A Tale (or two) of Two Moons

[Ravana]

Here's the official-pending-everybody's-approval version of what happened 311 years ago. Well, two versions, actually. I wanted to present a version the way our planet's natives would have seen and remembered it; as I was writing it, I realized that a simple factual version would also be necessary, since it isn't always clear what it is that's being remembered (or if the events are being remembered correctly at all). I also added a couple of notes following the second version about things I added to the world in the process of creating the first.

And, being the person I am, they're probably both going to have to be split into parts. (Sigh.)

So, here goes.…

 

[Ravana]

A TALE OF TWO MOONS

Once, my children, there were two moons in our sky. All the ancients agree on this, and there are images of them to be found in our artwork, our tapestries, our scrolls. Besides, my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather was there. This is the story he told his children. Look up into the night sky and gaze upon the lonely moon that is in our tongue called Aydin, as you hear what became of her unfaithful lover Ayhat.

In the year we now call Year 1—that is, fifteen score and a half before this one—signs and portents abounded, and many feared that the end of the world was nigh. Foul weather tormented land and sea, crops grew stunted and pale, the earth shook ever and again, and in some faraway lands even belched foul smoke into the air. Wise men searched the stars for guidance, and their faces grew grim as they looked. They warned the mighty that still worse times were to come. Do not the stars foretell such things, to those who can read them? Can you doubt it, when even lesser men read omens in the flight of birds, or the patterns traced by sand falling through fingers?

The mighty took no heed, though it was they who paid the wise men to read the stars for them, then as now. The great never wish to hear that there are things beyond their decree. Yet they never tire of asking. So the people were afraid, and when people fear and their lords can offer no comfort, the people turn to the Voices of the gods.

The Voice of Sun, who in our tongue is Gumesh, spoke for his master: “I am above all things; no danger can approach me, nor enemy stay me. Do I not rise every day? Take shelter in my warmth, and do not fear.†And some there were who did this, though there were others who murmured that while clouds may not reach the Sun, still they could stand between him and ourselves.

The Voice of Aydin proclaimed: “I am the Mirror in the Night, casting my silver glow to guide you when Sun sleeps.â€â€”yes, her face was silver then—“No thief can steal what I illumine. Set aside your troubles, and find safety in me.†And some there were who did this, though there were others who murmured that while her face was indeed fair, she was also fickle, and would turn it away ever awhiles, leaving the night to her lover, whose guidance only fools sought.

And all the Voices spoke similarly, those of all the gods whose names we do not know, in all the lands whose shores we never see. And always there were some who found their hearts set at peace, though always there were others who murmured that the evil signs did not cease with the god’s reassurance.

The Voice of Ayhat was not heeded, for it was well known that Ayhat was jealous and grasping, and for all that he strained in pursuit of Aydin until his face was red, she would always slip from his embrace and run ahead once more. But his Voice did speak, and later there were those who remembered the words: “Always am I denied what I seek. I am called thief, and am only remembered afterward, whether in gift or in prayer. I am called bringer of sorrows, and am only spoken well of afterward, to show souls the path to the Hidden Lands. Aydin passes before me, but her mirror faces away; and having scorned me, she turns to regard her own reflection. The radiance of Gumesh blots out all sign of me, for he is unwilling to share the sky with me as he does with Aydin. Give me something I want, if you wish solace from me!†If some there were who did this, the story does not speak of them, only of those who murmured that Ayhat was a liar as well, who would take what was given and leave nothing behind.

One day a new portent was seen, more terrible than all the others… terrible, because it wrought change in the realm of the changeless: the stars themselves, the homes of immortal spirits. For, while stars rise and set with the turning of the year, it is ever the same stars; and while a few stars move, it is ever the same few, and their courses are known to the wise, who read in them those signs the great ever yearn after to guide their courses. But now it was seen that stars were going out, nor was it the ones known to move, but ones that have shone from one place since before men were born. If one cannot count on the eternal stars, what can one depend upon?

No sooner did rumor of this sweep the lands than the portent seemed to pass: for the first star that had vanished soon reappeared in her wonted place. But shortly thereafter, a second star winked out; and though she too reappeared, yet another vanished in turn; and when that one returned, two more darkened at once. So it went, through the sign of the Falcon, then the Bush-Rat his prey, then the Nesting Serpent. It came to be thought, since the darkened stars returned, that this must be some great body passing before the stars and moving on, just as Aydin does in her course. But what comfort is there in that thought? Some demon black as midnight sky, able to spurn immortal stars at will?

The time of wondering was not long, however. Mere days later, and the truth could be seen… for the night-demon grew larger, and soon it could be made out not as emptiness among the stars, but as a great gray orb—another moon, some said, though no moon such as this had ever been beheld before—hurtling across the sky, trailing smoke behind it… and always, always growing larger. And as with a thing seen in the distance, what else could be believed, but that it was growing always nearer?

[continued]

 

[Ravana]

[A Tale of Two Moons, part 2]

This, then, was the end of the world, such as the Voices promised us would come some day. And to be sure, none there were who could say otherwise. Storms lashed the lands. None could walk about upright, the ground trembled so. The Sun, for all his boasting, was swept by clouds, and when his face could be discerned, it was jaundiced or flushed, and gave no warmth. Aydin fled the oncoming doom, seeking to hide with the Sun in his shining mansion that none can look upon. Ayhat followed, but as ever was too slow. Too slow to catch, and too slow to flee—for the demon now closed in upon him, chasing stars from out the sky to shower and die in fire over our fearful heads.

Just then, as it crossed behind him, so close they might touch, did this wanton cast off its shrouding veil completely, and lo! No hideous nightmare demon appeared, but the face of a maiden, brilliant, adorned with sparkling rubies and topaz and gold! And as she passed, speeding ahead of him as Aydin was wont to, she winked at Ayhat, who was overcome by her beauty… and his own greed.

It is said that, at that moment, the Voices of Ayhat in all lands of the world cried out as one: “No! Don’t leave me!†None will ever know whether that cry was Ayhat’s, or their own… for after that day, they fell silent, and never spoke more, for their god or themselves. Other voices were speaking then anyway; so at the last as ever before, Ayhat’s Voice went heedless. Wind shrieked, thunder swore, seas railed. Those toads we call karkurbaya, which are the voices of the dead croaking in their tombs, came forth as one from their dusty homes, clamoring in ceaseless chorus, asking who would now guide them to the Hidden Lands? The very ground itself, for the first time ever, and likely the last, was heard to sing… then to moan… then to scream.

The waves—did you know, children, that waves can break rock, driving against them year upon year? Well, but you are young yet, and have not seen it as I have. What, do you doubt me? Once there were five houses atop Boathook Point, but now only four: and if you look out over the edge of the cliff, you can still see the bones of the fifth lying at its feet. Or perhaps you thought someone merely tired of his dwelling and cast it there like a pebble? —Hush, now, and let me finish the story.

Our family lived in the north in those days—fortunately, not too far north, or another would be telling this story now. The natural order was reversed: waves grew tall and hard as mountains, and earth ran like water. I have heard it said that in some places land leapt forth out of the sea; if this is true, I can also tell you its price was paid elsewhere, for in the lands of the north rock crumbled and broke, sand and soil boiled, and each new wave swallowed whole realms the way a five-yearling does his first kirza pie. He whose story this is kept a flock then, on the plateaus that rose above the coastal districts, and it was a three days’ drive to take his stock to the ports for trade. When the waves finished their work, and he went to seek out what remained of his scattered flocks, he looked down from his plateau… and the sea was there. And there it remains today.

But the moons… the moons. Ayhat left his eternal pursuit of his lover, and raced after this new bejeweled beauty that taunted him; as it grew smaller and dimmer, so did he, and it was seen that his flush darkened as he caught at the veils the other cast off, so that by the time Aydin had made her next circuit, he could be seen no more, nor ever will be again. Such is the price he paid for his infidelity: and still he was unsuccessful, for it was seen that the other outpaced him as ever Aydin did, and he was now cursed to chase blindly forever amid darkness, as is the fate of all who succumb to the lures of demons.

Aydin could not face being spurned: for an entire day, she hid her face, that none might see her embarrassment. And when she resumed her course—for not even one such as she could hide forever—lo! her mirror was cracked in a hundred places and more, marring forever the beauty she once flaunted before her lover. Nor was she purest silver: the hues that marred our skies and shaded the sun streaked her, so that now her beauty is mottled with yellows and reds, and smudged as with charcoal. She still gives light to the night, but it is no longer the brightness that deters thieves as it once did, but rather gives them dimness and shadows within which to work their wicked ways.

It was long, but in time, all things settled back to their natural course, once the demon departed and its evil influence waned. But still many felt that the world did end in those days, and yet was reborn: for this reason, those who survived chose to number the years anew, beginning with that one, and the old counts were abandoned. So this is your world, my children: a new one, to mold as you would. Cherish this thing, for it is not given more than once to live in a young, renewed world. Do with it as you will, and give thanks to the gods that such a gift beyond measure has been vouchsafed unto you.

Such is the tale of the two moons. That is enough for tonight. Pleasant dreams, my children.

 

[Ravana]

That’s the poetic version, as told by… someone. Somewhere. Probably someone living in one of the towns along the Savage Coast, which means he could have come from anywhere. The names for the moons are those the Ahali would use. The name for the sun is definitely not theirs; I have no idea where they got it.

Here’s the “unvarnished†version. I’m assigning specific days (from the day it was first spotted: two days after it was spotted is D+2, for example), so that everyone can have as exact a chronology as is desired.

Once we had two moons: a larger, closer bluish-white one, and a smaller, more remote reddish one. The white one orbited our planet in, I don’t know… call it 26 days, slightly faster than Luna does Earth, placing it slightly nearer as well; make it slightly smaller in diameter, and it would look almost exactly the same size. The red one was maybe half as large, roughly half again as far away, making it appear only about a third the size of the white one; it orbited in a bit less than 40 days. (Its orbit was less stable than the larger one, directing it on an inward-bound spiral: it would indeed have “caught its lover†eventually… perhaps another few hundred million years. Just in case anyone cared to know.) There are also some other planets (“wandering starsâ€), which we’ve had no discussion on: I’ve assumed a small handful, without specifying an exact number.

The early “signs and portents†are pure garbage—the usual miscellany of unconnected events regarded in hindsight. During the late spring (approximately mid-May) of the year in question, it began to be observed that fixed stars began to vanish one at a time, reappearing a night or two later. This phenomenon was first noticed in the northeastern part of the sky perhaps an hour after sundown. (Had this been Earth, it would have been somewhere around Hercules or Corona Borealis, if that means anything to anybody.) This process sped through perhaps a fifth of the visible night sky from initial spotting to D+15. When it reached a denser than average concentration of stars on that day—my “Nesting Serpentâ€: see notes— two things became apparent: first, that this phenomenon appeared to have a round outline, similar to an eclipsing moon; and second, it was getting larger.

Over the following several days (to D+22), it became more difficult to track, as by now things were beginning to happen on the planet at clearly abnormal levels: tides became more extreme, wave action kicked more moisture into the air, wind and water currents began to shift, causing weather patterns to deviate from the norm—in most places this meant clouding up and increasingly severe storms, which, of course, would have prohibited observation. A rise in minor ground tremors also occurred… the sort that knock your favorite eating bowl off the shelf, not the kind that knock your walls down. Many animals, especially traditionally “sensitive†ones, started displaying unusual behavior.

On the other hand, it wasn’t always cloudy everywhere, so what the histories remember forms a more continuous account from those observations that could be made, once there was the luxury to compare them afterward. What could be seen—what everyone could see, eventually—was that it was indeed round, indeed getting bigger, and was no longer a featureless black shadow: by D+22, it had approached close enough that what little light it reflected was now sufficient for it to be seen in its own right. Many people thought they could see “smoke†surrounding and trailing it, a sort of anti-comet. They were correct—at least in that it was throwing off a tail, though of course it was dust, not smoke. This loss of surface dust was another reason the rogue was growing more visible, as the ground beneath it was slightly more reflective.

On D+25 the rogue crossed our celestial equator—a plane extended outward from our own equator to the stars—heading southward. (This is one of the reasons it “vanished†so rapidly: people in the southern hemisphere might have a slightly different account of things.) It had now passed more than halfway across the night sky, and would have appeared to be heading directly below (that is, south of) the red moon—as well as being very conspicuous, even during daylight, rising about three hours or so before noon.

On D+27, all hell broke loose, as far as our observers were concerned. The rogue had actually passed the point of closest approach to our planet a day earlier… and now it was crack-the-whip time, as tidal forces refocused on a now outward-bound object, one that was itself receiving a slingshot boost from our gravity and departing even faster than it came. But not before passing spectacularly close to the red moon.

Something—probably a great many things—in our crust shifted abruptly with the transfer of kinetic energy. This resulted, at least in our part of the planet, in massive tectonic waves, which pulverized much of Kaellpae’s island, kicked a large part of desertrunner’s out of the ocean, and caused tsunamis that knocked a good portion of the north coast of Emperor Island into it… which caused still more waves, etc. Along with whatever it did to your own little corner of things. Volcanoes, in the Archipelago or elsewhere, spewed massive amounts of ash into the air, added to which was the infalling dust “tail†of the rogue, along with a liberal dosing of reddish dust from the moon, no doubt.

And it did roughly the same thing to the rogue. Its outer crust split in several places, allowing its own volcanoes—probably not molten rock: more likely sulfur compounds, which conveniently trend toward yellows and reds—to cause its surface to light up like fireworks. More junk to fall into our atmosphere later on. The sudden vulcanism also blasted off massive amounts of what dark surface dust remained, making the surface of the rogue temporarily more visible at the price of having even more stuff fall on us shortly thereafter.

And it did the same thing to the remaining moon, too. Previously a tranquil beauty covered in moderately thick, moderately even sheets of blue-white ices, it didn’t have any inner semiliquid core… but the ice could, and did, flex, creating fractures miles deep and thousands of miles long, criss-crossing its entire surface. Boom. Instant plaid. Well, at least sort of plaid. An effect heightened—in the eyes of the imaginative, at least—by the fall of red, yellow and black dust across various parts of the moon. (Toldja I could do it.) It also kicked the moon into a slightly higher orbit, so now it takes 27 days to make a circuit, very close to what Luna does. (Dead on, if you’re talking sidereal rather than synodic… but our natives wouldn’t, so that’s the number for its apparent orbit; compare to Luna’s 29 days.) This would also make it appear slightly smaller—as well as more than a little bit dimmer, courtesy primarily of the dust—though you would have had to be alive at the time to notice the size difference. Or have been an astronomer with good measuring equipment, capable of determining its exact apparent size… which would have been easy enough, so most histories may well record that it “got smaller.â€

In all likelihood, nobody could see much of the night sky over the next few days: nearly all the planet was shrouded in something or other, and even “clear†skies were deadened by the spatial dust clouds. The rest of the year would have been much colder than normal… probably the next few years. Meteor showers would have been a nightly occurrence for the first several days, though very little material would have reached the ground. No doubt we still get showers annually as we pass through the thinning remnants of the clouds. Aftershocks would have been common for weeks or months, until tectonic plates found a new equilibrium. The other “end-of-the-world†special effects would have abated fairly rapidly; some volcanoes could have continued erupting for some time, but that’s true of any eruption that doesn’t blow the volcano completely apart.

And I even got the frogs in, too.
•
Notes:
Normally, calendars don’t include a “Year 0â€: the first year is Year 1. I’ve gone with that here. On the other hand, since the year was almost halfway over when this happened—and since the aftereffects would have “destroyed†much of the rest of it—I could also see this being considered a “lost†year, with the first full year afterward getting named Year 1. I have no preferences either way in this.

The number of generations expressed by the speaker should not be taken literally. It is actually possible with human lifespans for it to be accurate—especially if the speaker’s use of “my children†is also not taken literally, but rather as an address to a group of youngsters who are the age of his grandchildren, or younger; however, it’s more likely that this has become a conventionalized lead-in to this story (and possibly other stories of the “old worldâ€), and that two or three generations have been dropped here. Nor should references to where his “family†was from be given too much credit: after that many generations, he could have had ancestors from every part of the Archipelago.

The constellations I named are strictly off the top of my head: I don’t even know what most of them actually look like, or how hard it is to “see†them as what they’re named for. The Nesting Serpent, I can tell you about: it’s an open cluster (think the Pleiades), with a dozen-ish brighter stars that can be interpreted as forming an outward spiral—the “snak part—with numerous dimmer stars scattered in amongst them—the “eggs.†What your people see when they look at it, or any of these, is up to you.

What does a “bush-rat†look like? Haven’t a clue. Just the name that came to me. Bigger than a normal rat, I suppose; perhaps something marmot-like. Which hides in bushes to escape falcons.

 

[Ravana]

Man, the first one only missed by 700 characters.… Got lucky on the second: there was a paragraph I didn't need, so it was easy enough to get it down under the count. Well, there 'tis. Comments?

 

[JCFarnham]

Nice, nice, nice!

I'll need a bit of time to completely digest, but I don't see much wrong with this at the moment. If you would like some discussion on this to work out any kinks you may find, I'm sure I can think of something ^^

On the other hand I love that kind of poetic history, it really helps to guage general culture bits and pieces surrounding the event. I have some ideas [I won't say good yet ], some being my peoples version of the event [not that it would be too far from the one you've given, as long as it IS from some where around the Savage coast], others being more along the lines of societal attitudes today in light of the event.

Very useful. Thank you!

 

[Ravana]

Quite welcome. It was a blast putting it together.

That's why the two versions: you can cherry-pick from what really happened to produce what your people "remember" happened… omitting some things, adding appropriate local effects, and conflating a few things that were irrelevant, happened somewhere else and eventually got included in the tale, or didn't actually happen at all. And by all means, if "what actually happened" seems to need anything, let me know: that's the point of collaboration, after all. (The poetic version will probably stay as it is, since it is an individual, potentially flawed PoV: discrepancies are the speaker's fault, not the history's. )

The speaker is living in the Savage Coast. Since the Coast is inhabited by the dregs of the entire Archipelago, who knows how many of the events happened to "his" (rather, his ancestor's) area, and how many worked their way in from other people's histories? The ancestor he makes specific reference to would have been living near what is now the north coast of the center of Emperor Island—"my" area; the land that crumbled and subsided beneath the waves there was also what changed Kilvikasa from a minor upriver trading post to prime real estate on a sheltered bay. Whether any other parts of the coast dropped into the sea is up to you.

 

[myrddin173]

I have to say the poetic version is absolutely beautiful! In regards to the Year One/Year Zero discussion. I think that Year One would start at the Winter Solstice of that year. That way the incident woult take place in the Year Zero, though it would probably be numbered according to the old system, whatever that is.

 

[Ravana]

Thank you.

Would make sense. Also, it gives time for people to have agreed to start up a new calendar. Any culture could adopt it in hindsight, of course, as it became convenient, so it didn't have to be everyone at once. (So my narrator's count is actually off by a year—we all knew what he meant; and besides, he doesn't sound like the kind of guy who can count higher than twenty anyway, so what does he know? )

 

[Donny Bruso]

He sounds like his counting might have been affected by a few too many drinks. Solely to keep his throat from drying out while educating the young children of course.

Great job, Ravana.

 

[JCFarnham]

You know, I think I may appropriate some of the names in this piece, twist them to sound more like they're from my nation, etc., etc. If I can manage not to get confused with the language I'm creating for my sci-fi that is haha After all our world is full of religons who have stolen almost wholesale from others [One in particular comes to mind here].

 

[Ravana]

Thank you, Donny. And quite possibly, yes. What kind of sober person would end a story like that with "Pleasant dreams"?

 

[desertrunner]

It would definitely be a fascinating tale to any young child. I couldn't have even dreamed of a better way to tell it. My hat is most definitely off to you.

 

[Telcontar]

I like it. I don't even have to modify my history for it. Kudos.

 

[Ravana]

Thank you both. And, yes, that was part of the goal: I was working off what had already been done, trying to make sure it fit with everything else, rather than anybody having to do the reverse.