[sub]Khommie Productions present:[/sub]

[centre][h1][i]from the[/i] Song of Yollitleco[/h1]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/LG9sNaz.jpeg[/img][/centre]
[right][sub][i][url=https://www.deviantart.com/minnasundberg/art/Volcano-207136309]Art: Volcano by MinnaSundberg[/url][/i][/sub][/right]
[hr]
[sub][i]Note: The contents of this post are the product of mortal art and in no way reflect the true actions of any gods featured.[/i][/sub]

[indent][centre]I[/centre]

[i]Since you wonder: whence these stories? 
Whence these carvings and inscriptions, 
With the odours of the smoke-vent 
With the heat and sigh of magma,
With the smoke of restless fires,
With the streaming forth of lava,
With their drumming repetitions,
And their fierce reverberations
As eruptions in volcanoes?

I will answer, I will tell you:
“From the tunnels and the chambers,
From the salt lakes of the crustland,
From the land of the [abbr=a tribe’s name]Xochteca[/abbr],
From the land of the [abbr=a tribe’s name]Xalixco[/abbr],
From the land of the [abbr=a tribe’s name]Atlaxco[/abbr],
From the tunnels, caves, and vent-lands
Where the [abbr=a subterranean silicon bird distinguished by a long neck and legs, and known as an especially patient hunter]taran[/abbr], the [abbr=Aztatpah, name of the taran in the achtotlaca tongue]Az-tat-pah[/abbr],
Feeds on metal reeds and rushes.
I recite them as was chanted
On the tongue of Cuicamaca,
The tale-keeper, the sweet songster.”

If you ask where Cuicamaca
Found these songs so fierce and fevered,
Found these carvings and inscriptions,
I will answer, I will tell you,
“In the bird’s-nests of the stone grove,
In the hide-holes of the stone-worms,
In the dung-path of the beetle,
In the roost-place of the flame-bat!
 
“All the wild-crabs sang them to him,
In the saltlands and the crustlands,
In the simmering brine marshes;
Mihuiot, the wader, sang them,
Qua, the diver, cave-goose, Tlala,
The blue taran, the Az-tat-pah,
And the grouse, the Cihupeyo!”

If still further you then wonder,
Asking, “Who was Cuicamaca?
Sing more of this Cuicamaca,”
I will answer all your queries
With such pristine words as follow.

“In the Vale of Lake Iztatl,
In the white and ashen valley,
Where the boiling [abbr=rhymes with water, the name for the molten salt which is the equivalent of water in the subterranean world of the achtotlaca]sa'ter[/abbr] courses,
dwelt the songster Cuicamaca.
Round about one [abbr=an abbreciation of Tletzintli, which is another name for the achtotlaca, the mighty fire lizards]zintli[/abbr] village
Spread the meadows and the kale-fields,
And beyond them stood the forest,
Stood the groves of singing stone-trees,
Gold as sunlight, fixed as mountains,
Ever sighing, ever singing.

“And the sa’ter, how it courses,
Can be traced throughout the valley,
By the swelling in the [abbr=equivalent of spring, marked by increasing volcanic activity leading to salt lakes beginning to bubble, boil, swell, and flood]Boil-time[/abbr],
By the salt-trees in the [abbr=equivalent of summer, when volcanic activity reaches its cyclical peak]Hot-time,[/abbr],
By the white steam in the [abbr=equivalent of autumn, when volcanic activity starts winding down]Simmering[/abbr],
By the salt lines in the [abbr=equivalent of winter, the cyclical nadir of volcanic activity]Cooling[/abbr];
And beside them dwelt the singer,
In the Vale of Lake Iztatl,
In the white and ashen valley.

“There he sang of Yollitleco,
Sang the Song of Yollitleco,
Sang his storied dawn and splendour,
How he saw and how he pondered,
How he spoke, and toiled, and suffered,
How he brought the long-lost wisdoms
From the time no mind remembers -
But the mind of Yoli’coztl -
And distilled them into verses
That the [abbr=shortening of Iyotlaca, another name for the achtotlaca]iyot[/abbr] tribes might prosper,
That he might illume his people!”

Ye who love our Yoli’coztl,
Love the bright flame on the meadow,
Love the shadow of the forest,
Love the smoke upon the branches,
And the whoosh of geyser rainstorms,
And the rushing of salt rivers
Through their palisades of stone-trees,
Love the ‘ruptions in the mountains,
Whose innumerable echoes
Flap like flame-bats in their caverns;
Listen to these fierce inscriptions,
To this Song of Yollitleco!

Ye who love a nation’s records,
Love the ballads of our hist’ry,
Spoken as though in a legend
By such ghosts as live in legends
That like voices from afar off
Call to us to pause and listen,
Speak in tones so plain and winsome,
Scarcely can hearing distinguish
Whether they are sung or spoken;
Listen to this zintli epic,
To this Song of Yollitleco!

Ye whose hearts are pure and natural,
Who have faith in Yoli’coztl,
Who believe that in all ages
Every iyot heart is iyot,
That in even ancient bosoms
There are longings, yearnings, strivings
For the good they comprehend not,
(And the good we moderns quest for,)
That their feeble eyes, though helpless -
Searching blindly in the darkness -
Find Heat's bright eye in that darkness
And are made to see, are strengthened;
Listen to this simple story,
To this Song of Yollitleco!

Ye, who sometimes, in your wanders
Through the tunnels of this country,
Where the tangled tungsten-bushes
Hang their tufts of crystal berries
Over stalagmites of pure salt,
Pause by some neglected [abbr=that is, the remains of an achtlaca grown to such size that it was no longer able to maintain its heat and so cooled and turned to stone; the equivalent of death by old age in other creatures]idol[/abbr],
For a while to muse, and ponder
On a half-effaced inscription,
Written with aged skill of song-craft,
Ancient phrases, but each letter
Full of wisdom and of heart-break,
Full of all the deep-born knowledge
Of the life now and what’s after;
Stay and read this old inscription,
Read this Song of Yollitleco![/i]


[centre]II[/centre]

[i]In the realm of deepest magma
Where the world’s core warms the crustlands,
Where the iyot, th’achtotlaca,
Were the first and greatest mortals,
Were the first of tribes and great clans,
Were the first whose feet went racing,
First whose liquid hearts went pacing,
First whose claws, with help of magma,
Carved the tunnels of the crustlands,
Carved the great veins of their nation;
Settled all across the Eastlands,
Far beyond where ever iyot
Mind or claw had hoped to set foot;
Glimpsed the surface world but briefly
Felt its cold gasp on their shoulders,
Fled the frozen hell above-ground
As they dived and birthed the crustlands.

Did they wonder of the greatness
Rumbling ‘mongst the iyots westward?
Did they whisper of Tonauac
Or receive news of Tlanextic?-
Of that west-iyot, great conqueror,
Of that west-iyot, half-godking?
Or hear yet of northern Guardians -
Remnants of a settler nation
On the barrens of the Northlands -
Who had wrestled with the [abbr=Jiugui]Xhuchi[/abbr]?
Lord of Mindlessness, the Xhuchi,
Sightlessness and speechless grunting,
Archdemon of the above-ground.

None of those had known Iztatl,
No one knew of that great valley,
No one knew of its wide meadows
Or its forests, stone unaltered.
Whence the tunnel to Iztatl?
Where before that great wide tunnel?
Darkness, only, knows the answer
Darkness and the [abbr=lit. Truth Speakers, the philosophers and wisemanders of the eastern continent]neltlatotl[/abbr],
Who are mountains on the mountains,
Who are valleys in the valleys,
Who are springs that gush from wellsprings,
Heart and mind of the achtlaca.

Round the valley of Iztatl
Came the nations of th’achtlaca;
Settled all about the valley,
On the white and ashen valley,
In the groves of the stone forest,
By the far-off Iztat Tunnel,
On the northern lava rivers.
There they dwelt for unknown aeons
Undisturbed by worlds around them,
Without fear the lived and prospered
Without greed or lust or anger.

But in time, as in time all must,
All the vices grew around them
Grew and blossomed well within them.
At their borders martial tribes marched,
Sundered themselves at the Iztat,
On the Atlaxco were sundered,
On those claws of darkness sundered.

Then amongst themselves the tribes looked,
Eyes of greed and envy there looked,
With covetousness their eyes looked,
And those eyes grew with suspicion
And their hearts were filled with rancour
And their claws were drawn for battle
And their tongues were bared like tumours;
In the name of tribe and nation,
In the name of newborn newtlings,
For the berry and the salt-spring
Was the valley filled with anger,
So the nation broke and splintered.

Into tribes a-warring, splintered,
Into feuding clans within them;
The Xochteca of the stone groves -
Great rock forests were the stone groves -
The Xalixco, of the north vale,
They who rode the lava rivers,
And the Atlaxco of Iztat,
Guardians of the Iztat Tunnel,
Maulers of all interlopers
Marcher lords of great Iztatl![/i]


[centre]III[/centre]

[i]From the flame-pits of the earth-depths,
On the Red Oration-Piazza
By the great Black Pipe-stone Quarry,
Yoli’chicoztl, the feverous, 
She the Dame of Heat, ascending,
On the flat salts of the piazza
Reared up high, and called the nations,
Called the iyot tribes together.
  
From her claw-prints surged a wellspring,
Leapt into the hearth of earth’s depths,
Roiled on itself and burst outward
Gleamed like Heat’s eye in the darkness.
And the goddess, stooping earthward,
With her claw on the salt-meadow
Traced a rounded pathway for it,
Saying to it, “Dance in this way!
“Flow in circles all the year long!”

From the black stone of the quarry
With her claw she broke a fragment,
Moulded it into a pipe-head,
Shaped and fashioned it with figures;
From the margin of the salt lake
Took a long reed for a pipe-stem,
With its metal leaves upon it;
Filled the pipe with chips of stone-tree,
With the chipped bark of the stone-tree;
Breathed upon the neighboring forest,
Made its stone boughs chafe together,
Till in flame they burst and flowed hot;
And erect upon the mountains,
Yoli’chicoztl, the feverous,
Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe,
As a signal to the great tribes.

And the smoke rose slowly, slowly,
Through the torrid air of earth’s depths,
First a single line of darkness,
Then a denser, redder vapour,
Then a smoke-black cloud unfolding,
Like the tree-tops of the forest,
Ever rising, rising, rising,
Till it touched the cavern’s ceiling,
Till it broke against that ceiling,
And rolled outward all around it.

From the Vale of Lake Iztatl,
From that white and ashen valley,
From the groves of the stone forest,
From the far-off Iztat Tunnel,
From the northern lava rivers
All the tribes beheld the signal,
Saw the distant smoke ascending,
The [abbr=pronounced pop-otsh-wa; the smoke of the peace-pipe]Popochhuia[/abbr] of the Peace-Pipe.

And the wise ones of the nations
Those [abbr=abbreviation of neltlatotl, meaning wise ones]nelt’otl[/abbr] of the nations
Said: “Behold it, the Popochhuia!
By this signal from afar off,
Bending like a wand of stone-tree,
Waving like a claw that beckons,
Yoli’chicoztl, the feverous,
Calls the iyot tribes together,
Calls the nelt’otl to council!”

Down the rivers, from the tunnels,
Came the leaders of the nations,
Came Imati the Xochteca,
Came the Xalixco, Tenanxa,
Came Huitziqui the Atlaxco,
Came the sages, the nelt’otl-
Those Wisemanders of the Eastworld-
And all the warriors, too, who were drawn
By the signal of the Peace-Pipe,
To the quarry by the salt flats,
To the Red Oration-Piazza.

And they stood there on the saltlands,
With their drawn claws and their bared tongues,
Painted like the steam of Simmering,
Painted like the chalky ashlands,
Wildly glaring at each other;
In their faces stern defiance,
In their hearts the feuds of ages,
In their creeds six-hundred schisms
All the hatreds they’d inherited,
And the ancient thirst for conquest.

Yoli’chicoztl, the feverous,
The creator of the nations,
Looked upon them with compassion,
With maternal love and pity;
Looked upon their wrath and wrangling
But as quarrels among children,
But as feuds and fights of children!

Over them she stretched a great claw,
To subdue their stubborn natures,
To allay their thirst and fever,
By the shadow of her great claw;
Spake to them with voice majestic
As the sound of far-off ‘ruptions,
Rising up from deep abysses,
Warning, chiding, spake in this wise:

“O my children! my poor children!
Listen to the words of wisdom,
Listen to the words of warning,
From the lips of the Great Mother,
From the Dame of Heat, who made you!

“I have given you lands to dwell in,
I have given you streams and salt lakes,
I have given you  root and berry,
Given you great birds of metal,
I have given you kale and melon,
I have given you bat and beetle,
Filled the marshes full of wild-crab,
Filled the sa'ters full of fishes:
Why then are you not contented?
Why then will you hunt each other?
Why then all these rifts and schisms?

“I am weary of your quarrels,
Weary of your wars and bloodshed,
Weary of your lust for conquest,
Of your wranglings and dissensions;
All your strength is in your union,
All your danger is in discord;
Therefore be at peace henceforward,
And as brothers live together.

“I will send a prophet to you,
A deliverer of the nations,
Who shall guide you and shall teach you,
Who shall toil and suffer with you.
If you listen to his counsels,
You will multiply and prosper;
If his warnings pass unheeded,
You will fade away and perish!

“Bathe now in the lake before you,
Wash the war-paint from your faces,
Wash the blood-stains from your claw-tips,
Sheathe your drawn claws and your bared tongues,
Break the black stone from that quarry,
Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes,
Take the reeds that grow beside you,
Deck them with your brightest feathers,
Smoke the calumet together,
And as brothers live henceforward!”

Then with a great push the leaders
And the nelt’otl, the wise ones,
And the warriors of the nations
Threw their drawn claws and their bared tongues,
Leapt into the boiling salt-lake,
Washed the war-paint from their faces.
Clear above them flowed the sa'ter,
Clear and limpid from the claw-prints
Of the Dame of Heat ascending;
Dark below them flowed the sa'ter,
Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson,
As if blood were mingled with it!

From the river came the leaders,
And the nelt’otl, the wise ones,
And the warriors of the nations
Clean and washed from all their war-paint;
On the banks their drawn claws they sheathed,
Buried all their lust for conquest.
Yoli’chicoztl, the feverous,
The Great Mother, the creator,
Smiled upon her helpless children!

And in silence all the leaders,
All the nelt’otl, the wise ones,
All the warriors of the nations
Broke the black stone of the quarry,
Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes,
Snapped the long reeds by the lake-side,
Decked them with their brightest feathers,
And departed each one homeward,
While the Dame of Heat, descending,
Through the opening of great fissures,
Through the doorways of the earth’s depths,
Vanished from before their faces,
In the smoke that rolled around her,
The Popochhuia of the Peace-Pipe![/i]


[centre]IV[/centre]

[i]Speak then of my Yollitleco
Who knew not to speak with his tongue
Only with his heart he e’er spoke.
Speak of Yollitleco’s coming
To the Red Oration-Piazza
At the time of the Great Synod
Yes, that Lake Iztatl Synod.
Speak then of the breathless silence
That fell on the wise ones gathered,
Fell on all the neltlatotl,
Wisest in the eastern stretches,
When Yollitleco the Whyite
Reared up inside that great circle
And spoke not, but drew his heart out!

Did the eye of one among them,
Waver from the fevered orator?
Did the tongue of one among them 
Move to challenge what he now spoke
Or lambast his pearls of wisdom?
Did the heart of one among them 
Cease from trembling and sighing 
As that truest neltlatotl 
Laid down with his sweet narration
All the wisdom from the aeons
That existed long before they-
They the race of achtotlaca- 
Felt the gasp of life erupting
In their quick hot core erupting.

“You who stand beside the lake there
Who speak, spout and wisdoms shake there
Has news reached you of times yonder
Of days yonder and nights yonder and gods yonder and climes yonder?
Of the yonder chieftains who dressed
In their proud and glorious garb dressed?
Of towns yonder and vales yonder
And plains yonder and crimes yonder?
Or has the hardness taken your hearts
And the darkness ta’en your eyes? -
You who rightly claim that you are
Greatest of the great, that you are
Wisest of the wise, you are.
So I come to you greatmanders,
Come from far to you, greatmanders,
With a question not of [b]what[/b], now,
But of [b]why[/b] it is you are, now!”

And so speaking, Yollitleco,
Raised his one great claw to skyward
To the great roof of the chamber
To that sky of rock he pointed,
And closed up his heart’s great maw,
Closed it now and sat among them,
Sat and listened to the silence,
Sat and listened to their murmuring,
Sat and spoke no more, no more.
The wisemanders had all listened,
Some among them wore deep frowns now,
Some wore eyes that only glistened,
Some had learned to cock their crowns now.
So the synod murmured, simmered,
Spoke in whispers did the wise ones,
Hushed tones of the neltlatotl.

Then Cocole stood and strode forth,
Strode the Whatist Cocole
In the centre of the synod,
In the heart of the great circle
On the Red Oration-Piazza:
“[b]Why[/b], he asks! What foolishness- 
[b]Why, why[/b]! What use this question- 
[b]Why[/b]! Cursed [b]why[/b] - [b]why[/b] of the dead, [b]why[/b]! 
Ask not [b]why[/b] - [b]why[/b] is a pit of cold and darkness, 
Pit that promises death and despair. 
Peer you into the pit of [b]why[/b], then, 
And look on the piled husks of achtlaca!
Be fools then and ask you [b]why[/b] - 
Rest your heads on pain and ask [b]why[/b]; 
Ask [b]why[/b] then and only die now! 
Who the answer has for [b]why[/b]?
Who the patience has for [b]why[/b]?
None who are not become stone, who! 
Do we not know [b]what[/b] we are, friends? 
We are achtlaca, are we not? 
Greatest of the great, are we not?
Wisest of the wise, are we not? 
If we know so well [b]what[/b] we are, 
Then why ponder on this [b]why[/b]? 
Knowing [b]what[/b] we must know, let us 
Not ask [b]why[/b] and let us just do - 
They who know [b]what[/b] they are know well
What it is that they must do! 
We who ask [b]what[/b] are of action - 
Those of [b]why[/b] are lethargy, 
Sleepfulness and death, that also! 
If you must ask, then ask [b]what[/b] -
And when the answer stands before you 
Do not pause to ponder [b]why[/b]! 
If you must ask, then ask [b]what[/b] - 
And when the answer stands before you 
Do not pause to ponder [b]why[/b]! 
Let us be the [b]what[/b] of doing, 
Not who ponder [b]why[/b] and do naught! 
Hear me then, for I have spoken!
Spoken wisdoms for the ages,
Wisdoms of the ancient iyots,
Wisdoms of our great forefathers!”

And Cocole waved his forearms
And he thrashed his tail and teeth gnashed, 
And he left then that great circle 
All the [abbr=another term for wisemander, portmanteau of sophia (meaning wisdom) and salamander]sophomanders[/abbr] he left,
Left to their deliberations. ...[/i][/indent]

[list][*][hider=Summary]The beginnings of an epic poem that tells of the genesis of an achtlaca nation beneath the eastern continent of Galbar. This nation is born around a salt lake called Lake Iztatl. This post features the first three parts of the poem, and part of the fourth.

Part I: Heavily inspired by the Introduction of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s Song of Hiawatha (SoH). This introduces the poem and calls on the reader to contemplate it.

Part II: This part is original, but heavily inspired by the style and metre of Longfellow’s SoH. It mentions how the Lake Iztatl came to be inhabited and how the tribes of the valley were divided.

Part III: This is pretty much a word-for-word rendering of the Peace-Pipe chapter of SoH with changes and additions to adapt it to the context. It tells of how Yolichicoztl created the peace-pipe and called on the nations of Lake Iztatl to unite again. She promises to send them a prophet.

Part IV: This part is original and departs somewhat from the tone of the previous parts. It is a record of the coming of Yollitleco, the promised prophet, to a synod of wisemanders. Though not mentioned in the narrative, this is long after the happenings of Part III. We are shown the first part of a great debate that takes place during the Great Synod. In it Yollitleco calls on the people to reflect on WHY they are (that is, to consider their purpose). This causes another wisemander, named Cocole, to rise and call on the people to forget such stupidity and think only on WHAT they must do - that is, their duties - and forgot about asking why.

To be continued. In prose, Toast, I swear.[/hider][/list]