Mirrored from Sythyry.
This being read for Tllith of Yirien, Princess of Septoulny Swamp, «Language»-mage, «Cuisine»-mage. This being written by Cleiestis of Gemgaru. Layer of six fertilized eggs is she; one is crushed. Priestess of the third florescence is she, mistress of seven spells and three visible and four invisible potencies. Wife of Tomolrouc is she, who is the assistant administrator of flying insects to the Hoouthgala district. Kidnapped and word-knotted by Kuur Molk Hasp is she, who is worthy of every curse and suffering. The hope from here is that you are in a state of delighted, and that three happinesses and four contentments are on you.
Me — the pawn of the child-killer! Three days stuck in a box! Casting healing-spells and knowing-spells for him! Food — he gives me none. Drink — he gives none.
Drying and starving — I think hard, do I want to die of the dry and the starve in a dark box? Yes — It will weaken my enemy. No — I will have no way to get any revenge. No — I will not have a way to help my surviving children.
No — He will just come up with some lie about it. He will say You are not fighting hard enough, you have not driven the Scorth off, the gift of Gongonhong is withdrawn until you do.
So — no. I will not die this way. When the starving and the drying come, I will use a healing spell on myself. Then — in the pain of hungry, in the pain of thirsty, but not starving, but not drying.
The Dumu Thoik — The people of Kuur. Each fake miracle I work by magic brings more of them to Kuur. Unhappy people! But miracles of fake-Gongonhong bring them joy and energy!
Slaves — we are all slaves here. I am slave of Kuur. The Dumu Thoik are slaves of the Scorth. This is how it is, for I can hear thoik talk with thoik, like this.
Woon: What’s all this nonsense your father is mouth-shitting out about Gongonhong?
Douk: Well, Woon. What do you think of the Scorth, and how they are treating us?
Woon: Your father may be a mouth-shitter, but the Scorth are heart-shitters! What is this they command, that I cannot fish for myself and my wife in the morning, then sleep in a hammock by the ocean-shore and drink fermented vossava juice in the afternoon, and then fuck my wife when she tries to cook the fish for dinner? What is this they command, that I must take their metal tools and dig under Mount Dumu for lishtries and perdones and green shug ore every day? What is this they command, that my son must work in the fields like a woman, until he is big enough to work in the mine?
Douk: By what right do the Scorth rule us?
Woon: What right? They have no right! Are they the grandchildren of any gods? No! Or if they are, they are the grandchildren of the god of squid-fuckers and shit-wearing blubber-boys! Are they here with big blessings of mysteries, like your father? They are not! Are they paying us in valuable goods from far-off Scorthland for our hard work? They are not! All they pay is beatings and shootings if we do not! So they have no right to rule us! None!
Douk: How is it that they rule, then?
Woon: Douk, your father is a clouds-in-head idiot. Are you too a clouds-in-head idiot that you say? I think so from these words! It has not been so many years when the Scorth ships come into the bay! Boom, boom! Their big guns knock Chieftan Reen’s hut down, they break trees, they kill Boin and Hobe, and Neen’s wife, what was her name.
Douk: Ralestra was Neen’s wife.
Woon: See! You remember a thing from that time! Then the Scorth come in heavy little boats to the shore. They fight a heavy war! So many of us die, we cannot count it on three hands. They tell us, ‘We need this and we need that, from under the mountain. You get it for us by mining, or you all die.’ So we are now Dumu Under-Thoik, the People Who Tunnel Mount Dumu.
Douk: Do they treat us well?
Woon: Douk, are you forgetting the last days, when they beat you for arguing with the shaft-boss? They are the worst way of treating us! When their mother gives them birth, she does not birth them from the joy-hole, but from the nasty-hole! If the tribe does not make its digging-quota four weeks in a row, they kill the man who digs the worst! Thus died Moin who sang so well, and Heem who would give you a blow job if you gave him fermented vossava juice! And every month the quota gets bigger, bigger, bigger! And do we get any good from this? No we do not! They say that the holes we dig will be our reward!”
Douk: Why do we not fight back any more?
Woon: They have guns and metal swords, we have fishing-spears and sharp sticks. Who they want to kill, they can kill, even the chieftan. Who we want to kill, we make say ‘ow, ow, a Dumu Thoik has poked me with a stick.’
Douk: We have our gods.
Woon: We do not have our gods! With a cannon — Boom! Boom! — the big totems are broken to splinters! With a sword-tip up my ass, they make me carry the little totems to the plaza. Then they have a god bonfire! Do any gods come? No! No gods come!
Douk: Gongonhong has come.
Woon: Gongonhong was exploded to splinters with the other gods!
Douk: He got better. He came to the idol my father made. Now he works miracles from behind the jacket of the Scorth baron who shot him, and he promises us victory over the Scorth.
Woon: Maybe, maybe. Maybe your father is a mouth-shitter today like always.
Douk: If you do not fight against the Scorth, you will be their slave for ever.
Woon: Oh, I fight, I fight, when everyone fights! I am tired of these heart-shitter Scorth! I hate mining! And if Gongonhong is back, that’s just the fish’s cheeks to me.
Douk: We will all fight at the command of Gongonhong, through my father. We will take the picks and mattocks from mining, with our arms as strong from mining as womens’ arms are from farming, and we will break the swords and guns of the Scorth, and we will break the Scorth themselves. And they will die, and all will be as in the old days.
Woon: With your father as chieftan!
Douk: With my father as liberator, as high priest and grandson of Gongonhong. With my father as chieftan, but as a devout priest-chieftan as in the oldest days, not a heavy-ruling chieftan like Chieftan Reen. We have had enough of heavy rulers.
Woon: We have, we have. And we’ll learn to smash them with picks and mattocks — Scorth for sure, and your father for maybe if he doesn’t leave off being such a mouth-shitter and wrongulus.
Douk: My father was not the best, yes, but now he is the high priest of Gongonhong, and now he is the best.
Woon: We’ll see about that. We’ll fight behind him, and if he’s a good general and makes us all free, we’ll let him be chieftan. And if he’s a good chieftan, he can be chieftan as long as he likes.
Douk: That is precisely what Gongonhong commands.
Woon: I still dunno why you aren’t becoming chieftan, Douk.
Douk: I am my father’s loyal son. If he is a bad chieftan, perhaps he will choose to abdicate in my favor. But he will be a good chieftan, I say. And we must kill every Scorth and drive them away before any thoik is chieftan.
Woon: Killing every Scorth, now there’s a good thing to do! Let’s go! What are we waiting for?
Douk: We are waiting to get every thoik ready, knowing the signals, ready to follow my father. If we start today, we are a disorganized mess and the Scorth kill us easily. If we start tomorrow, all together, they will kill some of us, but they will not kill us all.
Woon: Well, now you’re talking sense, Douk. I’ll go get my brothers and my cousins and my blow-friends. We’ll be organized, and ready to go when you give the word — or even when your father does!
Douk: It is good, my friend. It is good, and soon it will be very good.