Title: The Milleniad — Motley Manághann
Description: A story from a time before the stars, when men and the gods lived together as one. An enrapturing storyteller stakes out her claim in the skies with a farewell tour to remember.
And this is how Motley Manághann earned her star.
In the time before Keldia and before the stars, the gods and men were as one people. We know this to be so.
Of the gods there was BORIC, who was known to be among the most fanciful of the gods. Each day, those on the road saw BORIC and knew him well, for he rode atop his elaborate litter where all could see. From the rising of the sun to the rising of the moon, he spread his most generous offerings to any of men who crossed his path: he shared wines from the finest vineyards, and he shared diamonds from the finest deposits, and he shared silks from the finest looms. All were in BORIC’s favor, and all were glad to know him.
Of men there was Manághann, whose fame among storytellers preceded her both far and wide, and who was eager to be made the foremost in BORIC’s favor. She knew the stories of the gods and men just as deeply as she was masterful in their telling, and so too did she know that BORIC could honor her with his most generous gift: a star all her own amidst the thirteen threes of thirteen threes in the sky. Manághann was not satisfied by BORIC’s worldly gifts alone, and so she sought to earn this skyward honor through any means. We know this to be so.
On the road, Manághann came to BORIC’s side, for his place in any crowd was simple to discern from the height of his elaborate litter. BORIC was delighted that the storyteller went where he went, for her fame was already legendary even in this time before the stars. “Manághann,” said BORIC, “you are among the finest of storytellers in the land. Why should you grace one such as I with your presence?”
“BORIC,” Manághann replied, “you are among the most generous of the gods, why should I not content in your company? You are of the gods, how could I, a mere child of men, be worthy of the respect you offer me?”
Manághann was wise in this, and BORIC thought for some time before answering. “You are of men, yes, and I am of the gods. Learned storyteller that you are, you can enlighten any that you come across with recitations of the multitudinous tales that you have collected in your years. I am but one god, while you can play the part of any.”
“This is true,” said Manághann.
“Oh!” lamented BORIC, “how I envy thee, Manághann! While I am a god possessed of many great powers, I lack that one which those of men dearly clutch: the gift of deception. Whether wielded for traps and tricks or brandished in the arts, to pretend to a likeness which you yourself do not hold, it is a talent most beauteous!”
“This is true,” said Manághann.
“I am most euphoric in the expressions of your artful gifts, Manághann,” said BORIC, “my respect alone is not a worthy trade for the charity you do me with your presence!”
“Your humility exceeds your eccentricity, BORIC,” said Manághann.
At this, BORIC laughed most riotously. “Come,” said BORIC, “will you not sample some of my exotic delights? Wines of all ages, diamonds of all lusters, silks of all colors?”
“Mere a vagrant storyteller as I am,” said Manághann, “I am honored by your offerings, good-hearted BORIC, but these material gifts I cannot abide.”
“You do not speak out of greed,” BORIC observed.
“I do not,” Manághann answered.
“Then tell me,” BORIC begged, “what can I in all my worldly generosity offer you in all your worldly splendor?”
Manághann paused for some time before answering. “All of men are in your favor, BORIC, yet I seek to be the foremost among them in your eye.”
“Ah,” BORIC responded.
“It is this unworldly gift that is the object of my desires, BORIC,” said Manághann.
“Hm,” BORIC responded.
“If such a gift would be intolerable for you to provide, despite your deep generosity...” Manághann began.
“No,” said BORIC, “it is not.”
“Yet you hesitate,” said Manághann.
“I do,” said BORIC. Manághann did not question further, for she was certain that BORIC would go on. It was some time before he answered. “To make you foremost in my favor may deprive others of your talents,” said BORIC.
“This is true,” said Manághann, “but for this gift of yours, I am willing to meet any challenges and overcome all consequences.”
“Hm!” BORIC began to smile. “A challenge, then. A player’s farewell circuit. A tour, of the three greatest kingdoms, you will perform the three greatest tales you can tell, each better than the last, commanding crowds of greater size than those most immense armies commanded by their kings. Do this, Manághann, and you will surely earn my foremost favor.”
“I shall,” said Manághann, and from there continued on the road. We know this to be so.
On the road, Manághann came to the castle of the first great kingdom, with walls as high and sturdy as hillsides. The whole of the nation had assembled for a festival there in her honor, and within the castle’s walls were three threes of three threes of thirteen threes men and just as many women.
When Manághann approached the gates, she was not recognized by the guards nor by the people there congregated, despite her legendary fame. The king and queen did not even see her, until she spoke her name, and shame gathered on the faces of all those who had done her wrong.
And when Manághann prepared to perform, she was not offered any sustenance, no meal and no wine, no bed and no hearth. The king and queen did not even beckon her to their table, until she spoke her name, and shame gathered on the faces of all those who had done her wrong.
It was for these great offenses that Manághann readied to tell the story of The Fall of Lienaur. [1] A tale so full of bloodshed and so upsetting to the ears that few storytellers could bear to witness it, much less to retell it themselves. But Manághann, in the depth of her knowledge, knew this account well, and she would perform it in the full broadness of her mastery. We know this to be so.
It was not long before the time came, and Manághann mounted the stage before the king, queen, and the masses of their kingdom. She took up the posture of the old art, hands to the skies and legs to the earth, and she did begin to tell the story of The Fall of Lienaur. Her knees were bending as she recounted an injustice most vile. Her wrists were twisting as she recounted a rage most pure. Her stomach was writhing as she recounted a battle most violent.
All there assembled were amazed at Manághann’s beauteous art. The king was certain that her body was not her own, that it had been possessed by the words she spoke. The queen was certain that her words were not her own, that they had been born by the body she stirred. And all were held captive when her fingers splayed in the way of the old art, and the bloodshed spoken of by Manághann’s body and drawn by Manághann’s words was no longer beheld only in mind, but was made manifest in speech and shape.
The king stood and bellowed with ire, and all the men there gathered rose to meet him. The queen stood and shrieked with fury, and all the women there gathered rose to meet her. And Manághann was left forgotten as her storyteller’s art took form. The men found swords and charged, descending on their wives. The women found axes and rushed, descending on their husbands. Inspired by the beauty of Manághann’s craft, they met each other in battle.
And it was after three days filled with slaughter, when the castle and kingdom and all who dwelled within had been razed and bled dry, that Manághann clasped her hands in the way of the old art, rose from her stage, and continued on the road. All that does remain, in this time, is a fetid wasteland, its soil a deep red from so much warm blood there poured out. [2] We know this to be so.
On the road, Manághann came to the castle of the second great kingdom, with battlements as wide and reaching as valleys. The whole of the nation had assembled for a festival there in her honor, and within the castle’s walls were three threes of thirteen threes of thirteen threes men and just as many women.
When Manághann approached the gates, she was this time recognized by the guards and by the people there congregated, owing to her legendary fame. The king and queen saw her without hesitation, and she did not once have to speak her name.
But when Manághann prepared to perform, she was not offered any sustenance, no meal and no wine, no bed and no hearth. The king and queen did not even beckon her to their table, until she spoke her name, and shame gathered on the faces of all those who had done her wrong.
It was for this great offense that Manághann readied to tell the story of The Lament of Brogheriund. [3] A tale so full of sorrow and so upsetting to the ears that few storytellers could bear to witness it, much less to retell it themselves. But Manághann, in the depth of her knowledge, knew this account well, and she would perform it in the full broadness of her mastery. We know this to be so.
It was not long before the time came, and Manághann mounted the stage before the king, queen, and the masses of their kingdom. She took up the posture of the old art, hands to the skies and legs to the earth, and she did begin to tell the story of The Lament of Brogheriund. Her arms were waving as she recounted a tragedy most unhappy. Her feet were kicking as she recounted a misery most wretched. Her back was arching as she recounted a mourning most inconsolable.
All there assembled were amazed at Manághann’s beauteous art. The king was certain that her body was not her own, that it had been possessed by the words she spoke. The queen was certain that her words were not her own, that they had been born by the body she stirred. And all were held captive when her fingers splayed in the way of the old art, and the sorrow spoken of by Manághann’s body and drawn by Manághann’s words was no longer beheld only in mind, but was made manifest in speech and shape.
The king stood and wailed with despair, and all the men there gathered rose to meet him. The queen stood and wept with woe, and all the women there gathered rose to meet her. And Manághann was left forgotten once more as her storyteller’s art took form. The men found kerchiefs and cried, embracing with their wives. The women found veils and groaned, embracing with their husbands. Inspired by the beauty of Manághann’s craft, they met each other in mourning.
And it was after thirteen days filled with grieving, when the castle and kingdom and all who dwelled within had been ruined and wept dry, that Manághann clasped her hands in the way of the old art, rose from her stage, and continued on the road. All that does remain, in this time, is a foul marsh, its ground an inky black from so many saline tears there poured out. [4] We know this to be so.
On the road, Manághann came to the castle of the third great kingdom, with towers as tall and white as mountains. The whole of the nation had assembled for a festival there in her honor, and within the castle’s walls were thirteen of three threes of thirteen threes men and just as many women.
When Manághann approached the gates, she was this time recognized by the guards and by the people there congregated, owing to her legendary fame. The king and queen saw her without hesitation, and she did not once have to speak her name.
And when Manághann prepared to perform, she was offered much sustenance, a grand meal, an aged wine, the softest bed and warmest hearth in the castle. The king and queen beckoned her to their table and bade her to feast without hesitation, and she did not once have to speak her name.
It was for these right charities that Manághann readied to tell the story of The Lovings of Eirkenwahlst. [5] A tale so full of lovemaking and so very pleasing to the ears that few storytellers could bear to witness it, much less to retell it themselves, lest they risk falling into bouts of lust. But Manághann, in the depth of her knowledge, knew this account well, and she would perform it in the full broadness of her mastery. We know this to be so.
It was not long before the time came, and Manághann mounted the stage before the king, queen, and the masses of their kingdom. She took up the posture of the old art, hands to the skies and legs to the earth, and she did begin to tell the story of The Lovings of Eirkenwahlst. Her hair was flowing as she recounted a romance most ardent. Her hips were swaying as she recounted a seduction most erotic. Her breasts was shaking as she recounted a mating most fierce.
All there assembled were aroused by Manághann’s beauteous art. The king was certain that her clothes were stripped away just for him, that her body was bared for his pure pleasure. The queen was certain that her voice was softened just for her, that her words were made sensual for her pure pleasure. And all were held captive when her fingers splayed in the way of the old art, and the lovemaking spoken of by Manághann’s body and drawn by Manághann’s words was no longer beheld only in mind, but was made manifest in speech and shape.
The king stood and sighed with ardor, and all the men there gathered rose to meet him. The queen stood and moaned with desire, and all the women there gathered rose to meet her. But Manághann was not left forgotten. She was still dancing and singing with an unignorable fervor, her body naked and flushed with heat. Manághann, so captivated by her own art and the feelings it instilled, leapt from her stage, and first embraced with the queen, then the king, then the both of them, performing and telling the tale in perfect rhythm all the while.
Those there gathered were so inspired by the beauty of Manághann’s craft and the vigor of her congress that they turned, and first mounted the stranger at their right, then the stranger at their left, then the both of them. Then each turned and made love with two more, then each of those turned and made love with two more, til all there had brought all others to the peaks of bliss, while Manághann’s words could be heard ringing above all others, and Manághann’s body could be felt writhing above all others.
And it was after thirty days filled with fornicating, when the castle and kingdom and all who dwelled within had been enlivened and spent dry, that Manághann clasped her hands in the way of the old art, rose from her stage, and continued on the road. All that does remain, in this time, is a fecund meadow, its color a myriad of shades from so many prolific seeds there poured out. [6] We know this to be so.
On the road, Manághann came to BORIC’s side once more, for he still rode atop his elaborate litter where all could see. The stories of her deeds in BORIC’s challenge had already spread both far and wide, and she knew that he had heard of them. She looked on BORIC, but he did not look on her. “BORIC,” said Manághann, “I have done as you asked.”
“Ah,” BORIC responded.
“I have told in the three greatest kingdoms the three greatest tales, to three crowds of sizes greater and greater,” said Manághann.
“Hm,” BORIC responded.
“If this bargain that we struck now proves intolerable, despite your deep generosity...” Manághann began.
“No,” said BORIC, “it does not.”
“Yet you hesitate,” said Manághann.
“I do,” said BORIC. Manághann did not question further, for she was certain that BORIC would go on. It was some time before he answered. “To make you foremost in my favor may deprive others of your talents,” said BORIC.
“This is true,” said Manághann, for they had agreed on such a thing once before. “And thus I have met your challenge, to perform and share my talents with the most that there can be.”
“Ah,” said BORIC, “but are there not many in these lands who have yet to see your works?”
“I suppose,” said Manághann.
“And,” said BORIC, “are there not many in other lands who have yet to hear your words?”
“I suppose,” said Manághann.
“Also,” said BORIC, “are there not many who have not yet entered this world who have yet to witness your crafts?”
“Gods cannot deceive, BORIC,” said Manághann, “you must uphold the bargain we have struck.”
“I must,” said BORIC, and for the first time his face fell in deep resignation. “But my doing so will hold solely to myself that beauty of yours which belongs to this world and all who dwell within.”
On this, Manághann thought for some time. Then she stood and stepped off the road, for she had many places to go. She walked to the edge of the ocean and gave her gentle speech to the roiling seas. She walked to the edge of the sky and gave her artful dancing to the crashing thunder. She walked to the edge of the earth and gave her beautiful songs to the whispering woods.
And Manághann climbed on the highest mountains and told them her tales, and she delved in the lowest caves and taught them her talents. She came to the insects and drilled them with stories of wars fought long ago. She came to the beasts and trained them with stories of keenings heard long ago. She came to the fishes and regaled them with stories of intimacies felt long ago.
And when all of this had been done, Manághann returned to the road and came to BORIC’s side once more. “I have given all that I have and all that I am to the world,” said Manághann, “so that those who come after me may yet come to know my mastery in these arts, and may spread joy and merriment to all who dwell within these lands and beyond.”
BORIC was delighted with Manághann, for he was among the most generous of the gods, and his foremost favor was but a small price to pay for the sharing of the storyteller’s gifts with all peoples through all eternity. And it was from then on that Manághann was foremost in his favor, and they rode and walked together along the road for all their days. Their litter was then known throughout the lands as a symbol for great jubilations, and their riches and generosity were ever given freely to any on the road. We know this to be so.
And when that time ended, and the time of Keldia and the stars began, the gods and men were as one people no longer. BORIC and the gods left the world of men, and Manághann and the men foremost in their favor took their places in the stars above. We know this to be so.