The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

  Hara cheered. That was enough of the story for now, although later, no doubt after the Maes Siôl had been investigated, and hara had interpreted what remained of our fight, tales would begin to take root and grow. Such is the way of small communities, and it is also how legends are born. That day, most were simply amazed, and keen to discuss, the unexpected truce between the Wyvachi and the Whitemanes. But mainly they were united in praising Myv, which he withstood without showing too much embarrassment. From now on, they would believe him capable of anything.

  There is a story to tell about the raising of the Gwyllion bell, but that does not belong here and is part of another story. There is a story to tell of Porter, and how the changes affected his life and allowed him openly to acknowledge Nytethorne as his father, and to become a har of note himself. There is a story to tell of Rey and how he came down from the mountains. But then, stories are ongoing, never-ending. There is never a point at which the tales just stop.

  Wyva – some days after the festival when he decided I’d been punished enough and ceased being frosty with me – told me I’d achieved the impossible. Not in that I had single-handedly freed Gwyllion from its curse, because that wasn’t the case: many of us had had a part to play. But Wyva insisted I was the true bridge between the feuding clans, and had smashed, with unwavering determination, that particular part of the affliction. I wasn’t shy of taking credit for that, because from the start that had been my aim. The suspicion between the Whitemanes and the Wyvachi wouldn’t end overnight, with everyhar becoming best friends, but the first approaches had been made, and I strongly believed the harlings of both families would be the ones to build upon the foundations. Wyva agreed with this, then laughed to himself. ‘Will there come a day when we all celebrate the festivals together here in Gwyllion? Will Mossamber ever sit at my table as a friend?’

  I reached out to squeeze Wyva’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps, if you are content to sit at his.’

  Wyva grinned, shook his head. ‘Well, I think we can safely say that stranger things have happened!’

  As for Nytethorne and me, we made what might seem a strange choice. We didn’t trust in convenient happy ever afters and didn’t want to goad fate, so we decided to travel. Kyme would have other jobs for me, far shorter than the commission I’d taken and in fact had failed to complete. Before I left, I would give Myv as much assistance as he needed to finish the task I’d begun, but really the inventions for the wheel of the year should be his, as he was hienama now. Peredur and he would enjoy working together on that, weaving spectacular festivals for the hara of Gwyllion. I made arrangements with my good friend Huriel in Kyme – who I trusted – to give Myv distance instruction and visit him in person to perform caste ascensions. Until I returned.

  Nytethorne and I wouldn’t be gone forever; we knew that. But we needed to roam, to expand ourselves, not simply settle into a daily routine in Gwyllion. We had our own stories to explore.

  Before we began our travels, I would return to Jesith to finish off my business there and hopefully create a new kind of relationship with my son. After that, we planned to meet up again in Kyme, see about work. Nytethorne was keen for us to seek out others who still suffered blights that derived from the dawn of our kind, whom we could help. The idea appealed to me too. We could discuss this with Huriel in Kyme. But we didn’t want to leave Gwyllion immediately. We’d stay till Smoketide.

  As this festival approached, a meeting of great importance was held. Not in the Domain, nor at Meadow Mynd, but at Harrow’s End.

  One bright yet cool Harvestmoon day, representatives of the Whitemanes and the Wyvachi crossed the county boundary and rode to Medoc’s hall. Nytethorne and I were with them, as were all the hara of significance I’d met during my time in Gwyllion, even Peredur. I can recall the feeling of that day so well, the smell of the air, the sense of the season turning, Nytethorne riding at my side. In some moments, we truly understand what it is to be alive, and how we turn as the seasons turn, in cycles.

  The spirits of the land are strong in Alba Sulh, but so are the spirits of its hara. I had made a new home in Gwyllion, had found myself there, and while I might be gone for some time I knew this: I would return. At the cusp of Natalia, when snow silvers the land, or at Feybraihatide when the land renews, I would ride once more along the ancient avenues to Meadow Mynd. There would be no wards on every door and lintel, no fear, no darkness, no secrets. Just the mystery of the natural world, which is the greatest mystery of all.

  Weaving the Moonshawl

  Author’s Afterword

  This book can be seen as the third in a trilogy about the hara of Alba Sulh, which began in ‘The Hienama’ and continued in ‘Student of Kyme’, both of which though are very different novels to the one now in your hands. ‘The Moonshawl’ is completely separate from the events in Jesith and Kyme, found in the first two books. In this story, the hienama Ysobi accepts a commission from Gwyllion – a town in what was formerly Wales – and travels there alone from Lyonis (formerly Cornwall). He’s there to do a job, but finds a mystery to solve. There are ghosts – both out in the landscape and within him. He has a lot of exorcising to do.

  At the end of ‘Student of Kyme’, Ysobi didn’t come out of events – one of which nearly killed him – looking particularly good. Having left a trail of ruined lives in his wake, he appeared not to realise – or care – about the consequences of his emotional experiments. In the past, some of his students had been broken by his training, or perhaps even simple proximity to him. Yet he’s not an incarnation of evil, or even someone who wants to hurt others. He himself is damaged. Yet unlike ‘Student of Kyme’, ‘The Moonshawl’ is not an agonising examination of emotional misery. This book is at its core a mystery, a ghost story. Ysobi’s self-learning is a by-product.

  How these Alba Sulh novels came about involves rather a story. Back in the early 2000’s, before social media like Facebook existed, I belonged to several online groups that had been formed by fans of my work, Wraeththu in particular. I used to visit their chat room once a month or so, to answer questions and join in with discussions. During one of these chats, someone asked me what aruna – Wraeththu sex – was really like. Yes, I might describe it poetically in the books, and allude to reshaped genitalia, but somehow the details just weren’t clear. Those nitty-gritty details. ‘Do you want Wraeththu porn from me?’ I asked jokingly. Perhaps inevitably, there was a clamouring cry of ‘Yes!’ So ‘The Hienama’ novella was written with this in mind – especially for the fans, and brought out as a Wraeththu curio by Immanion Press when the company was fairly new. I never intended ‘The Hienama’ to evolve into a trilogy.

  Even though ‘The Hienama’ had initially been conceived to be pure erotica, darker elements and plot ideas inevitably crept in and made it a fully-rounded story. At the end of it, I wanted to know what happened next. This is what led me to write the much gloomier ‘Student of Kyme’, which is a story of the tragic consequences of obsession. In this novella, I also first began exploring the gulf between incepted Wraeththu and the second generation ‘pureborns’ and beyond. This was more than a simple age gap. While I was writing ‘Student’, I began to think about how the horror of the Devastation, as it was called – the first days of Wraeththu when humanity fell and the world burned – must have had catastrophic effects on hara. In most cases, inception itself had been harrowing and brutal, spawning little more than monsters, albeit beautiful ones. First generation hara, while now approaching what in human life-spans would have meant the certain approach of death, often carry within them legacies of their savage creation. They might try to hide this and live up to ideals promoted by advanced tribes like the Gelaming, but at heart many of them are still raw inceptees, dancing around a fire in the dark, with bloodied skin and feral eyes. For some, the past has thorns embedded so deeply in their psyches they can’t be pulled.

  ‘Student of Kyme’ is a bitter story – the protagonist Gesaril’s diary of events. I didn’t find it pleasant to writ
e, but that was the voice – and the tale – that needed to come out. Wraeththu’s shadow self. Yet once it was done, I felt that the story was incomplete without Ysobi’s narrative. All readers had seen so far were acrimonious accounts of what Ysobi had done to others. But I knew he wasn’t bad. If anything, he was just plain unlucky and rather stupid. He was first generation: scarred.

  ‘Student of Kyme’ was published in 2011, but it wasn’t until the start of 2013 that I began work on Ysobi’s story. His voice simply didn’t come to me until then. But once I started writing, I found I didn’t want to immerse myself in Ysobi’s past but in his future, his redemption. And then I saw Gwyllion in my mind, and knew the hara who lived there, and the legends of the landscape. And there was a ghost and a buried mystery. And more to tell about the early days of Wraeththu and their legacy. In relief – Ysobi’s as much as mine – I could remove my main character from Jesith, away from his mistakes and the hara who judged him for them. He could start anew in the magical landscape of what humanity had called Wales, itself steeped in ancient mysteries and tales.

  Apart from having wanted to write a ghost story of novel length for some time, I was also keen to explore the consequences of Wraeththu’s beginnings, especially now that nearly a hundred years had passed. As Ysobi puts it in the story:

  ‘I felt a hundred years old and then realised, with some amusement, I actually nearly was. I’d lost track of the years, because time is different for hara than it had been for humans; it is less of an enemy. Humans had experienced each day as a step nearer to the grave, in what had seemed like a fraction of time that flashed past in an instant. In contrast, Wraeththu have been given the gift of longevity, a friendship with time.’

  In ‘The Moonshawl’ being referred to as ‘first generation’ is now considered somewhat impolite. Some hara even go so far as to disguise their origins. Again, using a quote from the book:

  Gen took a breath. ‘Rey is... Rey. He was never at home in a community, although he did his best. I’m sure he’s happier now. He’s first generation.’

  ‘Oh.’ I let the word hang darkly, with all its implications of instability, weakness and perhaps madness.

  Lacking Wraeththu longevity – more’s the pity! – I’m now well into middle age, the years flashing past in what seems like weeks, and naturally the ageing process isn’t something I can ignore. There are so many benefits to being older – from a self knowledge and acceptance point of view, as well as the wisdom gained from accumulated experiences – but these gifts are viciously countered by the failing of the body. Humans never get really old. We begin to disintegrate and die before we ever find out what having the wisdom of a hundred or two hundred years, in a fit and healthy body, could be like. Hara have this gift from time. When I first wrote about Wraeththu, way back when I was still in my 20s, I didn’t think about this aspect of my created race. Now, it’s of prime interest and importance to me. And consequently, it’s of interest and importance to Ysobi.

  But this isn’t the main thrust of the novel, which is truly a mystery, and I hope a riveting one. Ysobi’s knowledge and experience help him deal with that mystery and give him strength.

  ‘The Moonshawl’ is also about story-telling and the potency of legends. Nowadays, figures from Welsh myth, who were kings, queens and sorcerers, are often regarded as gods and goddesses, especially in Pagan beliefs. Humanity has shaped them that way, and for some those figures are very real. The human mind can shape reality to some degree, but how far could that go if it was shaped by the minds of more powerful beings? Could not the raw shout of thousands of years of war, grief and treachery not be dragged from the very earth and given form? And then, equally powerful artefacts must be created to counter such entities. The moonshawl is such an artefact, fragile and shimmering against the roar of the dark, with only fragile beings of flesh and blood to vitalise its symbolism.

  ‘The Moonshawl’ is three times the size of its predecessors and I enjoyed writing it immensely. While the places described in the story don’t actually exist, the tower Dŵr Alarch, where Ysobi lives while in Gwyllion, was inspired by Brynkir Tower in Gwynedd, where I once stayed for a few days with some friends over a decade ago. We had some very peculiar experiences there! The tower is still available for hire, so if you should want to immerse yourself in the landscape of ‘The Moonshawl’ that is the place to go. There are a lot of pictures of it online, and it’s easy to find the booking page. When I inspected the images, I was rather sad to see that the tiled floor has gone from the bathroom now and has been replaced by wood laminate. The whole place looks a lot smarter than it was when we stayed there, but I’m sure the atmosphere is unchanged. The houses Meadow Mynd, Deerlip Hall and Harrow’s End are all made up, although they incorporate aspects of various old piles I’ve visited over the years. I have a fascination with big old houses, and this novel enabled me to indulge that interest completely.

  Wraeththu have been with me since my teens, even if I didn’t start writing about them seriously until I was 25, and they have evolved and changed as I have. There are now new aspects of them to explore, relevant to our human experience. Ysobi realises that what he goes through in Gwyllion might be found in similar situations elsewhere, where hara are tortured by the past, if not chained by it. He has a desire to seek out those tragedies, unearth their mysteries and restore balance. I already have an idea where he might be headed next!

  Storm Constantine

  November 2014

  Appendix 1: Harish Names and Family Relationships

  A Comparison with Human Terms

  Hostling - mother

  Father - sire

  Harling – child

  Brother – sibling

  Hura – uncle/aunt

  Hurakin – any hara who are siblings of the father or hostling, but sometimes used to denote all manner of family relationships within a group, i.e. ‘relatives’.

  Harakin – members of a family, sometimes including those not related by blood or chesna-bonds, but who nevertheless are close to the family.

  Hura-brothers – an uncommon term for cousins

  Surakin – other extended family relationships, used in the same way as hurakin sometimes is, but most often to denote a younger generation.

  Sori or Sura - cousin, nephew, niece and all derivatives thereof (second cousin, etc.)

  High-Father - grandfather

  High-Hostling - grandmother

  High-harling -grandchild

  Grand High-Father/Hostling/Harling – great grand-father/mother/ child. (Further generational distinctions simply add another ‘grand’ to the term.)

  Harish Names

  As Wraeththu became more established and a second generation of hara began to appear, many hara took on family names. Previously, a har would take for his surname, as identification, the name of his tribe, i.e. Ysobi har Sulh. But as communities and families formed and expanded, and relationships between phyles became more complicated, innovations came to names and titles.

  To use hara in ‘The Moonshawl’ as examples of how names and epithets are formed, Wyva’s full family name would be Wyva har Wyvachi har Gwyllion har Sulh – even though he is generally simply known locally as Wyva har Wyvachi. Sulh is the overarching tribal name of most hara living in the country of Alba Sulh; Gwyllion is the area in which Wyva lives; Wyvachi is the family or phyle name. Some hara, however, might elect only to take regional names, so if Wyva wished to keep his family/phyle identity private, he could offer his name to strangers as Wyva har Gwyllion, with or without the qualifying ‘har Sulh’, depending on how much he wished to reveal. Abroad, and still seeking a degree of anonymity, he might use the name Wyva har Sulh.

  Hara of Ysobi’s community in Jesith simply use the town name as a phyle name, so Ysobi might employ the title Ysobi har Jesith. His family of Jassenah, Zeph and himself have not taken on a private family name.

  Some hara might use even more complicated tribal names, for there may be mini-phyles within a phyle or
regional preferences. Ultimately, the purpose of surnames is to offer information to others – a har may reveal as much or as little of this as he prefers.

  When hara become chesna, one of them will generally change his name to match his partner’s, depending on where they decide to settle and with which tribe and/or region they ally. Hara sometimes move from phyle to phyle, (or even swap tribes), and in these cases full names, giving all information about a har’s heritage, would obviously be too cumbersome. In general, a har uses only the name of the tribe/phyle/family he currently lives among or identifies with most strongly, unless he has a good reason to make his lineage known.

  Appendix 2

  The Wheel of the Year - Arotohar

  (Adapted from ‘Grimoire Dehara: Kaimana)

  The harish spiritual wheel of the year follows the traditional pagan festivals, incorporating androgynous reinterpretations of the myths. The cycle is known as Arotohar, and the festivals associated with each significant date are Arojhahns (ah-roh-zharns). There is one extra min-festival (or majhahn – mah-zharn) of Adkaya two weeks before the winter solstice, when the pearl of the dehar Elisin is delivered from his hostling.