Tehemne mythology (meet the áhash!)

[Risla]

The Three Exiles

The three exiled gods felt their separation from Ausheninh from the moment they arrived in the discarded worlds. These crudely carved worlds were so like Ausheninh, and had been made from the same vision. But all of them had fallen short and had been cast aside. The gods saw both the resemblances and the imperfections, and both of these made them miss Ausheninh dearly.

The first thing they did was to try to find the way back. They wandered the many paths of these worlds, in and between them, but they could not find any that led to Ausheninh. They could go only to the other discarded worlds.
They came back together and decided on a new course of action. Although no paths had been made to Ausheninh, perhaps it was possible to make a new path to return.

“I will wander the high peaks and stony ravines,” said Heagalhne.

“I will go across the sea,” said Remehind.

“I will go through the deep forest,” said Pánimnas.

And so each of them went their separate ways.

Heagalhne wandered the mountains and the canyons of the worlds, inspecting the shape and placement of every stone to see if any of them could be shaped into a path back to Ausheninh. Remehind swam through the sea, letting each wave wash over him to see if they could carry him back to the shores of Ausheninh. And Pánimnas wandered the deep forests, shaping the trees into doorways to see if any of them led back to Ausheninh.

For many years they did this, but all of them failed. They met again, and despaired that they could not find the way. Together, they climbed to the top of the mountain that would have been Mount Tehei in this discarded world. They hoped that from there, they would be able to see Ausheninh and ease some of their longing.

But they could not even see it. They despaired then, because they understood that Ausheninh was truly lost to them.
Heagalhne and Remehind both turned to Pánimnas. “You are the reason we were cast out of Ausheninh,” they said. “We will suffer its loss forever because of you.”

Remehind then spoke alone. “It was the blood of Amutxei that enabled Ausheninh to be shaped from the wood of the tree. We, the gods, are what remains of Amutxei. Perhaps our blood can be used to shape a door to Ausheninh, or to shape this world into another Ausheninh. And Pánimnas, it is your blood that should be used for this purpose, as we have already suffered enough for your mistakes.”

He took a sharp stone from the earth and attacked Pánimnas. He slit her wrists and her throat, and he spilled her blood out onto the ground. He desperately tried to shape the land into Ausheninh with her blood. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not succeed. Finally, defeated, he returned to where Pánimnas lay on the mountaintop.

Heagalhne spoke next. “Ausheninh was only complete when the fire consumed Amutxei’s body and became the sacred fire. Perhaps a new sacred fire must be created to make this place into a new Ausheninh. And Pánimnas, it is your body that should be consumed by the fire, as we have already suffered enough for your mistakes.”

He lit a fire there on the mountaintop. He picked up Pánimnas, who lay there weak with blood loss, and threw her into the fire. But this, too, failed, and that world did not become Ausheninh. In frustration, Heagalhne and Remehind both ripped out clumps of their hair and cast them into the fire. Heagalhne’s hair became bears, and Remehind’s hair became wolves. Both of them then departed. Heagalhne returned to the high peaks, and Remehind returned to the sea.

Pánimnas lay there for a long while in the ashes after the fire had burnt out. Finally, her strength slowly returned to her, and she stood up and saw that she was now alone in this imperfect world. The sun beat down on her skin, and she became angry that it was taunting her with the light of the perfect world to which she could never return. She picked up the rock that Remehind had used to cut her and threw it as hard as she could at the sun. She hit it, and knocked it a little bit off course. Now the sun’s orbit was no longer a perfect circle, but wobbly; it would now be brighter and higher in the sky at some times of the year and darker and lower at others. This is why summer is bright and hot, and winter is dark and cold.

After knocking the sun off course, she became even angrier. She wanted to knock the sun down from the sky, to erase the evidence of her bitter mistake. She took every stone and every tree from that mountain and threw them all at the sun. But her rage caused her hands to shake, and she missed every time. Finally, the whole mountain was gone, and she too returned to her wandering.

[mèþru]

Pánimnas is still my hero.

[Pabappa]

I notice you use the word "god" for both male and female deities... of the nine, how many are male and how many are female? Can they appear as both?

What happened to the creator god?
Is she gone forever or will she be reborn? If so, will she be more powerful than the nine when she returns?

Since the present world seems to have been created as just a small part of an earlier world, what happened to the rest? Is it still there beyond the frontiers, or did it die with Ámutxei?

[Risla]

Thanks for the questions!

I notice you use the word "god" for both male and female deities... of the nine, how many are male and how many are female? Can they appear as both?

IIt's a pretty even split in this version (mid-northern coastal) of the mythology:

Male: Teteieb, Luamanh, Síwa, Heagalhne, Remehind

Female: Ámash, Úsud, Nihinde, Pánimnas

There is some variation among these: Ámash is frequently male, especially in the stories as told in southern inland areas. Luamanh and Heagalhne are both occasionally female, especially in the southern coastal and central inland areas, respectively. I should get a map up...

I've waffled over using the word "god" at all, as I feel that it has implications that don't really apply to these nine entities, who are called halxeida in Tehemne. It is, however, a useful shortcut.

What happened to the creator god?
Is she gone forever or will she be reborn? If so, will she be more powerful than the nine when she returns?

She's gone. Her only purpose was to envision Ausheninh and then create it.

Since the present world seems to have been created as just a small part of an earlier world, what happened to the rest? Is it still there beyond the frontiers, or did it die with Ámutxei?

The primordial world is called Taumudanh,and it's still there. It's just dark, boring, and not very important. When you have dreamless sleep, it is said that you're actually dreaming of Taumudanh.

Pánimnas is still my hero.

Fine. She's still pretty heroic at this point.

[Risla]

Sorry guys, I haven't completely abandoned this, I've just been busy. There will be one more installment in this particular story, and then hopefully more lighthearted things will come later.

One Returns

As the three exiles traversed the discarded worlds, they did different things. Heagalhne wept openly as he roamed the rocky canyons and barren mountaintops. Remehind swam the seas and swept the beaches in silence, listening for any echo of Ausheninh in the crash of the surf or the calls of the seabirds. Pánimnas sang as she wandered the woods, endlessly reciting the words whispered among the leaves on the trees in the forests and the blades of grass in the meadows, the songs sung by the sacred birds that dwell among those highest treetops, so that she might not forget them.

Heagalhne wailed so loudly that his anguish could be heard even in Ausheninh. The other gods heard this and felt sorry for him, and so they convened to decide what should be done.

"Long and far have they wandered the discarded worlds, seeking a way to return to Ausheninh," said Úsud, Síwa, and Nihinde. "It is clear that the pain of separation is great. Perhaps they have suffered enough and should be allowed to return."

Teteieb, Luamanh, and Ámash disagreed. "No," they said. "They have all acted to harm this most perfect of worlds. If they would ever do such a thing, they cannot be trusted to not do so again. Their suffering is apparent, but it cannot compare to how we would all suffer if the perfection of Ausheninh were to be destroyed."

Úsud spoke alone. "Only Heagalhne, then," she suggested. "Of all of them, he has caused the least harm. All he took were leaves and twigs and fire. But leaves and twigs carpet the forest floor in patterns just as beautiful as they did when Ámutxei first sculpted this world, and the sacred fire burns just as brightly. Ausheninh is harmed more by the absence of Heagalhne than by that of the things he took."

They sat there in silence for a while, until finally Teteieb spoke. "I do feel his absence," he admitted. "The land seems to feel his absence as well. Given that the damage he did was so small, perhaps it would be kindest both to him and to Ausheninh to let him come home."

Thus it was decided to allow Heagalhne to return to Ausheninh. One day, as he wandered the rocky ravines, he felt a breeze that carried the scent of Ausheninh. He hurried toward its source, and found that in front of him, the stones had formed an archway, and through it he could see the sacred land. He passed through and found himself, at long last, in his beloved Ausheninh.

Remehind and Pánimnas could both also felt the breeze from Ausheninh in the air. They both moved as quickly as they could and converged on the archway. They saw Ausheninh through it, could smell the scent of its flowers and hear the songs of its birds. But as they approached the archway, it collapsed, and the stones that had formed it shattered into the finest sand. A great wind arose, and all the sand was carried away, so that nothing remained of what had once been the archway leading to Ausheninh.

Upon seeing this, they both fell to the ground and wept. They lay there for a while, until finally Remehind stood. He regarded Pánimnas, in the throes of anguish so like his own. He realized that she, who he had despised, was now the only being in all the worlds who understood his suffering. He called her by name, but Pánimnas, remembering what he had done the last time they had met, feared him. She arose and backed away from him, regarding him warily.

"Pánimnas," he said. "We are now alone here. We have both been denied passage into Ausheninh. We are the same. I am sorry for what I did to you, and I feel your pain as my own."

Pánimnas saw that his remorse was genuine, but she remained filled with rage. "These discarded worlds have stolen Ausheninh from us," she said. "They do not deserve our kindness. If you wish to redeem yourself to me, then help me destroy them for the injustice they have done against us by denying us, the scions of Ausheninh, passage home."

Remehind agreed. "These are the failed worlds. They are but a pale mockery of Ausheninh, and it shows disrespect to the one true world that they are allowed to continue to live and grow in their broken and imperfect ways."

And so Remehind and Pánimnas joined together and wrought their wrath upon the worlds. Pánimnas set forests aflame and opened up great fissures in the ground which spewed forth lava. Remehind called up great storms that scoured the cliffs bare with torrents of wind and water. Pánimnas shook the land, and Remehind responded by raising up the sea. Remehind loosened the ground with floods, and Pánimnas responded by sending the earth cascading down in great landslides. Every time they came across a human settlement, they annihilated it, as encountering people painfully reminded them of the reason for their exile. They continued in this way for nine thousand years, until people were nearly gone from all the worlds.

[Risla]

After they had wrought such devastation for so many years, Remehind and Pánimnas found one of the very last human settlements, here in these hills of Adáso. As had happened so many times before, Pánimnas felt great shame at its presence and declared that it must be destroyed.

They went into the village together. Pánimnas immediately went about the business of destruction, calling up the roots of the trees to wind themselves around houses and crush them into rubble, and to wind themselves around people and strangle them and crush their bones. She became so absorbed in this that she did not notice the behavior of Remehind, who held back for a moment, looked around, and noticed something strange.

On the other side of the village, there was a hill. Up this hill, there was a narrow path, and from this direction he could hear, though faintly, the song of the birds of Ausheninh, and could smell the scent of its forests upon the breeze. He left the village and made his way up the path. There, he found what he was looking for. Standing there halfway up the hillside, there was a gate that had clearly been carefully constructed by human hands, made of carved bamboo lashed together with spun string. The path he had followed continued through this gate and into Ausheninh. Remehind stood there for a moment, shocked to see Ausheninh again at last and breathe its air. He stepped towards it, but just as he was about to pass through, a tremor shook the earth. The gate collapsed, and the path no longer led to Ausheninh.

Remehind cried out. He picked up the pieces of the gate and tried to rebuild it. He lashed them together just as they had been before and set the gate up just as it had been before, but the path still led only up the hillside and not to Ausheninh. He tried for a long time to reopen the way, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not do it.

Eventually, Pánimnas found him kneeling there in the dirt. He did not even acknowledge her presence, as he was too absorbed in inspecting the carvings on the bamboo. "What are you doing?" she asked him.

"They opened a way into Ausheninh," he told her, "and you have destroyed it."

Pánimnas could see that he was telling the truth. She was afraid that he would be angry with her, but he only seemed sad. She took the bamboo from him and tried assembling a gate from it, but she too failed to reopen the way into Ausheninh. Finally, Remehind stood up. "Maybe the people who built this can do it again," he said.
"All of them are dead," said Pánimnas. Remehind did not respond, but walked back down the path to where the village had been. Pánimnas followed him, but stopped outside the village and watched.

Remehind went around the village disentwining the bodies from the tree roots and pulling them out from under the collapsed houses. Where their bones were broken, he carefully put them back together. Where their blood had drained into the earth, he carefully separated it from the dirt and poured it back into their bodies. He did this until they all appeared to be asleep rather than dead. Finally, he tore skin from his right arm and took the bone from his left arm and replaced it with a piece of bamboo. He stretched the skin out over a frame to form a drum, and he carved the bone to form a flute. He beat the drum, and the hearts of the people of the village began to beat again. He blew on the flute, and the lungs of the people of the village began to breathe again. Then he stood in the middle of the village and called out to them, "Wake up!"

When they woke up, they saw Pánimnas standing on the edge of the village watching them, and they were afraid. They picked up stones and threw them at her. Remehind walked over to her and reached out to her. She recoiled from his touch. "I do not hate you," he told her, "but I want you to leave." So Pánimnas left.

Remehind went back and spoke to the people. He found that they did not remember very much of who they had been before they had died. They did not know who had made the gate, or how to make it again. But in speaking to them, he could hear in their voices that they too longed for Ausheninh, and he knew that he and Pánimnas were not so alone in the world after all. He rebuilt their houses and taught them to speak the language of Ausheninh and write the patterns that Amutxei had once written into that world. He stayed with them there for many years, and the village prospered with his help and became a large town. We now call that town Súrya, and the tree roots that Pánimnas once used to destroy it can still be seen there, twisted and exposed above the ground.

—————

Finally got this part finished-ish. One more part left in this particular myth. It all definitely needs editing, but that's a later problem.

[Pedant]

So...are there actual remains of giant tree roots scattered around Súrya, or are they now more conventional rocks?

[Risla]

Around the town, there are several areas where all the roots of the trees are exposed, similar to this picture I took on Mt Kurama:

[Pedant]

And those roots are giant? As in treetrunk-thick?

[Risla]

I never said in the story that they were giant!

[Pedant]

That...is an excellent point. Oops!

[Risla]

After Remehind had resided in Súrya for many years, the other gods came together in Ausheninh to decide what should be done about him and Pánimnas.

"We should not let them back in," said Teteieb, Luamanh, and Ámash. "The damage they have done to Ausheninh is permanent, and so too should their exile be permanent."

"We should let them back in," said Úsud, Síwa, and Nihinde. "They have suffered separation from Ausheninh for long enough. By keeping them away, we too do damage to Ausheninh, by separating it from its children."

Heagalhne spoke alone. "I understand your concerns," he said, "and I also understand the pain of exile. Remehind has clearly changed his ways. He has gone from destroying people to living among them. It is clear that he now understands the danger of destruction, and thus no longer poses a threat. He alone should be allowed to return to Ausheninh."

The other gods agreed that this was a good compromise. And so, one day, Remehind left his house in Surya in the morning, and saw a strange glint at the bottom of the Deuhásu River that runs through that town. He dove into the water and swam down deep to learn what it was. He swam deeper and deeper, far past where the riverbed should have stopped him, until he finally recognized that strange glimmer as the sky of Ausheninh and emerged near the shore of the great Ishínnua Sea that lies to the east of Mount Tehei.

He came onshore and immediately called the other gods together once again. "Pánimnas should be allowed to return," he told them.

Heagalhne disagreed. "She has not changed as you have," he said. "We do not know what threat she still poses to Ausheninh."

"I have indeed changed more than she has," Remehind replied. "I have left some of my skin and one of my bones in that other world and replaced them with leaves and bamboo that grew there. I am no longer purely a creature of Ausheninh, and yet I still love this land above all else. But Pánimnas remains pure, so I know that her love must be even greater than my own. Why, then, would someone who loves it so profoundly act to harm it?"

But Heagalhne still disagreed, and they argued for a long time. Úsud, Síwa, and Nihinde agreed with Remehind, and Teteieb, Luamanh, and Ámash agreed with Heagalhne. Finally, Úsud proposed a compromise.

"Pánimnas should not be invited back as both of you were," she said. "But neither should she be locked out. If she can find her way back to Ausheninh on her own, then we should allow her to stay."

The other gods agreed that this was a sensible idea and they went their separate ways. But Remehind thought of Pánimnas, now wandering the discarded worlds completely alone, and resolved to help her find her way back to Ausheninh. He built a tower out of stone in the southern hills, tall enough that it touched the sky. He reached out and grasped the moon, which he once crafted, with his hands, froze the water on it, wrote a message on its surface, and cast it adrift again.

He still spends his time there, writing letters to Pánimnas in the moon to try to guide her home. His messages cannot be seen by looking at the moon, but when its light falls upon the worlds, they are written onto the ground by the shadows of the trees in the forests where Pánimnas still roams.

[Risla]

There's the last of that story, so now I can get it out of my head. Re: mythology, I'll soon(-ish) be putting up some stories about the Áhash, which are a race of innumerable lesser gods who in practice play a much greater role in practical Tehemne cosmology than the Halxeida (the nine I've been talking about so far). I'll also do some more worldbuilding on Tehemne culture and try to make more coherent what I already have (which is quite a bit, just scattered…).

A couple stylistic questions, in case anyone has opinions:
1. Should I change the orthography of the diphthongs /ʊ͡ɐ æ͡ʊ ɒ͡ʊ/ from <ua eu au> to <oa eo ao>?
2. When I edit the story, should I change the word "gods" to "Halxeida"? I feel like "gods" is potentially somewhat misleading, but it also maybe makes it more accessible, so I'm ambivalent.

[Pedant]

There's the last of that story, so now I can get it out of my head. Re: mythology, I'll soon(-ish) be putting up some stories about the Áhash, which are a race of innumerable lesser gods who in practice play a much greater role in practical Tehemne cosmology than the Halxeida (the nine I've been talking about so far). I'll also do some more worldbuilding on Tehemne culture and try to make more coherent what I already have (which is quite a bit, just scattered…).

A couple stylistic questions, in case anyone has opinions:
1. Should I change the orthography of the diphthongs /ʊ͡ɐ æ͡ʊ ɒ͡ʊ/ from <ua eu au> to <oa eo ao>?
2. When I edit the story, should I change the word "gods" to "Halxeida"? I feel like "gods" is potentially somewhat misleading, but it also maybe makes it more accessible, so I'm ambivalent.

An excellent ending indeed!
Regarding your questions:

1. I don't completely know how your language is structured and what sort of orthography you have, but <ua eu au> to my mind seems both a closer match to the phonetics and somewhat more easily understandable, so maybe leave it as is.
2. Hmm...okay, here's a compromise: why not keep "gods" but add a short sentence explaining the traditional word? Something like "and these were the nine gods, the nine Halxeida (which means [well I have no idea what it means but you do so...])"?

[Risla]

Not very long ago, there was a man who lived here in Tisinem when there was a famine. He was hungry, and he decided to go hunt alone so he would not have to share what food he found.

Everyone expected him to return before the sun set. But the first night passed, and he did not return. They sent out people to look for him, but they couldn't find him. After one more night, they gave up searching for him. But on the third day, he returned. He looked clean and healthy, but everyone was shocked to see that he was missing his left forearm. Now there was only a cleanly bandaged stump at his elbow.

They asked him what happened. He replied:

"I went deep into the forest and got lost. Night was falling and I had lost hope of finding my way home, but then I found a stream. I followed it, and was surprised that not far downriver, there was a house. I sang greetings, and the door opened. They welcomed me inside and gave me a bed to sleep. The next day, they fed me a wonderful meal of meat. I liked it so much that I chose to spend one more night with them. This morning, they showed me the path home. I would like to go visit them again."

"Yes," the people said, "that sounds wonderful, but what happened to your arm?" But the man did not answer them, and returned straight to bed.

In the morning, after he woke up, he immediately dressed himself to go into the forest again. "I am returning to that house," he said. "I know the way now and won't get lost. Don't worry about me!"

Everyone was confused by his strange behavior, but they let him go.

Three days later, he came back. Everyone was even more shocked to see that he was now also missing his right forearm, and the stump of this one too was cleanly bandaged. They asked him what happened. He replied:

"I went back to the house. They welcomed me back, and they cooked me the most wonderful meat. This time, it was even more delicious than the meat they gave me before! I would like to go visit them again."

"Yes," the people said, "but what happened to both of your arms?"

Again, the man avoided the question and went to bed.

In the morning, the man woke up and immediately made for the forest. He did not dress himself in his hunting gear, because he had no arms to use. This time, people tried to stop him, but he flailed and cried and bit at people until they let him go.

Three days later again, he came back. This time, everyone was shocked to see that he was not walking but hopping, because he was now missing his left lower leg as well. They asked him what happened. He replied:

"Oh, it was so wonderful. This time, they fed me even more of that wonderful meat! My belly was so full and I was so satisfied. I would like to return to them again."

"Yes," the people said, "but what happened to both of your arms and your leg?"

Again, the man avoided the question and hopped to bed.

In the morning, he got out of bed and hopped into the forest. Nobody tried to stop him this time. He never came back.

----------------------------------------------------

The above is a typical example of a story about the áhash. The áhash are creatures born of the drops of Ámutxei's blood that fell on the discarded worlds. There are many types of áhash, and they are largely portrayed as neutral to hostile to humans. When they are hostile, they are particularly fond of psychological manipulation of their victims, although some áhash stories are primarily based in body horror. Stories of the áhash tend to be very localized; they're generally about some unfortunate resident of the same settlement where the story is being told who fell afoul of them, through selfish behavior or just through plain bad luck. I'll give a few more examples of áhash stories, since they're very culturally important (and I can have some fun with them).

[Travis B.]

I'm wondering what happened to his limbs for some reason.

[Pedant]

I'm wondering what happened to his limbs for some reason.

The implication seems to be that either the áhash ate them and gave the man a hallucination of wonderful food, or fed him his own limbs until the point where he could be drawn in to be properly devoured.
...either way, I’d go easy on the stew.

[Travis B.]

I'm wondering what happened to his limbs for some reason.

The implication seems to be that either the áhash ate them and gave the man a hallucination of wonderful food, or fed him his own limbs until the point where he could be drawn in to be properly devoured.
...either way, I’d go easy on the stew.

That's what I was suspecting too.

[Risla]

Definitely the latter. Note how the third time they feed him more meat. Although it's a reasonable interpretation that, after losing his fourth limb, he simply wasn't able to return.

[Risla]

Been a while. I've been working on my novel on and off but just generally pretty busy. Here's another áhash story, though:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not very long ago, there was a woman who lived here in Iwákai whose name has since been forgotten. Late one night in early autumn, when the moon was full, she went outside and heard the sound of distant music on the wind.

She did not go back inside to ask where the music was coming from, because she did not want to bother people by waking them up. So she went to the top of that small hill just to the north of the village to try to see where the music was coming from.

She arrived at the top of the hill and looked out. On the next hill to the northeast, the one the upper branch of the Sigdehásu river flows down from in cascades, she saw shimmering, shifting lights, as if a hundred people were holding lanterns and dancing to that music. She wanted to join the party as well, so she set out along the path and climbed up to the top of that next hill. As she walked, the shimmering became brighter and the music became louder.

When she arrived, she found something strange. There was no party here; indeed, there were no people at all. Instead, in the clearing on top of that hill there sat a tree, and at the base of that tree there was a pool of water. As the wind blew, it rustled the leaves and sounded very much like music. Moonlight shone down upon the leaves, which reflected the light like a thousand mirrors and shifted around in the wind. The water, in turn, reflected the moonlight itself and the shimmering leaves.

The music created by the wind in the leaves was irresistible. The woman drew closer to the tree, and began to dance around it and into the water, splashing and swaying to the beautiful song. Her eyes and fingernails reflected the moonlight. As she danced, water crept up her legs and her feet became ensnared in the mud. She danced and found that she could not stop; her feet were rooted deep in the earth, and her arms swayed in the mountain breeze, dancing to the endless song of the leaves.

It was thus that she was lost to us, and her name forgotten. Now, there stand two trees on the edge of that pool on top of that hill, and when the moon is full their leaves reflect the moonlight, and they sway and shimmer like dancing lanterns in the wind.