Tehemne mythology (meet the áhash!)

[Risla]

So I've been writing a NaNoWriMo novel (and failing miserably, but whatever) based on the mythology of the Tehemne people, who are one of the indigenous groups of the central northeastern Eresian Isles. I've been doing lots of other worldbuilding related to the Tehemne, but I just wanted to show off and get feedback on some of the mythology I have so far.

Some notes before I start:

Here's some basic phonological information about the language:

/m n ŋ/ <m n nh>
/p ᵐb t d k q~ʔ/ <p b t d k q>
/(f) v ɬ̪ s ʐ ʃ x ɣ/ <f v lh s r sh h/x g>
/l j w/ <l y w>

/ɪ æ ʌ ʊ/ <i e a u>
/iː eː ɒː uː/ <í é á ú>
/ʊ͡ɐ e͡ɐ æ͡ı æ͡ʊ ɒ͡ı ɒ͡ʊ/ <ua ea ei eu ai au>

/ʐ/ is [ɽ] intervocalically and after other fricatives.

For /x/, <h> is the default orthography, except after <n l s t>, where I write <x> to disambiguate it from the digraphs. There is no <th> digraph in Tehemne, but I write <tx> so that the uninitiated won't be tempted to treat it as /θ/.

Word stress is weight-based and relatively complex and will be dealt with elsewhere. Generally you can assume initial or antepenultimate stress, unless the initial/antepenultimate syllable has a short vowel and no coda and the following syllable has a long vowel/diphthong and/or a coda.

Anyway, without further ado, the creation myth!

The Creation of Ausheninh and the Other Lands

Long ago, before the worlds began, there was nothing except Ámutxei, who slept on the bare rock and dreamed. Ámutxei dreamed of light and the beautiful place on which it fell, the land of Ausheninh, more beautiful than anyone but a god can imagine.

Ámutxei awoke. She stood up upon the bare rock and looked around. She saw only darkness there, and felt only the rock beneath her feet. She then understood that the dream had been a dream, and it was not here now in the waking world. She grieved then the loss of the dream and of the beautiful land. In her anguish, she stamped her feet upon the bare rock and wept. She stamped her feet for so long that the rock was turned to pebbles and dust, and she cried for so long that the dust was turned to mud from her tears.

After a very long while, Ámutxei grew tired. She lay down in the mud. She fell asleep again, and again she dreamed of Ausheninh.

When she awoke, she found herself still lying in the mud, but next to her a tree had taken seed in the mud and was now growing there, strong and tall. But this tree was not Ausheninh, and she was dissatisfied. In her anger, she took two rocks from the mud, and struck them together.

A spark appeared. The spark reminded her of the light that had fallen on Ausheninh in her dream. Again and again, she struck the rocks together and made sparks, until the darkness was full of innumerable sparks of light that were, together, bright enough to see by.

Ámutxei looked at the tree. Hanging from the branches of the tree were many leaves, and these leaves were mirrors. They reflected Ámutxei’s face, and they also reflected images of the sacred land.

Ámutxei became frustrated. She could see it so clearly, but why was it not here? She ripped off one of the nine great boughs of the tree with her bare hands, and started to desperately try to sculpt it into the land. She carved mountains and valleys, plains and lakes. But the wood was too rough and brittle, and she did not find it satisfactory. She cast it aside and tried again. She tore another bough from the tree. Again she tried to sculpt it into Ausheninh, and again she failed and cast it aside. This she tried seven more times, but each time she could not recreate Ausheninh to her satisfaction. It was always lacking and imperfect, nothing like the true world of her dream.

Only the trunk of the tree remained. With increased fury, Ámutxei sunk her hands into it and began to sculpt. Her fingernails began to bleed, and soon her hands and arms bled too from being scratched up by the wood. Her blood splattered everywhere, even on the other discarded worlds. Her blood softened the wood of the tree and allowed her to carve more finely, and now this world that she was creating was the true Ausheninh. She carved and carved, carefully forming every hill and valley and carefully writing every river and stream into this new and perfect world. She wept with pain and with joy at seeing Ausheninh take shape before her eyes.

Finally, it was finished. Dizzy and weary from blood loss, she climbed to the top of the mountain, Mount Tehei, that was even more beloved to her than any of the other places in this world. She took the two rocks she had used to create the sparks and struck them together one last time to start a fire to keep her warm. There she lay down and slept, and in her sleep the fire she had lit caught fire to her and she died.

This fire burned with the love of Ámutxei for Ausheninh, and it could never go out. Ámutxei’s body turned to ash in the fire, and these ashes formed nine separate piles. The sacred fire gave to these the life force that Ámutxei had given to Ausheninh, and these nine piles awakened and took form, and stepped out of the fire. Their names were Úsud, Remehind, Luamanh, Nihinde, Teteieb, Heagalhne, Ámash, Síwa, and Pánimnas.

All of them were very different, but they all loved Ausheninh as Ámutxei had. Úsud, Teteieb, and Heagalhne especially loved the rocks and the deserts of the land. Remehind, Síwa and Luamanh especially loved the light and the water of the land. Nihinde, Ámash, and Pánimnas especially loved the forests and the grasslands of the land. And so it was here that they wandered for a thousand thousand years, never thinking about or venturing to the other lands that Ámutxei had cast aside.

—————————

Next is the creation of humanity. Will probably post it tomorrow. Stay tuned. Any questions or feedback are appreciated in the meanwhile.

[Xwtek]

Why you don't consistently use x?

Also, initial and antepenultimate is very different, unless your language have a maximum of 3 syllables.

[Risla]

I prefer the aesthetic of using <h>.

I should have clarified more: stress is (often) antepenultimate in words of three or more syllables, and initial in words of three or less. This is not actually the rule (it's more complex than that) but it's a decent rule of thumb.

I'm not ready to make a specific post about the language since a lot of it is still up in the air and I don't want to just go "look at my phonology" without providing any real substance. I'm happy to go into the prosody patterns here if people want me to, but that's not really the point of this thread.

[mèþru]

This is a language board. Prepare to get sidetracked
Is it actually using a Latin orthography? If not, I suggest doing a one-to-one transcription of the native orthography.

I like this story and am looking forward to the next installment!

[Risla]

This is a language board. Prepare to get sidetracked
Is it actually using a Latin orthography? If not, I suggest doing a one-to-one transcription of the native orthography.

I like this story and am looking forward to the next installment!

Thanks!

There is no native orthography. The Tehemne have a rich system of pseudo-writing (mostly used in their textiles), but no true writing system. They are aware of the concept of writing (especially in the late period, in which my novel is set), but view it as something mystical and not really useful for ordinary people living ordinary lives. However, inspired by other groups around them, they have also developed some asemic writing that is used in conjunction with pseudo-writing for artistic and spiritual purposes.

[Risla]

Here's the creation of humanity myth. It's a short one, and is Exhibit A in Pánimnas being, of all the gods, an absolute chronic fuckup.

The Creation of Humanity

One day, Pánimnas was wandering through the grassy foothills of Mount Tehei by the sea, and she became hungry. She took a rock from the earth and shaped it into a bowl, and then she harvested seeds from the grass and put them in the bowl. She tried to eat them, but they were too hard and rough to eat. She went down to the sea shore and filled the bowl with water, but it did not soften them.

She decided that she needed to cook the grains in order to eat them, but as these were grasslands, there was no wood nearby to start a fire. She thought about what to do, and decided to go to Mount Tehei for wood. But as she climbed, she remembered the sacred fire that burned eternal near the summit of the mountain, from which she and all of the other gods had emerged. She could cook her food there, she decided. And so she went to the sacred fire, and carefully placed her bowl of seeds and saltwater in the flames. She was tired from all the work she had done, so she started to doze off.

The grains began to warm and plump up with liquid, as she had hoped. But they also changed shape; they grew arms and legs and heads. Their mouths cried out with pain from the heat of the fire. They startled Pánimnas with their cries, and she jumped up and accidentally kicked the bowl out of the fire and down the slopes of the mountain. The grains scattered all over Ausheninh, and many of them caught the wind and landed throughout the nine other worlds. Wherever they landed, they grew and multiplied. It was thus that all the worlds were populated with humans.

—————
The Tehemne are early agriculturalists who subsist largely on a grain similar to maize, supplemented with copious hunting and gathering. This story is used to explain the questions of "why do we eat so much grain?" and "why do we wear clothing?". The grain, they say, is because human bodies are made of the same substance, so it is easiest to grow on a diet of grain. The matter of clothing is because the grain they eat grows with husks, so naturally we also would feel more safe with husks to protect us.

[WeepingElf]

Beautiful.

[Xwtek]

The Tehemne are early agriculturalists who subsist largely on a grain similar to maize, supplemented with copious hunting and gathering. This story is used to explain the questions of "why do we eat so much grain?" and "why do we wear clothing?". The grain, they say, is because human bodies are made of the same substance, so it is easiest to grow on a diet of grain. The matter of clothing is because the grain they eat grows with husks, so naturally we also would feel more safe with husks to protect us.

It sounds like your mythology says NOT to eat grain because it is considered cannibalism

[Risla]

The Tehemne are early agriculturalists who subsist largely on a grain similar to maize, supplemented with copious hunting and gathering. This story is used to explain the questions of "why do we eat so much grain?" and "why do we wear clothing?". The grain, they say, is because human bodies are made of the same substance, so it is easiest to grow on a diet of grain. The matter of clothing is because the grain they eat grows with husks, so naturally we also would feel more safe with husks to protect us.

It sounds like your mythology says NOT to eat grain because it is considered cannibalism

The grain that they eat was never granted life by the sacred fire, so consuming it is fundamentally different from cannibalism. Not that the Tehemne have as much of a taboo on cannibalism as we do, anyway; they do practice funerary endocannibalism (they cremate their dead kin and consume the ashes with water).

[Xwtek]

The Tehemne are early agriculturalists who subsist largely on a grain similar to maize, supplemented with copious hunting and gathering. This story is used to explain the questions of "why do we eat so much grain?" and "why do we wear clothing?". The grain, they say, is because human bodies are made of the same substance, so it is easiest to grow on a diet of grain. The matter of clothing is because the grain they eat grows with husks, so naturally we also would feel more safe with husks to protect us.

It sounds like your mythology says NOT to eat grain because it is considered cannibalism

The grain that they eat was never granted life by the sacred fire, so consuming it is fundamentally different from cannibalism. Not that the Tehemne have as much of a taboo on cannibalism as we do, anyway; they do practice funerary endocannibalism (they cremate their dead kin and consume the ashes with water).

Well, I think you should make them actually cannibal. (Not only they're eating the flesh of the dead kin, but they're also eating their enemies)

[akam chinjir]

Cannibalism never occurred to me, but I did wonder if they might have related ideas of where the bugs come from if some grain gets infested.

Great, rich image regardless, lots of things you could do with it.

[mèþru]

This kind of myth is common among non-cannibal people too. I think you guys are reading too much into the story.

[Risla]

This kind of myth is common among non-cannibal people too. I think you guys are reading too much into the story.

They're not necessarily reading too much into the story, but they're reading very different things from what the Tehemne read into the story.

Next one coming shortly. I'm focusing a lot on Pánimnas for now because she plays a very important role in the NaNo novel proper.

[Risla]

The Creation of the Sun and Moon

Once, light shone only on Ausheninh. Even the stars loved this land so much that they drew near so as to illuminate the land more closely and fill it always with warmth and light.

The discarded worlds were dark and cold. They had nothing but the castaway light of the stars that shone on Ausheninh. Plants grew there, but they were only small and weak, and the people who lived there lamented their sorrowful lives.
The gods heard their cries carried on the wind, and they all met atop Mount Tehei to discuss what to do. “It does not matter,” said Teteieb, Luamanh, and Ámash. “They are not part of Ausheninh, and Ausheninh is the only thing that matters.”

“They were born of the sacred flame as we were,” said Úsud, Síwa, and Nihinde, “and it is unfortunate that they are now separate from Ausheninh and cannot experience it. But there is nothing we can do to help them.”

“We must do something,” said Heagalhne, Remehind, and Pánimnas. “They are suffering as Ámutxei suffered there in the darkness after her dream. But Ausheninh is here, and it is so full of light, so abundant, so perfect. Perhaps we can share with them some of this light, this abundance, this perfection.”

The other gods went their separate ways, leaving these last three alone. Heagalhne was the first to give his idea. “Let us take some sticks and leaves from the slopes of this mountain and light them in the sacred fire, and cast them to the other worlds,” he said. “They will burn eternal, and forever give warmth and light even to the discarded worlds.” The three agreed that this was a good plan, so together they gathered some dry sticks and leaves, lit them in the flame, and cast them as hard as they could in every direction.

This did not work as they had hoped. The discarded worlds were weak, and they could not handle the onslaught of this fire. Where the sticks and leaves fell they burned holes and fissures in the land, and in many of these the flame burns to this day in the molten rock. They had provided the people with warmth and a little light, but had caused a lot of suffering and had made their worlds more dangerous. When they saw what had happened, they were filled with regret. “I am sorry,” Heagalhne said. “The others were right. We should not have tried to help them, because these weak worlds are separate from ours.” Heagalhne left.

Next, Remehind gave his idea. “Ausheninh is so filled with light,” he said, “and water reflects this light. We could create a mirror of water in the sky, to reflect the light of Ausheninh onto the other worlds.” They created a great basin of polished quartz and filled it with water, and from the top of the mountain they cast it into the sky.

This, too, did not work as they had hoped. The basin reflected the light of Ausheninh, but too little of it. The discarded worlds remained dark, and the people grew even more sorrowful because they saw that there was light but that they only had reflections, and it was not for them.

“I, too, am sorry,” said Remehind. “The others were right. It is a tragedy that they cannot experience Ausheninh as we do, but there is nothing we can do to help them.” He left Pánimnas alone on the mountaintop.

But Pánimnas did not give up. She had, after all, accidentally created the people who were now suffering, and could not bring herself to allow them to suffer as they were. She thought about what Heagalhne and Remehind had given: fallen leaves and reflected sunlight. Discarded things for the discarded worlds. Of course they didn’t help. Pánimnas decided that she would give the true light of Ausheninh itself to the discarded worlds.

She realized that the other gods would be unhappy with her plan to take some of the light of Ausheninh and give it to the discarded worlds, so she worked in haste. She wove a net from vines, and attached it to a long stick. With this net, she reached into the sky and captured stars. She captured them and captured them until her net was full, and most of the stars that had been in the sky were now in her net. She brought them down to the ground, and there she began to mold them together in the sacred fire. She sculpted them into a ball, adding more and more stars. She was almost finished when she saw that the other gods were almost upon her. In haste, she ran to the edge of a cliff, and cast this brilliant ball of stars with all her might into the sky, so that it might circle around all the worlds, Ausheninh and the discarded worlds alike, and give light to them all.

Her plan worked. All the worlds were illuminated with the light that had once been only for Ausheninh. The plants that grew there now grew strong and tall, and the people who lived in them rejoiced and danced in the new sunlight.

But the other gods were furious with Pánimnas. “By giving the light of Ausheninh to the discarded worlds, you have discarded part of Ausheninh itself,” said Teteieb, Luamanh, and Ámash.

“By taking away this light and giving it to the discarded worlds, you have caused more, not less, separation between Ausheninh and what belongs to it,” said Úsud, Síwa, and Nihinde.

These six then spoke together. “If you would so act to wound Ausheninh, perhaps you do not truly belong to it.”
Heagalhne spoke in Pánimnas’ defense. “I, too, took from Ausheninh. I took sticks and leaves from the sacred mountain, lit them in the fire, and cast them to the other worlds. But sticks and leaves still grow on the trees, and the fire burns just as vigorously as it did.”

Remehind spoke next. “I, too, took from Ausheninh. I took crystal and carved it, filled it with water, and set it high in the sky away from the land where they once belonged. But they still reflect the light of Ausheninh, and the land does not seem to feel their loss.”

Finally, Pánimnas spoke. “The light still shines on Ausheninh just as brightly as it did before,” she said. “But now it also shines on the discarded worlds. Now, they are a little bit more like Ausheninh, and a little bit less separate from it.”

The six angry gods did not agree. First, they addressed Heagalhne. “If you would discard even the sticks and leaves of Ausheninh, and the fire burns as vigorously without them as with them, then the fire will continue to burn without you as well.”

They addressed Remehind next. “If you think Ausheninh does not feel the separation of its crystal and water from itself, then perhaps it will also not feel your separation.”

Finally, they addressed Pánimnas. “If you think the discarded worlds are not separate from Ausheninh, then if you go there you will be as satisfied there as in Ausheninh.”

And so they cast out Heagalhne, Remehind, and Pánimnas to wander the other worlds.

[mèþru]

Poor Pánimnas. I already am biased against the six gods.

[Risla]

Poor Pánimnas. I already am biased against the six gods.

Well, if you look at it from their perspective, Pánimnas fucked up in the first place by creating humans, and then she compounded the fuckup by stealing the light and making the sun. If she hadn't made the initial fuckup, there would have been no need to do so in the first place.

[evmdbm]

Is the moral "Don't fuck up?"

[Znex]

Poor Pánimnas. I already am biased against the six gods.

Well, if you look at it from their perspective, Pánimnas fucked up in the first place by creating humans, and then she compounded the fuckup by stealing the light and making the sun. If she hadn't made the initial fuckup, there would have been no need to do so in the first place.

Sure, but I get a Prometheus vibe from her, and in part from the other two.

They might not have the great power and authority that the other gods have in the end, but she and the others can be likely champions of the human peoples and the human spirit that the other gods could care less for, plus look unapprovingly upon.

[Risla]

Is the moral "Don't fuck up?"

I mean, that's not a terrible moral. But no—the Tehemne actually specifically avoid ascribing morals to the gods or their actions. As far as they're concerned, the immortal residents of Ausheninh, the perfect world, will necessarily have very different priorities than the mortal residents of the discarded, imperfect ones.

The gods are not worshipped so much as avoided, and the one that needs the most avoiding is Pánimnas (see the next installment for elaboration on this idea), so this whole series of stories is just an explanation of why things are the way they are. The primary object of worship in Tehemne religion is not the gods but rather Ausheninh itself, which is viewed as having created Amutxei to create itself.

Sure, but I get a Prometheus vibe from her, and in part from the other two.

They might not have the great power and authority that the other gods have in the end, but she and the others can be likely champions of the human peoples and the human spirit that the other gods could care less for, plus look unapprovingly upon.

Alas, poor Pánimnas is definitely not Prometheus, and her story goes in quite a different direction! Stay tuned for the next installment—I'm still hammering it out…

[Bob]

Risla: Thanks for posting, very interesting. I study a lot of different myths. I'm working on Eastern Algonquian myths now and translating them into 1600s Massachusett. Some words and idioms of which I have to conlang or invent. I'm reading Leeland 1880 now, "Legends of Algonquian New England", it's just a ton of Mi'maq myths.

I recently translated the Prometheus Myth from Hesiod's Theogony from Ancient Greek and English into Pakuni, the largest corpus invented language from TV, books, or movies. It was made for a very popular 1970s television show.

I might translated the Sky Cow part of the Ancient Egyptian "Destruction of Mankind" myth into it, also. The text is a lot like Theogony in general.