were not Plirite, too, such as whenever the bunya pines produced cones.” He shrugs. “But we did not need to be Plirite to know that the arrival of the raw men had put the world out of balance.”

    * * *

    This instalment gives an overview of what’s happened in the Third World – that is, Aururia and Aotearoa – since the time of first European contact in 1619. It covers events up until approximately 1643. While it recaps briefly on some of the main features of the pre-contact era, and provides expanded information in a couple of cases, its main purpose is to summarise how things have changed since then. The history of the pre-contact Third World is described in post #11.

    This instalment also gives some overview of how Aururian contact has changed the broader world, but in less detail. The main focus of this timeline is, and will remain, on the Third World itself.

    * * *

    The ATJUNTJA (see post #12) are an ethnicity and empire in south-western Aururia, and the second most populous state on the continent at the time of European contact. Ruled by the King of Kings in the White City, or in its native tongue Milgawee [Albany, Western Australia], the Atjuntja Empire was the product of the first iron-workers on the continent, who were first unified by conquest, then in turn conquered all of their farming neighbours. The Atjuntja religion is based on a dualism between positive principles, embodied by the Lady, and negative principles, embodied by the Lord. Most prominently from their neighbours point of view, the Atjuntja believe that the Lord needs to be appeased by sacrifice – to the pain or to the death – to avert even greater suffering.

    The Middle Country (the Atjuntja realm) has been much changed by European contact, perhaps more than any other region. First contact came here with the ships of Frederik de Houtman in 1619, and the Dutch East India Company (VOC) has been heavily involved in the Atjuntja lands ever since. Early contact saw trade agreements established, under terms more or less dictated by the Atjuntja, but the balance of power has been gradually shifting. The VOC profits enormously from exporting Atjuntja gold, sandalwood, sweet peppers and other spices to the broader world, and so has an ever-growing interest in this realm.

    The Atjuntja lands were the first hit by Old World diseases; syphilis, tuberculosis, mumps and chickenpox have between them killed about one person in eight in the Middle Country. This has been exacerbated by plagues of rats which escaped from Dutch ships, and are now troubling Atjuntja farmers, not to mention the local wildlife. The value of European trade goods quickly made trade with the VOC indispensable to the Atjuntja nobility, at the cost of disrupting many of the old internal trade networks, and the King of Kings no longer dares to cut off trade.

    The watershed moment came in 1632-1633 (see post #31), when a chickenpox epidemic followed by a rebellion by a subject noble called Nyumbin came close to overthrowing the Atjuntja monarchy. Dutch aid in transporting Atjuntja soldiers was of great assistance in preserving the Atjuntja throne, and the VOC capitalised on this by securing unrestricted trade access to all of the Middle Country. While the King of Kings theoretically is still an absolute monarch over all of his dominions, the opinions of the VOC officials matter more and more with every passing year.

    * * *

    The YADJI (see posts #15 and #16), in south-eastern Aururia, are the most populous state on the continent. Their neighbours call them the Yadji, after the name of their ruling family; to the Yadji themselves, they are the inhabitants of Durigal, the Land of Five Directions. They are a rigidly hierarchical society with a religion that holds that this world is awaiting the emergence of the Neverborn, the god within the earth. Their emperors merely rule in the name of the Neverborn; their imperial title can be translated as Regent. They are the master engineers of Aururia, particularly in building dams and other waterworks to sustain their ancient aquaculture.

    The Yadji permit trade, but have a justified reputation for violence to any visitors who transgress their complex social codes. Other Aururian peoples warned the early Dutch explorers of this reputation and advised against making contact, and those explorers followed this advice. While some Dutch met with individual Yadji elsewhere, the first direct contact between Europeans and the Yadji Empire was in 1636. In that year, the English East India Company (EIC) sent an expedition commanded by William Baffin, who made contact with the Yadji (see post #39) before proceeding to explore the east coast of Aururia.

    Although direct contact with Europeans came relatively late, the Yadji were affected by the same early plagues that ravaged the rest of the continent. One of these plagues (mumps) was blamed for the death of a mad Regent in 1629, although in truth he was assassinated. This triggered a ten-year civil war between two rival Yadji princes, that caused considerable devastation within the Empire.

    In the later stages of the Yadji civil war, a Dutch adventurer and would-be conquistador named Pieter Nuyts invaded the empire. While he won some battles and gained some local allies, he was ultimately defeated (see post #44). After that battle, the Yadji united behind their new Regent, Gunya, who blamed the Dutch as a whole for Nuyts’s raid, and has forbidden them from entering the Land of the Five Directions. The Yadji have now concluded trade agreements with the EIC, who are establishing trading outposts. A VOC raid on one of these, Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria], in 1642, is usually taken to mark the start of the Proxy Wars.

    * * *

    The NANGU, known to the rest of Aururia as the ISLANDERS (see post #14), who live on the Island [Kangaroo Island], are a culture of maritime traders who have explored all of the coastal agricultural regions in Aururia, and who had ongoing trade contact with most of them (except the more northerly parts of the east coast) even before European irruption in 1619. The Islanders are staunch adherents of Plirism (see post #17), and have been active in spreading that faith through much of Aururia. They have economic hegemony over the neighbouring Mutjing people of the Seven Sisters [Eyre Peninsula], who supply much of their food, and maintain some more far-flung colonial outposts as trading stations, resupply points, and sources of raw materials such as timber.

    European contact has brought mixed blessings for the Nangu. Dutch competition has eroded much of their original trading network, with their monopolies broken and many of their own people fighting against each other. Nangu influence over the Mutjing is waning as the Dutch establish their own protectorates, and the rise of feuds and vendettas on the Island, together many deaths from the plagues, has prevented the Nangu from re-asserting their influence.

    European contact has brought some gains for the Nangu, however. Knowledge of the broader world has inspired them to undertake greater voyages of their own, and develop larger classes of ships that can transport greater cargo. The Nangu are developing considerable influence on much of the Spice Coast [the eastern coast of Aururia] to replace lost markets elsewhere, including establishing new outposts in tropical Aururia [far north Queensland]. A bold Nangu captain named Werringi led the first expedition to circumnavigate Aururia, and has undertaken further voyages to Jakarta and the Ryukyus to establish trade contacts there. Four out of twenty-one Nangu bloodlines have already relocated to the new tropical outposts, and two others are considering joining them. As the Proxy Wars begin, the Island’s future hangs in the balance.

    * * *

    The CIDER ISLE [Tasmania] (see post #13) has long been divided into three nations: the honour-bound TJUNINI along the north coast, the crafty KURNAWAL who live on the east coast, and the indigenous PALAWA who survived the colonisation of Gunnagalic-speaking peoples and now live in the rugged interior and the more remote parts of the southern and western coasts. The Cider Isle historically exported much bronze to the mainland, although with the spread of ironworking its main exports are now gold and gum cider. The Tjunini and Kurnawal have an ancient hatred and regularly fight wars with each other; while there have been some reversals, the trend has been for the Tjunini to gradually displace their rivals.

    European contact with the Cider Isle has been sporadic until quite recently. The first visit was the expedition of François Thijssen in 1627 (see post #24) who mapped much of the south and eastern coasts of the island that would later be named for him, and made some contact with the Kurnawal. Follow-up visits brought them into contact with the Tjunini as well. From the Dutch perspective, the Cider Isle’s only worthwhile resource was gold, since the few spices (principally sweet peppers) it grew could be more easily obtained in the Atjuntja lands without undertaking a long voyage around Aururia. Trading for gold was difficult, though, since shortly after Thijssen’s visit the Tjunini and Kurnawal began another iteration in their cycle of endless wars. During the war, the only European goods which interested the two peoples were weapons, and the VOC had adopted a policy of not trading weapons with the native Aururians.

    The war in the Cider Isle came to an end in 1637 in the aftermath of Tjunini victories and a chickenpox epidemic which deprived both nations of manpower. In the dying days of that war, William Baffin visited the Tjunini as part of the first EIC expedition to Aururia. Now, with war ending and the peoples of the Cider Isle rebuilding as best they can, the VOC and EIC are seeking influence and gold...

    * * *

    The Five Rivers [Murray basin], the ancient heart of Aururian agriculture, is divided into three kingdoms, Yigutji [Wagga Wagga], Gutjanal [Albury-Wodonga] and the largest, TJIBARR [Swan Hill] (see post #18). The culture of the Gunnagal, the main ethnicity in Tjibarr, is dominated by the factions, eight groupings which are ostensibly about teams who compete in their form of football, but which in reality are social groupings whose competition extends to economics, the aristocracy, politics and justice. Famously argumentative – it has been said that the mark of achievement is getting three Gunnagal try to agree about anything – this is in most respects the most technologically advanced culture in Aururia, with the best physicians, metal workers and distillers in the Third World.

    Due to a coincidence of geography, the Five Rivers have only limited ocean access to the sea; the great river Nyalananga [Murray River] is not navigable from the sea. Their contact with the broader world came via the Copper Coast, the fertile coastal strip between Dogport [Port Augusta] and the Nyalanga mouth. Most commerce was conducted via a much-travelled road to the great port of Jugara [Victor Harbor]. This made the Copper Coast a valuable region, and control of it was the source of endless wars between Tjibarr and the Yadji Empire.

    This geographical fact has had major consequences for the Five Rivers’ contact with Europeans after 1619. VOC and (recently) EIC ships have visited Jugara and the other Copper Coast ports, but very few Europeans have been into the heartland of the Five Rivers, most notably a captive Pieter Nuyts after he fled the Yadji realm. The plagues have had similar consequences for the Five Rivers as the rest of the continent, but so far they have been untouched by direct invasion.

    The isolation of the Five Rivers has recently been fading. Commerce is of considerable interest to the Gunnagal. While many of their goods were exported around Aururia in pre-Houtmanian times, to Europeans their most attractive commodity is the drug kunduri, on which the Five Rivers have a monopoly. After a slow beginning, European commerce in the drug grew rapidly during the later 1630s; in 1643 Governor-General Anthony van Diemen reported that over 50 tons of kunduri had passed through Batavia’s warehouses [1], mostly brought on VOC ships but a portion sold in Batavia by the Islanders.

    European demand for kunduri was so strong that Tjibarr’s factions persuaded the VOC to lift its arms embargo on Aururia in exchange for continued supplies of the drug. This deal had its own cost, however; their Yadji rivals have now obtained English backing, and war between the two realms now appears imminent.

    * * *

    The High Lands [Monaro plateau, Errinundra plateau and Australian Alps], the mountainous sources of the two most reliable of the Five Rivers, are occupied by the Nguril and Kaoma. These two peoples acquired farming from the lowland peoples but maintained their own languages and culture. They have been given minimal coverage in the timeline to date, a feature which has been maintained in this overview.

    * * *

    In 1619, the eastern coast of Aururia is less populated and less technologically advanced than the farming peoples further west. The westerners call the region the Spice Coast, and while they value the spices exported from there, otherwise they give the region little heed. Divided by rugged geography, and in most cases lacking a strong maritime tradition, few large states have developed in the east. Technology has been slow to diffuse over the mountainous barrier of the continental divide; for instance, iron working has not yet arrived save as an occasional curiosity.

    The kingdom of DALUMING (see post #19), with its capital at Yuragir [Coffs Harbour] is inhabited by a people of warriors and raiders whose most notable feature – from their neighbours’ perspective – is their habit of honouring fallen worthy foes by collecting their skulls and interring them behind glass. The PATJIMUNRA of the Kuyal Valley [Hunter Valley, New South Wales] are a caste-ridden, insular society who happily sell spices to anyone who visits but otherwise care very little for the world outside their borders.

    The KIYUNGU (see post #45) of the Coral Coast [Gold Coast, Moreton Bay and Sunshine Coast, Queensland] are a coastal culture of city-states held together in a loose confederation. While their maritime tradition is less advanced than the Nangu, the Kiyungu are capable of coastal voyages, which traditionally was to collect coral from the reefs further north and trade it south for bronze. Long confined to the south by the constraints of indigenous agriculture, the Kiyungu started advancing north when new tropically-suited crops (sweet potato and lesser yam) reached their cities. Many of the Kiyungu are moving north in a gradual migration which is slowly displacing the native hunter-gatherers; this process is still continuing in 1619.

    Beyond the same plagues which have afflicted every Aururian culture, European irruption has had relatively limited consequences for the eastern peoples. Due to some early unsuccessful voyages and the disruption of Aururian diseases causing their own epidemics in the Old World, the VOC were not even the first Europeans to visit the eastern coast. William Baffin’s voyage (1636-7), sailing for the English East India Company, was the first to visit the eastern coast. He made brief contact with the Patjimunra, but his most significant contact was with Daluming, where one of his crew received the traditional Daluming honour for a worthy warrior (see post #63).

    The first Dutch exploration of the eastern coast followed in 1639-40 with the ships of Matthijs Quast. His voyage was intended mainly to assess the accuracy of charts which the VOC had copied from the earlier Nangu explorer Werringi. Based on that advice, his expedition carefully avoided landing anywhere on Daluming’s shores, although he conducted a brief visit to the Kiyungu at Quanda Bay [Moreton Bay]. Although the VOC leadership plans to expand this contact, as of 1643 their influence over eastern Aururia remains minimal.

    The other main changes that have been brought to the Spice Coast have been indirectly, via the consequences of European contact for the Island. The Nangu who found themselves closed out from traditional markets have begun to push east in greater numbers, establishing greater contact with the eastern peoples, and seeking greater volumes of spices. Most notably, four of the Nangu bloodlines formed a nuttana (trading association) to trade with the Spice Coast and beyond to the East Indies. Their association in turn concluded a treaty with the Kiyungu city-states to provide farmers and labourers.

    After this pact, the nuttana founded a trading post and victualling station at Wujal [Cooktown, Queensland] which is rapidly growing into a significant city as many Nangu flee the Island and Kiyungu labourers choose to remain after finishing their terms of service. The nuttana have also been fortunate in their exploration of nearby regions; as part of making contact with local hunter-gatherers, they discovered strange translucent stones deposited on several beaches, with colours ranging from red to yellow to green to the rarest kind of brilliant blue (amber).

    * * *

    The most ancient agricultural peoples in Aururia call the land they live in the Five Rivers, but in truth their agriculture and population is concentrated on only three of those rivers, the Nyalananga [Murray], Matjidi [Murrumbidgee], and Gurrnyal [Lachlan].

    The fourth river, the Anedeli [Darling] runs through country which for most of their history was too arid to support large populations. The Anedeli serves mostly as a transport route, although its flow is so irregular that it is sometimes unusable for months or in worst case more than a year. Despite that difficulty, it provides the only route to the ancient sources of tin in the northern highlands [New England tablelands, New South Wales], though in more recent years it has been more commonly used as one of the best routes for bringing in spices from the eastern coast.

    The fifth river, the Pulanatji [Macquarie] is the southernmost major tributary of the Anedeli, and marks not a centre of agriculture but a border. The land beyond the Pulanatji is considered no longer part of the Five Rivers, and in truth in modern times even the peoples who dwell on the nearer side of the river have no meaningful involvement with the main kingdoms of the Five Rivers. By southerners’ standards the whole country is arid, transportation difficult, and in many of the northern regions, the principal crop of red yams barely grows.

    The headwaters of the Andeli are thus largely ignored by southerners, except for those passing through in trade. The peoples who live here are called the Butjupa and Yalatji. The division between them is purely geographical; the Butjupa live to the south and the Yalatji north of what both peoples call with pragmatic unoriginality the Border River [2]. Both peoples speak a range of dialects which are so divergent that some of them are mutually unintelligible, but some of their dialects can be understood by speakers of dialects among the other people.

    Politically, both peoples are also divided into numerous small chiefdoms. The semi-arid lands they inhabit mean that their lands are filled with numerous small agricultural communities, but few large towns. In particular, the Yalatji country, which they call the Neeburra [Darling Downs, Queensland] was until recently on the margins of Aururian agriculture; of the three staple crops, one would not grow at all (murnong) and the red yam was marginal and would not grow any further north.

    In their religion, both peoples have gradually converted to the Tjarrling faith. This religion had the same origin as Plirism, but treats the founding Good Man as a semi-divine figure, and it reveres a class of warrior-priests who claim to be his spiritual successors and seek both religious and political authority. All of the Yalatji and Butjupa chiefdoms are either ruled directly by men who have been adopted into the Tjarrling priestly caste, or who have such priests as advisers.

    The transformation of these two peoples has nothing to do with European irruption. Indeed, of all the agricultural peoples in Aururia, they have been the least affected by the coming of Europeans. Even the plagues have so far harmed them less than most other Aururian peoples; the distance from European contact and their physical separation into so many small communities means that some of those communities have so far been spared one or more of the plagues.

    The Butjupa and (particularly) the Yalatji have been changed not by European contact, but by the arrival of the new crops of lesser yams and sweet potato. While neither of these crops is as drought-tolerant as their former agricultural staples, both of them can be grown in the tropics without difficulty. This led to a gradual northward expansion in the interior of Aururia, which began around 1450 and continues to the present.

    As of 1643, the northernmost inland farmers have reached about Beelyandee [Clermont, Queensland]. This has not been a continuous expansion; there are some hunter-gatherer peoples who still live south of that line, though they are gradually been displaced or absorbed by farmers (mostly Yalatji with smaller numbers of other peoples).

    Perhaps the most significant development for the future of these peoples, however, was made further south in the new lands that the Yalatji are colonising. Among the migrants were a few former miners from the northern highlands. In 1626, one of those miners turned farmers working his land noticed a red stone which he recognised as a form of the sapphires which were still mined back in the old highlands – to his people, rubies are simply the red form of sapphires. These gems were greatly valued in the Five Rivers, and he began a more systematic search. He found a couple more, and word soon spread. Further discoveries followed, of other colours of sapphires, and of emeralds.

    By 1643, there are now several hundred miners exploring the gem fields of the interior [3]. Trade in these stones has reached the Five Rivers and beyond, and the wider world is beginning to become interested in what can be found in this remote region.

    * * *

    The MAORI (see post #46) reached the islands of Aotearoa at the same time they did historically, and soon came into contact with Aururian peoples. This led to a mutually profitable exchange of technology. The Maori gave knowledge of seafaring and navigation to some Aururian peoples, and passed on sweet potato and a few other tropically-suited crops. In exchange, they received the indigenous Aururian crop package, pottery, bronze working, literacy and several other technologies, and the less welcome receipt of two native Aururian epidemic diseases, Marnitja and blue-sleep.

    In 1619, Aotearoa is a heavily-populated group of islands divided into a number of competing Maori kingdoms (iwi); Aururian crops have allowed them to support a much higher population than was possible with the crops they brought from Polynesia. Their high population allows them both to sustain an almost endless series of warfare, usually a low-intensity cycle of endless raids, but sometimes developing into all-out warfare. Their higher population density and labour-intensive industry of weaving the native fibres harakeke and wharariki [New Zealand flax] means that slavery is a major social institution, and raids for slaves are a major reason for their ongoing warfare. Plirism has made some minor inroads amongst common peoples and lesser nobles, but the large majority of Maori peoples, and all of their kings, still follow their traditional religion.

    Maori relations with the exterior world are complex. Unlike their historical counterparts, the Maori have maintained their knowledge of long-distance seafaring. Their have ongoing trade with Aururia, principally for bronze and gold from the Cider Isle, but occasionally for spices from the Spice Coast; the main goods they provide in response are textiles and cordage. The endemic warfare of their own peoples means that they are often wary of outsiders, but the Nangu do manage some occasional trade. The Maori also have sporadic contact with their ancestral homelands and various other Polynesian islands, but trade is quite limited because the Polynesians do not have any goods which the Maori value. The only commodity which Polynesia can really provide is people: a handful of chiefs in Fiji, Tonga, Samoa and Kuki Airani [Cook Islands] have persuaded the Maori to supply bronze, textiles and sweet peppers in exchange for suitable numbers of slaves.

    Maori foreign relations are not always peaceful. Heavily warlike amongst themselves, the Maori have also been known to go raiding overseas. Displaced peoples in their internecine warfare, or sometimes just opportunists, have looked overseas from time to time in pursuit of new lands. Attempted raids on mainland Aururia have long since ceased; early efforts soon showed the Maori that they had no technological or numerical advantage.

    Other island groups are another story, however. The Maori have at various times settled islands near Aotearoa, including Norfolk, Lord Howe, the Kermadecs, the Chathams, and Auckland Islands. Some of those settlements failed, but even successful settlements found themselves targets whenever some ambitious Maori chief decide to pay a visit with a few hundred heavily-armed friends. To date the Maori have not conquered any other previously populated islands, but there have been a handful of raids in New Caledonia and one on Fiji.

    Since 1619, European irruption has had some consequences for the Maori, but less than in Aururia. Some diseases (syphilis and mumps) have reached them via trade with the Cider Isle, but other diseases (chickenpox and tuberculosis) which have struck Aururia have yet to reach across the Gray Sea [Tasman Sea]. A handful of European explorers have visited Aotearoa, but their reception has been largely hostile. However, the Nangu have turned to Aotearoa with greater interest as other trade markets have been closed to them; trade contact has increased, and in 1638 the first Maori king converted to Plirism.

    * * *

    Among European powers, the Dutch had the earliest contact and thus far the most extensive involvement in the Third World. They started from their first contact with the Atjuntja but have been gradually expanding their influence further east.

    From the Atjuntja, the VOC’s most valuable early trade commodities were gold and the Aururian form of sandalwood. Sandalwood was extremely popular throughout much of Asia, particularly in India, so much so that for the first two decades of contact the trade in sandalwood was even more valuable than that of gold. However, Aururian sandalwood is an extremely slow-growing species, taking many decades to reach a harvestable form. Native farmers used to plant a few trees of sandalwood every five years and harvest them in rotation, which ensured a sustainable yield. Dutch demand led to extensive overharvesting, and sandalwood production is now in significant decline. Gold remains the most valuable VOC export from the Atjuntja realm, supplemented with sweet peppers and smaller amounts of minor spices.

    Dutch trade along the southern coast of Aururia took much longer to build. The kunduri trade is rapidly becoming another valuable venture for the VOC, and they are also acquiring greater volumes of sweet peppers. So far, the Dutch have no significant trade in the greater range of spices available from the Spice Coast, but the VOC is seeking to expand its influence there, too.

    * * *

    The Portuguese (while still ruled by Spain) were the second European power to explore Aururia. With rumours of the early Dutch discovery percolating throughout the Indies, the Portuguese were in the best position to explore northern Aururia, thanks to their existing bases in Timor and its neighbouring islands. Their first voyage of exploration in 1629, led by António de Andrade, inadvertently brought blue-sleep back to the Indies with them (see post #25). The disruptions of the plagues and warfare with the Dutch curtailed any immediate efforts to colonise the northern coast of Aururia, but the Portuguese did launch several more expeditions to chart the northern coast, which largely concluded that there was little of value to be found. They also made an extremely profitable raid on Fort Nassau [Fremantle], the largest Dutch trading outpost with the Atjuntja, in 1631.

    In 1643, Portugal has broken away from Spanish rule – though Spain has yet to recognise its independence – and has concluded a tacit truce with the VOC in the Indies. (No such truce exists with the Dutch West India Company in Brazil, however). With the problems of the plagues and warfare subsiding, Portugal is once again giving some consideration to the Great Spice Island.

    * * *

    The English East India Company knew of the rumours of the wealth which the Dutch had discovered in the newest spice island. However, they had an existing truce with the Dutch that shared trade in the East Indies, and the EIC’s directors were reluctant to anger the Dutch and risk that trade in exchange for an unknown land. In time they grew bolder, and sent William Baffin to explore the new land; his voyage lasted from 1635 to 1637.

    Baffin was the first to call the new continent Aururia, the Land of Gold, after his contact with the Yadji convinced him of its wealth. He also made the first European contact with the Spice Coast. His voyage gave the EIC the opportunity it needed, and it has moved quickly to establish links with the Yadji. The best seafaring route around Aururia is along the southern coast and then north along the east coast, so this also puts the EIC in a strong position to trade with the Spice Coast. This effort was what pushed the VOC into open warfare in 1642 when it struck at one of the new English outposts in the Yadji realm. While the two nations are not officially at war, for all practical purposes the VOC and EIC are, and Aururia will be one of their chief battlegrounds.

    * * *

    Aururian contact has had considerable consequences on the broader world. The earliest effects were economic; the Dutch East India Company (VOC) became considerably wealthier with Aururian gold, sandalwood and spices. Aururian gold funded greater expansion of their endeavours elsewhere in Asia, even after the plagues struck, and paid for stronger efforts in the VOC’s wars against the Spanish-Portuguese. By 1643, the VOC had essentially pushed the Portuguese out of the Moluccas. They also made an earlier alliance with the kingdom of Kandy in Ceylon that pushed the Portuguese back to the western coast of the island, although the outbreak of peace negotiations in Europe saw the VOC conclude a de facto truce with Portugal that left the remainder of its Sri Lankan and Indian possessions in Portuguese hands.

    Much of the wealth flowed back into the Netherlands to be reinvested in other Dutch ventures. The Dutch West India Company received a considerable flood of investment which it poured into new ventures, including better fortifications in its outposts in Dutch Brazil and the New Netherlands, and for more slave trading outposts in West Africa, particularly in the Gold Coast [southern Ghana]. The Dutch provided some subsidies to Protestant powers in the religious wars in Germany. Inflation is also growing within the Netherlands as the money supply increases.

    Some of the economic effects of Aururian contact are more unexpected. The rise of the kunduri trade is starting to undermine the tobacco boom in the New World; while production of tobacco is still increasing, the prices it commands are starting to fall as some European consumers find kunduri a more desirable alternative.

    In the mid seventeenth century pepper is the most traded spice, accounting for about half of the total value of all spices brought into Europe. However, Aururia contains several kinds of bushes which produce an intense peppery flavour; Europeans come to call them sweet peppers. The leaves of sweet peppers have about the same intensity of flavour by volume as common black peppers, but the berries are about ten times as strong. While sweet pepper does have constraints in where it can grow, there are sufficient places that produce it in Aururia and Aotearoa that with its current population the Third World can supply any foreseeable volume of European demand; its inclusion in Aururian cuisine is routine. The growing trade in sweet peppers is beginning to devalue the trade in existing black peppers [4]. The VOC has even found it quite profitable to sell sweet peppers in Asia, particularly India [5].

    Aururian crops have been slower to spread outside of their homeland, since the Dutch who were the early European coloniser did not have many suitable overseas colonies where the crops could be brown. Early efforts to grow Aururian crops in the tropical East Indies were abysmal failures. One Aururian crop, murnong, was successfully introduced into the Netherlands in the 1620s, but it could be grown only in limited quantities because the soils were mostly too well-watered. However, it has been exported to Denmark, which has considerable regions suitable for cultivation, and it is beginning an agricultural revolution in that country.

    Aururian crops had the greatest early success at the Cape of Good Hope. In 1640, the VOC persuaded (for a given value of persuade) some Aururian farmers to migrate to the Cape, including seeds or cuttings for most of their common crops, and establish a victualling station for ships. Aururian crops proved to grow very well around the Cape. From there, the Aururian crops will spread with European ships around the world. The red yam will first be introduced into Europe (Portugal) in 1648, and cornnarts [wattles] will arrive in Argentina in 1654.

    * * *

    So far, the greatest changes which have come to the broader world have been the result of the Aururian plagues. Unlike its historical counterpart, Aururia harboured epidemic diseases which could and did spread to the outside world. Marnitja, the Waiting Death, and blue-sleep, a virulent form of influenza, spread to the outside world in the late 1620s and devastated the Old and New Worlds. The death toll was around 19% in the Old World, and even higher in many parts of the New World (see post #25). Marnitja will continue as a recurrent epidemic disease throughout the world; for long after the seventeenth century, global population will be lower than it was historically.

    In Europe, the plagues swept through during the warfare that another history would call the Thirty Years’ War (see post #54). Many current and future leaders were among the casualties; perhaps the most prominent were Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II and many of his relatives, Charles I of England, Scotland and Ireland, and Cardinal Richelieu. The plagues and related disruption brought the war to a conclusion ten years early, and with broadly more favourable outcomes for the Protestant side in the war. Sweden, Denmark, Saxony and Bavaria were all territorially better off than they were historically. The Habsburgs remained Holy Roman Emperors but lost much of Austria, and the Hohenzollerns acquired Lorraine while losing their ancestral homelands in Brandenburg. In England, William Cavendish became Duke Regent during Charles II’s childhood, while in France Honoré d'Albert, Duc de Chaulnes, became the chief minister of Louis XIII, although he did not wield quite as much influence as his predecessor.

    In Cathay [China] (see post #51), the plagues struck at a time when the Ming dynasty was crumbling due to famines and economic problems. The plagues caused even more problems for the Ming, but also disrupted the Jurchen peoples who would eventually have created the Manchu dynasty to replace the Ming. In the chaos, one of Cathay’s leading generals, Yuan Chonghuan, ended up defeating the Jurchen and then proclaiming himself emperor. He drove the Ming from northern Cathay and founded the You dynasty, but the Ming remained in power in southern Cathay. In 1643, Cathay remains divided.

    * * *

    [1] For comparison, in 1639 the Chesapeake tobacco colonies were exporting about 670 tons of tobacco to the British Isles.

    [2] The Border River is their collective name for a river which historically goes through several name changes – Dumaresq River, Macintyre River, and Barwon River – and which for much of its length forms the historical Queensland-New South Wales border.

    [3] This region is historically called the Gemfields, and has town with names like Emerald, Sapphire and Rubyvale, which give a hint as to what can be found there.

    [4] The devaluation of common black peppers (Piper nigrum) by Aururian sweet peppers has a historical precedent. Before European discovery of the New World, the spice trade included the long pepper (Piper longum), which had a similar but hotter taste to black peppers. New World chilli peppers proved to be easier to grow and provided a more intense flavour than the long pepper, and long pepper more or less disappeared from the spice trade soon thereafter.

    [5] Finding a spice which can be exported to India in large quantities marks quite a significant change. Historically, since at least Roman times, Europe had been in perpetual trade deficit with Asia, with spices and other Asian products commanding much greater prices in Europe than any European goods could obtain in Asia. The trade deficit was made up with bullion (gold and silver); the expansion of European trade to Asia was driven in large part by bullion which was ultimately obtained from the New World. The trade deficit would only be reversed historically with industrially-produced cotton textiles during the nineteenth century. Sweet peppers are a cool-temperate zone spice which cannot be reliably grown in much of Asia (except potentially in a few high-altitude areas), but they can be grown in many parts of Europe. Together with Aururian sandalwood – if it can be cultivated on a wide scale – they offer some potential for an earlier reversal of this trade deficit. Even historically, sweet peppers are exported to Asia (Japan, where they are used to flavour wasabi).

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