|
His mouth was a black slit I couldn't tear my eyes
from, twisted into a friendly smile, it's owner
sitting across the rustic table in what was assuredly
the worst shack in all the Empire to call itself an
Inn. He had no teeth, lost long since to the gradual
depredations of scurvy and age, though through slitted
lids his eyes were bright and alert. My supper
companion's name was Uhulsak, an old hunter from the
Kampetchya tribe. Like most of his brethren, gaia's
wrath had sunk its teeth in, and one of his ears
drooped crazily, like molten wax, down the left side
of his face.
Despite his gross deformity, or perhaps because of
it, he was a garrulous and welcome guest at my table,
and he, equally joyed to have someone to listen to him
spin his yarns, had seized upon the opportunity with
gusto, worrying my curiosity as he did the caribou
meat he held in his toothless gums.
We'd met two days ago, when the first of the winter
blasts had made my departure from the trading town
(and I use this term in the loosest sense; no more
than a thousand lived within it's walls, sustained by
the twice-yearly shipments from the Empire's garrison)
unthinkable. Curious as to the presence of one of the
native folk, in the stinking, but undeniably warm
skins they all wore here, I'd bent his good ear and he
both mine. He never minded my staring; and I quickly
learned few did; a full quarter of the population here
had felt the brush of the planet's wrath in the past,
and bore their marks stoically, most cheerfully joking
about the various deformities and mutations that had
befallen them.
With the gallows humour that seemed an institution
here, the response from Uhulsak about what had
befallen his ear was a cheerily grim jape, of how Gaia
had seen him lost in the dark of the forest, and
believing himself close to his home tribe he had
carelessly lit a torch. "I think she mistook me for a
candle that night; and did her best to light me. I
never felt much, bundled up as I was, but the look of
my first wife when she saw the Wrath upon me was a
strange one indeed. She asked if I'd ear-wrestled a
behemoth and lost! The next night I left the camp, and
gave my wife and spear to my oath-brother Nauziln, and
my children the talismans."
"I trekked a fortnight through the frost, fighting a
head-wind for twelve of those nights. How I made it
without the talismans or a Gaiman, I cannot say. On my
seventh night, a track of Lobos picked up my trail,
and I hid in the rocks until they passed on. On the
ninth, near-frozen, I took refuge in a cave, and awoke
an old father Malboro! Eeeyuh!" he exclaimed, waving
his filthy hands animatedly. "And be chased a mile!
The green friend's sickness spread in my lungs and
made the rest of the trek a shadow of a memory; but I
took some warmth by a flow of the fire-rock one eve,
and the next day turned a wide detour of winter
Lifestream."
"Finally the safety of the high ground welcomed me,
the earth pulling me higher away from Gaia's blood and
humours, and I stumbled into the town. My hands are
strong and my eyes are keen, so I took with the
sea-folk on their hunts for whale, and that is how I
make my life these days."
I was to learn later how deeply entrenched this sense
of gentle, black humour among the Kampetchya, and
indeed all the Northern people went. His story, though
told lightly to me, was more tragic then the casual
listener would know.
---
It would be a month before I learned that the
Kampetchya, like most wild tribes spanning the
continent capping the great Holy Wound, drove out
those who had fallen to mutation and did not leave
voluntarily. Too many were driven mad by the touch of
Gaia's spirit, and these could not be trusted around
children. For surely foremost in the lives of the
northern people is the sanctity of childhood; no land
I have ever visited, no people I have ever known,
revere the youth of their tribes as the northern
peoples. And for good reason! Life in the Wounded
Lands is short; I call Uhulsak an old man, and by his
people's standards at fourty-four, he was. Certainly
he looked three decades beyond that, though his body
was still spry and strong.
Every tribe, every village, and even here in the
towns around the coastal highlands, seems devoted to
the rearing of children. Many marry young; age twelve
or thirteen, and are expected to be parents by no
later than their sixteenth year. Most men, once they
have fathered their first child and thus proven their
potency, take a second or third wife, as many as they
can comfortably hunt for. Polygamy is the norm; the
Wounded Lands are a dangerous place, and the hunters
die as a regular course of event in their hunts among
the stunted, monster-infested forests.
Those that don't die face the rigors of another
threat; the Lifestream. A most common symptom of
exposure is sterility, and a man who can no longer
father young gives up his wives to one who can, and
hunts for the good of the tribe and the children of
it. Child rearing of the tribe is communal, and when
once I asked Uhulsak about questions of lineage, he
looked at me in shock. "Why would a man care who
fathered the child his wife bear? Yahal! Who would
spurn the love of a child for something so foolish?!
Are the men of the Empire mad that they would turn out
the young onto the rocks and beasts? The Wounded Lands
cry for the love of good people who remember the ways
of Gaia, and takes her share of enough of them on her
own. The blood that is worthy must carry on."
Roles of the people of the Wounded Lands are simple;
and decided early on in life. There are five central
pillars of any tribe; these are the Shamans, who
dispel the spirits that plague the land and it's
people. The Gaiman, whom we call geomancers, that read
the patterns of the earth around them, and move the
people when lifestream or firestone threaten. The
Feralis, whom we of the empire normally detest as Blue
Mages, who help against the constant threats of
monsters and lifestream-tainted meats. The hunters,
whom kill for the tribe and aid in the fights against
bestial predators. And the common villager, who crafts
the items necessary for life in the Wounded Lands and
rears the young.
Men and women are found equally in all roles within
the tribes, though men tend towards hunting while the
women remain in the village. The women are typically
too busy gravid or rearing to hunt regularly; while it
is hardly rare, the simple realities of life within
the Wounded Lands ensure that few women are regular
hunters for the tribe.
Mutual co-operation is the order of the day, with
travelling bands of 20-60 people being the average
village. Each village, regardless of size, strives to
maintain at least 3 Gaimen, and 2 each of Feralis and
Shamans. This does not include the countless
apprentices; at least half of the men and women, aside
from their duties of hunting or rearing, are trained
to apprenticeship in the three roles.
The Gaimen (their geomancers), in particular, are the
true guardians of the people against the ravishments
of an angry planet; only they can feel the stirring of
the firestones or lifestream deep below, and move the
people out of danger in time. It's well-known and
accepted that the motions of Gaia are anything but
random here; her blood relentlessly pursues the people
on her face, and rare indeed is the camp that can rest
for a season without at least one move. Unlike most
attacks by monsters or spirits, which can claim a few
casualties at a time, a flow of volcanic mud or the
insidious seep of the Lifestream's energy can claim an
entire village. Worse yet are those that do not die,
but awaken one morning to discover all those in the
tents around them have been struck down by mutation
and later, sterility. No blow is crueler to the hearts
of the Wounded Land's peoples than that tragedy.
Consequently, no village is without at least 3
Gaimen, or more. With most serving double-duty as
hunters or rearers (as do all those guardians of the
people), there must always be at least one alive and
able to perform their duties; determining a safe route
to escape, or in extreme examples, changing the face
of the land to protect the village. The communal
nature of the villages ensures those caught up in such
duties remain fed; as the land demonstrates time and
again, co-operation means survival.
The Feralis (their Blue Mages) are the next most
common; serving as the specialists in monsters and
their unique magics, their duties are the protection
of the hunters, and equally as important, ensuring the
meat they spear is safe to devour. The inland peoples
must rely on the caribou, musk oxen, and other
migratory game to feed themselves, and the earth can
be as harsh upon the beasts as it is on the people. To
the Feralis, every kill is a potential hazard; perhaps
the meat is turned by an unknown mutation, making it
poisonous or rent by pestilence. The Feralis educate
the hunters as best they can for methods of detecting
such hidden dangers, but even so, such meat is an
all-too-oft killer for a hunter on his own. No meat in
the camps is consumed until one (or ideally, more)
Feralis have blessed it safe.
Their aid and knowledge in taming monsters is
legendary; though a monster cannot be used for much
due to their inherent natures, calming them and
driving them away is a routine task for the Feralis;
with the exception of the Lobo, few of the predatory
beasts hunt in packs, and thus are easily handled by a
lone Feralis. Some are prized for their meat as well;
the highly regarded malboro tentacle, selling for
upwards of thirty gil a pound, come originally from
the hunters of the Wounded Lands. Chocobo, rare and
seldom ridden here, are also a delicacy they espouse.
A race of blue-furred beast men known as Ronso, long
revered for their great strength and sense of honor,
are known to join and train with other Feralis of the
tribes, being among other talents, natural Blue Mages
in their own right. Well-welcomed wherever they
travel, the relations between Ronso and other
humanoids remain a close bond, despite the natural
aloofness the Ronso keep about them.
Finally, though hardly least, are the Shamans (their
Summoners), whom tame and capture the capricious
spirits that swarm up from the Lifestream now and
again, and turn them to use for the people, or drive
off those with ill will to the people. Every child,
upon their birth, is presented with as many as five
potent talismans, to be sewn into their parka and thus
worn nigh-constantly. These talismans are highly
prized by summoners of the Empire throughout; and many
a Shaman has turned to making a rich living to
crafting and selling these far-from-vanity trinkets to
the mage guild. Unlike many Summoners within the
empire, the Shaman must work with spirits on a nearly
day-to-day basis, pacting with some, capturing others,
and banishing yet more.
To them also fall the culturally important story
telling; the history of the Wounded Land people
stretches back before pre-Holy days, telling of the
coming of meteo and the making of the Wound, and the
long years of lifestream that followed. Strangely, it
is in this most uncivilized of lands, that perhaps the
greatest knowledge of the pre-Holy days is held, in
the songs and legends.
---
The Empire's first contact with the northern
continent officially came three hundred years ago, in
the formative years of the Highwind dynasty. Tales of
explorers sailing north passed southerly gradually,
and a few mages fortunate enough to survive the
horrible trip by frigid ocean made contact with the
coastal tribes, who had lived (and by and far, still
do) off of whale and seal hunting, and consequently
discovered the unique properties of the Wounded Lands
and, even more valuable, the depth of magic talent so
casually held by the peoples of this harsh land. As
those within the Mage guild know, few other lands,
with exception of the western barbarian continents,
possess much knowledge of geomancy or blue magery, and
summoning is relatively rare against the schools of
Red, White, or Black magery.
The reports of the Mage Guild members came back to
the Empire, and their interest was immediately piqued.
The Merchant Guild, smelling profit in what before had
been regarded as useless, blasted lands, moved
immediately to raise a town by one of the two natural
harbors of the continent large enough to handle the
great sea-ships, and brought with them their
teleportation rituals. Suddenly, the people of the
North had visitors. Thankfully, the resources of the
land amounting to little more than furs and poor
timber kept the Empire's interest tepid at best, and
to this day they have never moved to officially
recognize any of the settlements of the Wounded Lands
as theirs.
Years passed as mages shipped north to study among
the people; and those that could stomach the brutal
conditions of the land and its realities of life were
well welcomed amongst the people. In turn, the Mage
Guild continues to fund settlements, providing sources
of safe food and shelter.
It should be noted the few towns of the Wounded Lands
all share a common trait; all are coastal, and on
elevated cliffsides of solid rock that, while exposing
them to merciless winter winds, also ensures the flows
of lifestream are buried too deep to endanger the
townsfolk.
Trade is limited; occasionally specialty meats are
shipped through the Merchant Guild to buyers, or furs
are sold, but the majority of the profit is in
supplying food and necessities to the Mage Guild
outposts, who in turn distribute it to the families of
those hunters and rearers that teach and study within
the Mage Guild itself. Consequently, the way of life
for most has changed little; and city life is still
viewed with mild scorn by the able-bodied hunters and
rearers. It is a place for those touched by Gaia to go
and live the last of their lives, and for the young to
go and earn early shares of meat and goods for their
tribe until old enough to hunt with the men, or raise
children with the other women.
---
Oft-times since returning I've been asked about
rumours of thieving by the people of the Wounded
Lands, to which I must reply that special
consideration is required. Unlike those of the Empire,
communal life is taken to its ultimate form; a man
never 'owns' anything, in truth, or rather, he owns
what he can carry and use. A hunter's spear that he
needs for a hunt would never be taken; but had he a
few spares, another man of his tribe could come forth
and simply take one to use, and it would be considered
'his', and none would think twice of this transaction.
My contact within the guild chuckled frequently at
this topic as I asked him about it, and he explained
that many a Mage Guild artifact had been taken for
use. Hard feelings had resulted at first, but it was
not as though the takers had acted deceitfully; most
simply walked up, and made no effort to disguise their
intentions or possession, and returned it as soon as
asked. Consequently, it was encouraged for certain
artifacts and items to be explained in detail to the
new students, explaining why the Guild would continue
to need an item nearby, and ought not be borrowed
without checking first. These days, while the concept
remains alien to the people of the Wounded Lands, they
abide by it while inside the city.
Crime and punishment is handled in a direct way
befitting the land it springs from; few things are
crimes, as the nature of living makes crime
counter-productive. Living communally, if you harmed
others, you in turn harmed yourself. Ostracization was
the punishment of choice; gradually deepening if the
offending behavior was not corrected, but once
corrected, was quickly forgiven and forgotten. As few,
if any, can survive alone in the wounded lands, total
ostracization is a death sentence. Being forcibly
driven out or killed is reserved only for those madmen
and murderers who threaten the lives and well-being of
the tribe.
As such, the concept of war is unknown to them; there
are hardly twenty thousand people across all of the
continent, and those tribes that do meet with one
another, usually annually, do so to exchange goods and
make marriages, to prevent inbreeding. As well, during
these times, apprentices may be traded to villages
requiring someone talented in a certain field, be it
Gaimen on down to simple spear-maker.
---
As some have marvelled, it's a testament to the
tenacity and inner strength of these people that
humanoid life survives at all. Even without the
threats of monstrous attack, lifestream, and constant
seismic activity, life would be difficult. Winter
storms are nearly constant; with the summers brief and
seldom warming above 8 degrees Celsius. Consequently,
trees are stunted and small, and vegetation is
frequently little more than lichens on the tundra
rocks.
The diet is composed almost exclusively of meat, fat,
and tea; dietary requirements in this cold climate
mean fat as a staple of energy is a necessity; by
weight, a full quarter of food-stuff consumed is fat
in it's various forms. Meat protein is the other three
quarters, and gallons upon gallons of tea are drunk
daily. White mages knowledgeable about their ways
explain that the teas are their sole source of most
nutrients, and the incredible quantities of water are
required for their bodies to process the highly
concentrated sources of energy they're taking in
through meat and fat.
Medical examinations show an amazing tolerance to
poison and toxins, likely due to their enlarged liver
and kidneys to deal with a millennia of their diet.
Body temperature runs higher as well, with a far
greater tolerance for hypothermic conditions.
---
The medical professions are hardly the only
interested parties in the northern lands; some
archaeologists have taken great pains to explore the
interior of the continent, closer to the frosty bite
of the poles, and the massive crater from the coming
of Holy, known locally as the Wound. Finding a Gaimen
to guide you near this region is nearly impossible,
however. Not only is the land dangerous, but also the
screaming of the earth that they are attuned to is
particularly frightful there. Lifestream flows thickly
in the region, making it at the best of times an
invitation for the planet's wrath.
Still, reports occasionally surface, two compelling
ones in particular that draw more and more visitors
every year. One is the tail of a city half-buried in a
mountain-slide, surrounded by lifestream, that
contains within it buildings built of gigantic
seashells, with a temple's spire rising broken from
the ruins. It's said to be guarded by fierce monsters,
and what few adventurers have visited it typically
refuse to speak of what they have found, only to swear
it exists, and should never be visited by mortals.
The other is a rumored, but never confirmed, floating
tower, that legend holds houses men of metal, who
bring ruin from machines of steam and magic, and fly
their tower around the Wound, protected by the fierce
monsters that guard the planet's injury. None could
approach it even were it found though; the gale frigid
winds are beyond the tolerances of even the finest
airship, and would surely dash it unto the rocks long
before it ever got within a hundred leagues of the
Wound.
The Wound itself has never been visited in a
millennia, or so it is spoken. Once every decade, a
whispered rumor of a foolish soul exploring it and
returning mad, or transformed into a hideous beast,
surfaces, but has never been confirmed. It is known
from ancient songs and reports that deep within the
crater can be found the source of the continent's
lifestream, and the slowly healing earth protects it
like a wounded animal. Indeed, undeniably the most
dangerous and fiercest beasts live close along the
Wound, the area infested with ilk such as the Malboro,
the Behemoth, the Tonberry, and vengeful spirits like
Magic Pots and Movers. Chimeras move around the
foothills, bringing ruin unto would-be adventurers
days before they reach the foot of the mountains that
protect the Wound.
|
