[Apocrypha]Anumaril and Bal-Mantia

(This is my entry for the theme Ruin, a tale of Anumaril and his fate. This story is told differently, more quickly in Aurbic Enigma 4 and if you're not familiar with the story, a quick read will explain some of the weirdness here.)

This is a story told only within the Camoran dynasty of Valenwood and its veracity cannot be ascertained as there is only one primary witness in the story, that of Anumaril himself. The story only recently came to light when a script detailing the questioning of Illayn the Lark, a bard associated with the court of Haymon Camoran, Haymon Heart-King who became the Usurper, came to light. Illayn was captured after Haymon had become the Usurper, we can assume Illayn was willing to tell the Colovians anything in order to barter for her fate.

Currently, the tale is in terrible disrepair. This is an effort to attempt to present this story otherwise unknown for the edification of all scholars. Liberties had to be taken with the translation, I am afraid, and there may be inconsistencies, some minor others possibly severe. Working to revive this tale and place it in print for the first time has been difficult and I ask you to read the following with an open mind and judge not its humble author too harshly.

The Tale of Anumaril and Bal-Mantia

Time stretched on into an endless blur as the Ayleid refuges walked to Valenwood.  Anumaril had lost track of time as the persistent ache in his thigh drove thoughts of anything but pain from his mind as the journey continued.

All was in ruin.

White-Gold, that pure summation of all of their work was in the hands of creatures to stupid to understand it.  They were children following a mad triptych of impossible destruction and they heralded the end of the world.

At times Anumaril’s tortured mind would wander to the sounds of silk and the words he had discounted from the mouths of the moth-eyed pretenders and the way they had been related by the rattling, old, blind thing.  It was a corpse more than anything, a corpse wrapped in wings breathing out nonsense syllables to a cadence that demanded attention but required nothing and so he had given what was required.

Still, there may be a meaning beyond meaning and he grasped at that at the same time he denied it and existed in tension of belief and knowledge, doubt and certainty.  Anumaril was practicing a skill he knew he would need and begin to divide his mind until he no longer had the ache as he sloughed the burden to another walking the road with him to Valenwood.

There was a time before divisions when the descendants knew to whom they were descended from and understood their majesty.  That ended when they found the Stones in the heart of the Tower and suddenly all realized that it may be as they would wish and uncertainty split them like a prism.  The time was coming soon, Anumaril knew.  There is a way to reunification, to claim the one-way and reduce the lies of equality to a collapsible path of reductions.

This way a day long planned because even as he derided the moth-eaten he had planned because duality is a curse not yet rectified.  The manlings may have Tower and Stone but they did not see purpose in it; only power.  Not everything may be in ruin forever and so he had fashioned the Staff of Eight each piece fractal-bound and  unbounded, a perfect replica of the tapestry and a testament of the power of 0 and the reduction he had planned.  He sent the 7 pieces to places that none besides his people would ever even know the where-when of and carefully he had folded Mundus around the seeds of new life woven now into the pattern of the world he hated.  One day they will bloom.  

Into whose hand, he wondered.  No matter the hand, the seeds would certainly bear bitter fruit for the foolish who would dare what they cannot dream.  Only one piece remained.  Anumaril had fashioned it into a femur using the ancient bone-secrets and body-,twisting.  It took all of his concentration to keep the ritual in suspense especially with the fractal Zero burning in him, at once defining and shaping the very walk he took.  Anumaril found the sensation altogether unpleasant not only due to the pain but of the constant feeling of putting his feet forward into nothingness, only to meet solid ground with a jarring thud that sent echoes of agony throughout his form.  He could feel Nirn turning beneath his tread and found taking the steps that turn the world to be exhausting.

…

The Graht-Oak stood before him like a titan and the thrum-song echoed in his bones from everywhere at once.  It was overwhelming and yet his guide displayed no discomfort and even appeared to be in some confusion and distress as to his guest’s discomfort.

Anumaril steadied his mind and asked, “Is it here?”

Camoran looked as if he had been struck, but then grinned.  “ A jest you play on me.”

Anumaril held back a look of distaste by sheer will.  “Will I find it?”

Camoran’s grin slowly faded.  He only shrugged, his palms spread, a look of deep confusion on his face.  “There is no answer to this question, for it is not a question.  This is the grey maybe, and all such questions are meaningless.  These are the Doors Equivocal, the Happenstance.  Perchance you were brought here, perchance you had stayed.  Perchance you will pass the Door.  But nothing more can be said than that.”

….

With a sigh, Anumaril unwove his bones and begin the work he had come so far to begin.  He had found it, had managed to pass the Door Equivocal and turned to the first steps on the path of Reduction.  He must work quickly now, before the tide of certainty drowned this maybe-place.

Before him lay the seed, the heart of Green-Sap.  Quickly Anumaril wove an orrery from his discarded physicality careful to arrange Mundus in order not only by proper-math but the endless musings of mythosymbology.  He offered all parts of himself to his creation and carefully arranged his body and essence as a gardener erects a trellis to train a wayward plant.

Already he could perceive the world he had left changing as the Tower grew and the Elden tree would wander no more and instead deeply rooted itself in place.  Anumaril guided White-Gold into place unwrapping its fractal self until the dimensions were correct.  Green-Sap began to notice this sudden change and the true work began.  There would be a new White Gold.  There would be order and stability again.  There would be a new Ayelied empire, with a new god-king.

His work completed, Anumaril began to feel Mundus restrict under Shall-Must and settled down to wait, confident his brethren will have sensed his Bal-Mantia as the unreasonable Green is reduced to a knowing.  Deep he dived into his ego-self long prepared for the sojourn, clutching hold of Will and with a sense of finality allowed himself to relax.  The outcome was no longer in doubt.

…

Camoran stood long beside the Door, but expected nothing, as his kind are known to do.  Three days and nights he watched as they asked meaningless questions and tried meaningless actions.  Finally he had to find an answer to give and this was the only words he offered:  “With Certainty he walked into Uncertainty. He will walk back through the Door when he remembers to forget.  You may go to him, but you must follow his steps, and his steps do not lead back to this door."

Hilthean, Anumaril’s chief apprentice showed how little he understood by asking, “Will another door lead us to him?”

Camoran controlled his frustration with amazing precision.  Drawing deep on patience, he said once again, “Perchance.”