[From “Language, Lies, Magic” by Pjetër Mamrick (1)] “Wound-licking is perilous. Learning to hold grudges is easy. Revenge is a long journey. Forgiveness is burning. Human life is futile. And existence is sublime despite the pain.” Excuse me for misquoting that ancient so-called sophologist Shaman-no who is so important to members of the Hierarchy of the World-Wide Church. Although they fear his words, and hate him too, of course. Or perhaps it is Mitshio bel-Shoní I mean, the famous unreliable narrator, speaking on behalf of h-M’krz Dlnl-v’zk; or then again, what about Jozsfrēdu Lacūs, with his trilogy of four volumes? My memory isn’t that good anymore, although I’m just as astute, I hope! Anyway, I am talking, of course, about that devilish and angelic lad called Dvaldí, Davuth, Daa·hweeth, Daud, Dai, David. (Ooh, what a phrase – a lad called Thoahatha! How extremely powerful names are! [2]) And indeed, perhaps one should not say “a lad” because he was full of so many characters, teeming with personalities. Well, never mind about that puzzle for the time being at least. For years, his recollections were a nightmare for him, about the destroyed house, and the basement, and the horrific things that happened there, torturing and overwhelming him whilst he believed they were false, and tried to escape from them. And then again, after those events he got the two greedy, brown serpents lurking in his eyes, their teeth always ready to bite him, and keep him from sleeping. All the time he steeped himself in the secrets of Wizardry, and here I have included some of the words he quoted (or perhaps they are his own words, I’m not sure as he was doing so much translating and creative writing then), about becoming Master of the Great Work {Magic}.

 

[From “Becoming a Wizard: A Journey to the Underworld of Heli-hrelí” in “Countless Curses of the Profane Peoples”] Like the Shamans of the Wýkingren, with their totems in the form of milky crows and ebony doves, I’ve learned how to use moist soil to prevent the effects of intoxicating booze, and green fire to alleviate illness of all kinds; how oak can cure the bowels, how wheat stymies magic, and how to mend family rifts with elderflowers. And now I understand how maggots eliminate poison, how to ameliorate anxiety with fine words in the ancient Sintu Valley tongue, and how dry soil from the grave of a good woman protects against drowning in running water.

 

How do you read the unwilling words of scars, those sacrosigns written in the language of pain, or the "rwnen" scratched in the alphabet of anguish [3]? He was like a square peg in a round hole for most of his life, but, as he would joke, “poor and proud, and living in hope.” He used to say that life is a morbid farce, and I never knew if he was telling the truth or having me on [4]. He’s a shining example that those who are only half there have the happiest lives, and it’s best for you not to discover your fate before it happens [5]. Be that as it may, although he was as weak as a reed, still the madness of the Cruel Eyrth had not succeeded in taking him over from the outside in, as happens to the majority, forcing him to live a burdensome, mechanical  life in its false, parasitic reality.

 

I’ve learned the rwnen, and now I can write them, read them, test them, paint them, and carve them. I can use charms to ask questions, find answers, and solve problems, to bless friends and curse enemies, to bind and release. I devise secret signs to expand my imagination, to realize my words, and to bring every action to fruition. And at last, they have been written on me.

 

There was some spark in him giving him strength, and some voice, full of astonishment, needling his consciousness and telling him to rid himself of societal constrictions and plough his own furrow. Thinking for himself was like a maggot in his heart, undermining everything he had learned. He didn’t want to grow up to be one of those men with a stupid look on his face, who’s happy to leave but in no rush to arrive. And although he was as soft as a snail, alienated from himself and our Fruitful World, and filled with conflicting thoughts, he would contort himself so painfully whilst endeavouring to stretch and grow. During the hateful mathemagical lessons, at his poor Mother’s bedside, and while playing under the pines, he had begun to build a World for himself, and to make it real. Every great idea has an absurd start, after all.

 

I’ve come to understand when and how to cast spells by creating symbols, and sending them out with my mind, and placing them on board a ship, a boat’s rudder, a sword’s blade, a shield’s face, the beams of a bridge, the hilt of a dagger, and the wheels of a war-chariot; on a foal’s withers, a mare’s ears, a stallion’s hooves; on a bear’s paw, a poet’s tongue, a wolf’s claws, an owl’s feathers, and an eagle’s beak; on pine needles, willow bark, and beech roots; on the bloody wings of a fighting cock, on  the palm of an acolyte’s hand, and on a healer’s lame foot; on a pig’s liver, a witch’s chair, a hag’s breast, a foetus’s limbs, and a giant’s nail; on garlic, in fire, and on iron; on oars, prow, waves; in wine and blood; on glass, gold and stone; on burning acorns, growing corn-ears, and sea-horses’ guts. I’ve seen that a portent of death by fire is dreaming of a sea of molten iron, and have discovered the secrets of nine very powerful charms.

 

It is the future of the true Magus that lays down the law for him today. Knowing about dying, living in a world beating with the pulse of time, that is what drives him on to create, to postpone the fear present in the cruel nightmares, and even during the balmiest, brightest days. He won’t wait for “later on, tomorrow, when you’ve grown up and are old enough, then you’ll understand.” By the time he reached the age of ten, perhaps, and before other people’s convictions managed to colonize him, he listened to his own true, wise nature speaking to him. He came to know that even in a vacuum, nothing is truly objective, although he would not have used such fancy words, and that he should start to create on his own if he were to work well at all. After all, he saw like a true Magus that the All-World is a machine that’s been churning out living symbols since time began, creating environments and habitats for them to flourish in, and adapt, and fail; and all of that merely as a side effect, although they don’t usually realize they are part of such ecosystems.

 

From Kimbria’s Wise Men and Great Women, I’ve learned many things [6]. I know how to make a cake of apples and cabbage leaves I’ve grown in my garden with my own hands, containing also the fruit of the mandrake, spikni, cumin, and the hair of the rashest butcher in the Blue Zone, which has the power to bewitch a rabid she-bear, and keep her from defending her cubs; and to cause fear, and desire, and ire in those remarkable beings the Delkvovim, from beyond our reality.

 

And realizing this, he understood that if a reality is a machine, then a man can be an engineer, greasing the wheels of existence, and interfering with the operation of the device, or even completely re-setting the beads of the abacus. So, he was extremely ambitious, and full of incomparable ideas. Now the thoughts of an old man wander as much as those of a young one, believe me, I understand from experience! But while the former can ignore such slips, the latter must always focus on them, and thereby magnify his faults. So, in order that he might accomplish anything of worth, the neophyte must develop the witch’s ability of letting his imagination run free, whilst ruling it at the same time. And in this regard, I do not know at all whether he succeeded.

 

I understand how to summon the three banshees, Vikinilim, Yovililim, and Karulilim, to produce soap from human fat and caustic soda, which has the power to wash away man’s worst sins; and balsam from the kidneys and the lungs, which can cure all wounds. I can order the Great Van-yandrim with his neat topknot, bested in catch-as-catch-can, to provide me with gifts. He will build for me then a flying bed; fashion a pair of diamond boots with gunpowder in their heels; give me the wings of the legendary white dragon; and bring me Dvaldí’s unstoppable hammer. And so, I shall be able to jump higher the tallest pine; and fly to the Dog Star in the Southern Reach; and travel to Xlotlringku Vlaltanlu-tnalzse’s Grove in the middle of the Heath of Pain and Suffering; and burrow down through the Sea of Bituminous Bile to reach the Underworld of Heli-hrelí which is cold, and silent, and desolate.

 

We, Full Members of the Guild of Secrets, believe that we must recite, clearly as a bell, “These things shall happen,” stating the nature of the events unambiguously, as well as their order, their meaning, and their consequences. By speaking anonymously, and calmly, and without a shadow of doubt, we will achieve our goals. Unlike those of us in the Guild, however, the young Magus believed that one cannot learn one’s craft from someone else; but that one must devise own’s own system. He wasn’t willing to share his delicate, fragile spectres, therefore, lest they immediately flee, or become fixed in the wrong form before fully developing. Those are the Rules of the Great Work, in his view at least.

 

I understand how to create priceless gems from snakes’ eyes and unspeakably attractive bracelets from babies’ teeth; how to call and control storms on the wild, blue, water; how to neutralize the worst curses of vengeful, maltreated lovers; how to speak fluently the language of the birds, the beasts, and the beetles; how to save lives, blunt blades, and extinguish flames; how to calm grief, strengthen the heart, and induce sleep; how to bring about conception with the heart of a bad man half-baked in a fire of linden; how to make dogs howl, cause flesh to decay, and awake terrible fear; and how to brew mead containing the ripped-up roots of an oak, the burned branches of a pine, and the flesh and bones of an osprey pickled in honey, to rain down the most horrific curses, and bestow the most wonderful blessings.

 

Indeed, he would constantly listen, and watch, and borrow, and steal magical principles. But then he would always adapt them for his own ends. Unfortunately, he became entrapped by the idea of escaping ageing, the greatest enemy in his opinion, and by trying to reject the passage of time, he stunted the growth of his powers. And what he didn’t realize, in the wonderful, childish world of the creator, was that it is not eternal life that matters, but never-fading vivacity. Maybe because he was so young, and as he didn’t understand anything formally about the Craft, he avoided the limitations of conventions. There was a great deal of opportunity for him to be lucky, and he worked unceasingly, not knowing what he was doing most of the time, to be honest.

 

Regarding the last charm, you must put the ingredients in a brass cauldron, and tend them over seven days on dry land on top of a bare mountain as a cold wind roars round about; mix them over seven nights on the banks of a wild river by the light of the moon; and chill them over seven days in the middle of a remote forest in bright sunlight. And then the drink will contain the strength of the thoughtless ground, and the hot-headed sea, and the cruel air. You are to imbibe it at the crack of dawn in order to call on Avi-vatha and Ema-mothí to drive whoever you want to get rid of far away to the Slough of Despond, or to transport you through the Rift between the Worlds to an Alternate Reality.

 

By chance or coincidence, therefore, he created so many ingenious things which were very different from those we usually manage to produce and released them in this Cruel Eyrth. He expressed his will not in the form of arguments, essays, or lectures, but through music, and graffiti, and stories, and cartoons. Even today, I am fascinated by his thoughts and images, and his words are a mirror I can stare at endlessly, whilst hearing his playful, husky voice babbling nonstop but so ardently. Listening to the chants still gives me goosebumps, making my heart beat faster, and sending a shiver down my spine.

 

And because of all this, I shall throw hatred into the frosty sky whilst standing under the light of the Fickle Moon so that it will never be forgotten, and I shall plant love in the living soil whilst lying under the light of the Resplendent Sun so that it will never wither. In carrying out the Great Work, I will have to be buried in snow, soaked by rain, drowned in dew, crucified on a pomegranate tree, and poisoned with sacred mead. But every time I shall suffer the torture, and survive, declaring life is short, and death long, and that my words shall be heard.

 

I would like to say he changed the Cruel Eyrth, but how, and what will happen as a result, no one can see yet. But indubitably, big things are afoot. Let me conclude with one of his favourite legends, “The Terrifying Tale of the Warlike Foster-mother” —

 

“Midnight, and everyone sleeping like a pig except the Foster-mother, who sits next to the cradle in the nursery, clutching to the hand of glory she’s bought with her soul, and meditating intensely on the truth of men’s evil, the inevitability of suffering, and the necessity of revenge. (How she surfaced on this World, or indeed who she is, no-one knows, but some insinuate she was slung out from some other sphere through a suppurating split in the sky.) In the cradle, there is a large lump of coal, the same size as a hulking baby. The door opens, and she sees the true Queen coming in, the one who was killed by villainous King, or who died in labour, perhaps. The Queen takes the lump of coal out of the cradle, and puts it gently to her breast so that it can suckle, and it does that as if it were alive. Then she plumps the cushions before putting the lump of coal back and caressing it, and covering it with the little quilt. She doesn’t forget the baby either, the accursed son of herself and the husband who lives, and loves, and ravishes yet. She goes to him in the corner where he lies on the floor, and kicks him cruelly with the tip of her red, lizard-leather boot, before leaving the room without a word. The next morning the Foster-mother asks the guards whether anyone came into the palace during the night, and they respond, ‘No, we didn’t see one living soul.’ And upon learning this, she rejoices, fondling the terrible hand of glory, sharpening her blade, and prattling constantly to herself in unknown tongues.”

 

In the shadows of the abyss, under the pine-tar waves and the midnight sun, in the dimly-lit halls of the Underworld where souls walk in the bliss of unknowing, their empty skulls echoing with pain, I’ll announce the demise of an age. There, where spectral worms digest everything in the soft, golden soil, so deep beneath the green fields and the sea-breezes, I’ll forgive those who had been forced to die whilst living on the face of the Cruel Eyrth under the heel of the oppressive forces.

 

“And after that, the Foster-mother bewitches the inhabitants of the palace night after night, and the Queen comes and does the same thing, but always without pronouncing a word. And as she feeds the great lump of coal so gently, lo and behold it turns into a stocky child, as the real son withers more and more until he finally disappears as dust, his soul going who knows where. (Maybe through the Fluctuating Fissure opened wittingly or not by the fleeing Peripatetic Pup being pursued from World to World by his mother the Alluring Assassin – whoever they actually were.) After forty days the changeling’s grown to be as large, and as strong, and as clever as a fully-grown man (although that’s not saying much to be perfectly honest), but undisciplined, and arbitrary, and cruel, too. And then the ambitious Foster-mother sneaks into the King’s bed chamber and cuts his throat with a jet, toothed and very sharp dagger. And having anointed the young usurper with his father’s blood, she sets him on the throne. And he goes on to reign over the whole World with the help of the hand of glory, under the predatory patronage of the Warlike Foster-mother. But because of his remarkable lineage, he will never find love, and his misbegotten child will destroy the world completely in due course, and recreate it in his own disgusting image.”

 

From dried-out fruit I’ll take myriad seeds and cause them to sprout into monstrous flowers with ink-splotch petals, which will grow serrated roots and stems to enclose, and possess, and choke, and swallow everything in the Mournful World above. I’ll ignite a murky flame in the palm of each sinner’s hand to devour the intolerable coldness, revealing a cruel grace and strong mercy, which will sustain without hurting. And then I promise that those rotting underground will remember and declare without judgement their names and numberless sins, before I destroy them utterly, and revive them with conscious fire, and flecked, dark green-black, gummy, living liquid, so that they can ascend from their sleep to start the eternal circle afresh, but, I swear, completely differently [7].

 

Well, there’s ambition for you, it makes my hair stand on end thinking about it. It was an honour and a privilege for me to go around for a while with a young man overflowing with such ideas, and, Ooh, the Unstoppable Force was so strong in him, despite all his shortcomings. He was trying to communicate with ha-Dzhanga and release the joyous strength of nature’s cycles to recreate our Fruitful Eyrth. And to think he was about to succeed – probably – in experiencing the “mystērium fascināns et tremendum.” But ... then. Something else took over. Perhaps he summoned his “nviznu nkanku” (“demon soul”).  Whatever happened, after that, he disappeared without a trace. I wonder what actually befell him – and what was the meaning of those foreign words that tantalized him so much? Oh, damn it, with the Cruel Eyrth precipitating towards destruction so horrendously fast, I really need to know [8]!

 

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[1] I hope you will forgive me for taking the liberty of quoting myself rather than reinventing the wheel. — P.M.

 

[2] Perhaps it will be useful to note the following here. A “proctor” is a person who takes charge of things or acts for another, when necessary. The word can refer to an “overseer, manager, steward, or warden.” It derives from the Etruscan noun “prōcūrātor” (containing the elements “prō + cūrāre,” that is, “on behalf of + deal with”), which means “agent.” This changed to be “procuraterour” in Old Ferenci, and then “procuratour, procatour, procetur, proctur” in Middle Pretanic. Hundreds of years ago, “proctors” were attorneys in the Ecclesiastical Courts, and then they became officials who hunted and killed heretics, rebels and outlaws, extorted taxes from the poor and downtrodden, and supported and enabled the wicked doings of the thousands of “most holy sisters and brothers.” By today, “proctor” means “agent, deputy, proxy, or representative,” and some say (in Kimbric), “prwyadur,” that is, “commissioner or procurator.” The surname “Procter” (rather than the common noun “proctor”) is to be heard only in a few pockets in Pretany (Aberdydd, Daylig, Potypw), the Heart of the Continent (Aynarwal), and the Darkest Reaches of the Southern Continent (Ndumbw, allegedly) today. When referring to “Jack Procter” and “Gertrude Llwynlesg,” many people use “Jac” and “Gertriwd” in Kimbric, but these names sound just the same as in Pretanic (more or less), so I have not spelled them thus here. “Steffan Grossmann” never uses the Pretanic name “Stefan,” so I shall not do that either. “David Procter” was known to others as “Dai” on occasions (but never as “Dafydd” or “Dewi”). “Frederick (or Ffredrig) Llwynlesg” chose to adopt the “pseudównumo” “Fantastic Fred” (or “Ffred Phantastig” in Kimbric) for some comedic reason, although the joke is lost on me, I am sorry to say. (And of course, his use of the spelling containing “ph” in Kimbric here is highly idiosyncratic, to say the least, but there you are.) With regard to our friend David, well, the names Dvaldí, Davuth, Daa·hweeth, Thoahatha, Dāwīdh, Dāwūd, Dauídh, Dāvīd, Daud, David, Dai, Davo, Daf, Duvi, Dato and so on were used in different circumstances (as I mentioned previously), to reflect his multifaceted personality. Note that “Daa·hweeth” is also spelled as “Dá·hwyth.” An “interpunct” (or, less correctly, a hyphen) precedes a stressed syllable when this is not the first one in the word. (In some other tongues a grave accent or circumflex is used to show a stressed vowel.) Jelena is referred to as Seléynē, Helénē, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona and Elena as well, although people are laughing at the revered mentalist poetess when they use certain of these appellations, in my opinion at least. — P.M.

 

[3] “Rwnen” (singular “rwn” – “language, secret, mystery”) are the Wýkingren’s incised letters. They are a medium of astounding magical power to those who can use them skilfully. — P.M.

 

[4] After all, he gave the impression he believed that it, life, everything, was an infinite jest, like an addictive film that would kill you whilst you watched it over and over for sure. And in that torturous farce, like some tragicomic entertainer, you'd die without complaining to call your mother back to life, and to kill your worst enemy who was your best friend at times (or the other way round). And there you'd worry woefully about fancying your sister, but go crazy for a sweetheart who was actually her spitting image. (Having said that, to my befogged brain, the pair of lovely – and really rather intimidating – ladies could come from different planets, although they are both members of the fairer sex at least, without a doubt. Never ever seen them side-by-side in the flesh, either, come to think of it!) Anyway, that's lads for you, I suppose, 'specially really stupid but clever ones! — P.M.

 

[5] But, come to think of it, even if you could do that by casting the rwnen, for instance, and if the predictions were all realized, it wouldn’t matter whether you knew or not, or whether you chose to mention it or keep quiet, since your fate would have already been determined, whatever you did. Your response to the prediction would already be part of the oracle itself, in some vicious circle that’s self-referential and inescapable. You’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t, as they say! By the Terrible Old Masters, it makes one’s brain melt considering it. (I have never, I must confess, succeeded in using Woodswurch’s Revelatory Cards, nor Mrs Piper’s Spirit Cabinet, to predict the future, although I have tried often enough. But, they’ve proved very useful in interpreting the events of the past.) — P.M.

 

[6] “What in the Two Worlds is going on here, then, matie?”, I hear you asking, “The letter ‘k’ isn’t in the Kimbric alphabet anymore!” Well, I understand  your unease, O Astute Readers outside Kimbria (“Kimbria,” mind you, not the “Red Zone”), and in a way you are correct. The letter “k” has disappeared (or been exiled, or excommunicated) from the language by now, although it refuses to be deleted from the occasional ancient and very significant word (in general, these are place-names like “Kimbria,” “Kwm-ran,” and “Kaergenydd,” as well as “Kimbric” and so on). But, for ages, the letter “k” was an essential part of the language’s orthography, and for sure the change was not popular in the least. Why and how, therefore, was this symbol driven so shamefully from the alphabet?

 

Well, here’s the answer for you, but I must explain a few things first. Centuries ago, there were gangs of treacherous extremists rabble-rousing throughout the Islands of the Disunited Kingdoms from a headquarters somewhere in the Old Motherland of Kimbria (according to the propaganda spread by the Exalted Authorities). On the sly, more than a few today believe that they were terribly worried there was some source of accursed power – that is, an extremely potent one – hidden in Kimbria, in Hollygorge at the foot of Karadog’s Chair, maybe. Allegedly, the rebels were using the supernatural forces there to fight a highly successful guerrilla war against both the Communion of Cosmolatrists and the Gross Government.

 

Of course, everyone also knows that the printing-press was invented in Kimbria at that time. “Khronikles of the Kimbrian Kollektive: A compilation including calamity, comedy, and counsel” was the first book to come out of this press. Needless to say that this is a set of tales that are rather racy, very funny, serious and exciting, extremely satirical, and full of so many anti-establishment ideas that challenge everything represented by the Church and the State. Folk all over the World loved hearing the “Khronikles” in the original language, claiming that there was some magical power in them even if you did not understand all the words (and they still say that today). Then, soon after the “Khronikles” appeared, the Oppressed Society of Independent Tabernacles (may the Source and Ground of Being bless them), illegally published “Kritikal Kommentaries on Every Koncept Koncerning the Kreation, Konstitution, and Kulmination of the Kosmos Komplete: A collation of the clearest volumes containing the conclusions of a cornucopia of contemporary considerations communicating crucial convictions.”

 

You can imagine that the great academics in the EGO’s Commission for Enforcing Conformity and Suppressing Mental Errors were livid [ó]. They announced that the letter “k” was diabolical since its three strokes mock three sacred things: the indivisible unity of the Cosmic Power; the fact that odd numbers represent truth; and the understanding that the triadic, masculine nature of “plus” cannot exist without the dual, feminine nature of “minus” to complete it and annihilate it.

 

The representatives of the Tutelary Tyranny insisted in addition (highly unconvincingly in my opinion), that “k” was totally unholy and blasphemous since it was sacred in the ancient faith of the monstrous raving lunatics of the Sintu Valley. In the first place, as evidence, they drew attention (almost deceitfully, I’d say), to the fact that the letter “k” is so common in the everyday life of the population (and this is just as true today as it was then). The lakes there are full of water-lilies (“kamal”), the symbol of life, and the crows (“kaw”), the pigeons (“kotur”), the doves (“katij”), and the koel (“kukil”), fly and nest amongst the fields of saffron (“kong”), the lanes (“kocha”), the lakes (“kwal”), and the bridges (“kadal”). On top of that, the folk there love drinking green tshay (“kahwah”) from brass goblets (“khose”), and eating lightly-leavened flatbread (“kulcha”). The women wear headgear (“kalavalyun”) consisting of a long, folded cap (“kalpush”), and everyone carries a pot full of hot embers (“kangri”) and wears a cap with flaps to keep warm (“kantopa”) during the freezing-cold of the hibernal season (“kathyush”). Well, that’s nice, isn’t it, but no-one would complain about it, would they – not in a blue moon? Of course they wouldn’t!

 

So, here is the true reason for the hatred of the Supreme Father-Church. There, too (in the words of the Damning Bull), in the far north of the Fruitful Vale, the savages under the command of the Pundits of Kasheyra indulge in the shameful practice of Kundalini Yoga to idol-worship hellish entities called Kailashapati and Kali, and Kanna Yoga to implore the anti-Lord Krishna. Most heinous of all (roared the Condemnatory Constables), the base blasphemers teach that it is possible for human beings to seek divine grace (“kirpa”) from these non-existent forces, by constantly asking the questions “kus, kati, kar, kem, kot?” (“who is, whence, when, who does, whither?”), regarding the source, nature, and fate of the All-World, over and over until they fall into an ecstatic reverie. And then, after communicating mystically with the Font of Existence and Final End of All, they will endeavour to live life as if they were Kalpavrikhsha, the Eternal Wheel, rotating silently and unimpeded, performing “nishkama karma” (that is, acting without hope of reward), and being filled with pity (“karuna”) towards every living thing in its suffering and angst. In this way, the vile fools imagine they will become like Kamadhar, the helmsman (“kewat”) of the Life-Boat (“Jeevan Kishti”), taking the Thorlin to a New World of Flourishing (“Kalyana”).

 

Well, under this excuse, the Presidium of the Pedagogical Prebendaries commanded that the letter “k” was not to be used in Kimbric anymore, and that it would be necessary to burn every copy of the “Khronikles” and the “Kommentaries” containing it. At the same time, they began a campaign to prosecute those using the language as heretics and traitors in the Civil and Ecclesiastical Courts, promising that the apostates would be punished by being burned at the stake. The consensus these days is that by belittling Kimbric and preventing people from using it to an ever increasing extent (as well as keeping control over all the official versions of the Most Gripping Stories in the World – in their opinion – in the “Old Books” and enforcing the credos of the “Handbook of Orthodox Lore”), the Authorities hoped to extirpate the language entirely, and that this would be a devastating blow that would help to extinguish the Resistance throughout IDiKi and beyond. With ruthless determination, they succeeded in ridding the language of the horrifying letter “k” (more or less), and in exiling a substantial part of the Kimbric population too, when many of the countryfolk faithful to the “old ways of the forefathers” fled to establish communities in the Heart of the Continent in order to escape the persecution at home.

 

But the Magnificent Ministers created an even worse problem by accident, because their rash actions fanned the flames of disenchantment in Pretany. Following this, there arose from nowhere a secret society established on doctrines regarding the supposed enchanting characteristics of alphabets, dead languages, and the myths and beliefs of far-off lands. The “Kowled Kult of the Konsecrated Kleansers” ("KKKK") was (and is) its name, and it is exceedingly secretive. Furthermore, in no time, this Illuminated Inner Circle of initiated adherents began using forbidden and exceptionally dangerous techniques from the Sintu Valley (and every corner of the World in truth), to summon and harness ancient energies (see here “The Gate of Fire and the Key of Ice” and “Of Metal and Water” in “Countless Curses of the Profane Peoples”). Truth is stranger than fiction, they say – not to mention the unintended consequences – but that's the fun of on-Mansha’s “Principle of Organic Pleroma” for you! [ó] That is, the Ecclēsia Generālis Omnipotēnsque. — P.M.

 

[7] I have been racking my brains over the source and nature of this peculiar and crucial material. Having scoured all the appropriate literature, I have found references to similar substances described as “fluid, gravy, juice, liquid, marrow” and “sap.” Furthermore, the colour is also referred to on occasion as “amaranth, celadon, cerise, cinnabarine, gamboge, incarnadine, jasper, labrador, periwinkle, phlox, puke, quercitron, vermilion” and “zaffre.” Quite often, the stuff is characterized as being “dappled, flecked, iridescent, kaleidoscopic, marbled, motley, mottled, multicoloured, opalescent, particoloured, pied, rainbow-coloured, speckled, varicoloured, variegated” or “versicolour.” Maybe everyone coming into contact with it senses it according to his own constitution and desires. I don't want to expand on my own experience here: it's much too painful. Suffice it to say that after all the flashing lights, gnashing teeth, and swearing like a devil, the main impression remaining with me is of silent, deathly, oppressive gloom. Every author and commentator without exception, however, states that the liquid appears as if it is “alive” in some way, and that it is possessed of characteristics that are extremely strange and powerful but very unpredictable. Considering all the variant readings available, and since many of the mentions in this work speak of the “mightiest transformative essence” as “black liquid,” I have standardized them all to read like this. It is I who shall be to blame, therefore, if I have misled the reader regarding any details, and I apologise profusely in advance (for what that’s worth).  — P.M.

 

[8] During my sporadic paroxysms of anguish, I mutely imagine how the creation will end at last. All the rivers, brooks and seas will conspire to poison the land with living, piceous venom, before the odious inferno spreads everywhere to desecrate the entire world. In every direction, I sense midnight-blue fog, and somewhere a half-human form in a gown wandering about, gesticulating and chanting. And then, the rank waves rise up and close over his head -- over our heads – sucking us down to – to where, to what? In our end is our beginning. I used to fear not getting the last word, in case it would be the very last word of all. But now I’m terrified when I realise that everything, and everyone, will be forced to re-enact this whole hopeless tragedy over and over eternally without pause or change, perhaps. How, I wonder in my sombrest hours, could this sickening cycle ever be broken? — P.M.

 

[O “Iaith, Celwyddau, Hudoliaeth” gan Pjetër Mamrick (1)] “Peryglus llyfu briwiau. Hawdd dysgu dal dig. Taith hir dial. Llosgi maddau. Ofer bywyd dynol. Ac aruchel ydy bodolaeth er gwaethaf y boen.” Esgusodwch fi am gamddyfynnu’r hen athronydd bondigrybwyll hwnnw o’r enw Shaman-no sydd mor bwysig i aelodau o hierarchaeth yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang. Er eu bod yn ofni ei eiriau, a’i gasáu fe hefyd wrth reswm. Neu efallai mai Mitshio bel-Shoní rwy’n ei olygu, yr adroddwr annibynadwy enwog, yn siarad dros h-M'krz Dlnl-v'zk; neu eto i gyd, beth am Shefrey Kranogur, gyda’i driawd o bedair cyfrol? Dyw fy nghof ddim cystal â hynny rhagor, er fy mod yr un mor graff, gobeithio! Ta beth, rwy’n sôn wrth gwrs am y llanc dieflig ac angylaidd hwnnw o’r enw Dvaldí, Davuth, Daa·hweeth, Daud, Dai, David. (Ww, am ymadrodd – llanc o’r enw Thoahatha! Mor eithriadol o nerthol yw enwau! [2]) Ac yn wir, dichon na ddylai dyn ddweud “llanc” oherwydd ei fod yn llawn cynifer o gymeriadau, yn heigio o bersonoliaethau. Wel, peidiwch â becso am y pos hwnnw am y tro o leiaf. Ers blynyddoedd roedd ei frith gofion yn hunllef iddo, am y tŷ wedi’i falurio, a’r islawr, a’r pethau erchyll a ddigwyddodd yno, yn ei boenydio a’i orlethu tra oedd e’n credu eu bod yn ffug, a thrio dianc rhagddyn nhw. Ac eto i gyd, ar ôl y digwyddiadau ‘na fe gafodd e’r ddwy sarff frown, farus yn llechu yn ei lygaid, a’u dannedd bob amser yn barod i’w frathu, a’i gadw rhag cysgu. Drwy’r amser fe fyddai’n ymdrochi yng nghyfrinachau Dewindabaeth, ac yma rwy wedi cynnwys rhai o’r geiriau a ddyfynnai fe (neu efallai ei eiriau yntau ydyn nhw, dw i ddim yn siŵr am ei fod yn gwneud cymaint o gyfieithu, ac ysgrifennu creadigol y pryd hynny), am ddod yn Feistr ar y Gwaith Mawr.

 

[O “Dod yn Ddewin: Taith i Isfyd Heli-hrelí” ym “Melltithion Fyrdd y Cenhedloedd Cableddus”] Fel Siamaniaid y Ficingiaid, gyda’u totemau ar ffurf brain gwyn a cholomennod du, dw i wedi dysgu sut i ddefnyddio pridd llaith i atal effeithiau diod feddwol, a thân gwyrdd i leddfu salwch o bob math; sut mae’r dderwen yn gallu iacháu’r coluddion, sut mae gwenith yn rhwystro hud, a sut i fendio rhwygau teuluol gyda blodau’r ysgaw. A bellach dw i’n deall sut mae cynrhon yn dileu gwenwyn, sut i leddfu pryder â geiriau teg yn hen iaith Dyffryn Sintu, a sut mae daear sych o fedd menyw dda’n amddiffyn rhag boddi mewn dŵr rhedegog.

 

Sut yr ydych chi’n darllen geiriau anfodlon creithiau, y symbolau sacredig ‘na wedi’u sgrifennu yn iaith poen, neu’r rwnau wedi’u sgythru yng ngwyddor dolur [3]? Fel pistyll mewn stên oedd e ran fwyaf o’i fywyd, ond, fel y byddai’n jocan, yn “dlawd a balch, a byw mewn gobaith.” Roedd e’n arfer dweud mai comedi ddu yw bywyd, a wyddwn i byth a oedd e’n dweud y gwir neu’n smalio [4]. Mae’n esiampl lachar mai’r hanner call sydd fwya gwyn eu byd, a bod gwell i chi beidio â darganfod eich tynged cyn iddi ddigwydd [5]. Bid a fo am hynny, ac yntau mor wan â brwynen, eto nad oedd gwallgofrwydd y Ddaear Greulon wedi llwyddo i’w gymryd drosodd oddi allan tuag at i mewn, fel sy’n digwydd i’r mwyafrif, gan ei orfodi i fyw bywyd peiriannol, blinderus yn ei realiti parasitig, ffug.

 

Dw i wedi dysgu’r rwnau, a nawr dw i’n medru’u sgrifennu, eu darllen, eu profi, eu paentio, a’u cerfio. Dw i’n gallu defnyddio swynion i ofyn cwestiynau, ffeindio atebion, a datrys problemau, i fendithio cyfeillion a melltithio gelynion, i rwymo a rhyddhau. Dw i’n dyfeisio arwyddion cyfrin i ehangu ‘nychymyg, i wireddu ‘ngeiriau, ac i gwblhau pob gweithred. Ac o’r diwedd maen nhw wedi’u hysgrifennu arna i.

 

Roedd rhyw wreichionyn ynddo’n ei gryfhau, a rhyw lais, yn llawn syfrdandod, yn ysgogi’i ymwybyddiaeth ac yn dweud wrtho am gael gwared ar gyfyngiadau cymdeithas a thorri ei gŵys ei hun. Roedd meddwl drosto ei hun fel euddonyn yn ei galon, yn tanseilio popeth a ddysgasai. Doedd e ddim eisiau tyfu lan i fod yn un o’r dynion na a golwg ddwl ar ei wyneb, sy’n falch o adael ond nad yn brysio i gyrraedd. Ac er ei fod mor feddal â malwoden, fe fyddai fe, yn estronwr iddo’i hun ac i’n Byd Ffrwythlon ni, ac yn llawn meddyliau croes, yn ystumio’i hun mor boenus wrth ymdrechu i ymestyn a thyfu. (Mae’n well gen i ddweud yr enw cywir, “y Byd Ffrwythlon” yn hytrach na’r ymadrodd ffals hwnnw, “y Ddaear Greulon,” ond rhaid i fi feindio fy iaith, fel petai.) Yn ystod y gwersi rhifoleg atgas, ar erchwyn gwely ei Mam druan, ac wrth chwarae dan y pinwydd, dechreuasai adeiladu Byd iddo’i hun, a’i wneud yn real. Mae i bob syniad mawr ddechreuad gwrthun, wedi’r cwbl.

 

Dw i wedi dod i ddeall pryd a sut i fwrw hud trwy greu symbolau, a’u hala nhw ma’s gyda’m meddwl, a’u gosod nhw ar fwrdd llong, llyw bad, llafn cleddyf, blaen tarian, trawstiau pont, carn dagr, ac olwynion cerbyd rhyfel; ar gudyn ysgwydd ebol, clustiau caseg, a charnau march; ar bawen arth, tafod bardd, crafangau blaidd, plu gwdihŵ, a phig eryr; ar nodwyddau pinwydd, rhisgl helygen, a gwraidd ffawydden; ar adenydd gwaedlyd ceiliog talwrn, ar gledr llaw disgybl, ac ar ôl troed glof iachawr; ar iau mochyn, cadair gwrach, bron ellylles, aelodau ffoetws, ac ewin cawr; ar arlleg, mewn tân, ac ar haearn; ar rwyfau, fflureg, tonnau; mewn cwrw, gwin a gwaed; ar wydr, aur a charreg; ar fes llosg, tywysennau’n tyfu, a pherfeddion march môr. Dw i wedi gweld taw argoel marwolaeth mewn tân yw breuddwydio am fôr o haearn toddedig, ac wedi darganfod cyfrinachau naw rhaib nerthol iawn.

 

Dyfodol y gwir Ddewin sy’n dweud y drefn wrtho fe heddiw. Gwybod am farw, byw mewn byd yn curo â phwls amser, dyna beth sy’n ei yrru ymlaen i greu, er mwyn gohirio’r ofn yn bresennol yn yr hunllefau creulon, a hyd yn oed yn ystod y dyddiau mwyaf cynnes a heulog. Fydd e ddim yn aros am “nes ymlaen, yfory, pan fyddi di wedi tyfu lan ac yn ddigon hen, wedyn fe fyddi di’n deall.” Erbyn iddo gyrraedd deg oed, falle, a chyn i argyhoeddiadau pobl eraill lwyddo i’w feddiannu, gwrandawodd ar ei wir natur ddoeth yn sôn wrtho. Daeth e i wybod taw hyd yn oed mewn gwactod, does dim byd yn wir wrthrychol, er na fyddai wedi defnyddio’r fath eiriau ffansi, ac y dylai ddechrau greu ar ei ben a’i bastwn ei hun os byddai i weithio’n dda o gwbl. Wedi’r cwbl, fe welai fel gwir Ddewin taw peiriant yw’r Holl Fyd, yn troi symbolau byw allan ers oes oesoedd, gan greu amgylcheddau, a chynefinoedd, iddyn nhw ffynnu, ac addasu, a ffaelu ynddyn nhw dim ond fel sgil effaith er do’n nhw ddim yn sylweddoli fel rheol eu bod yn rhan o’r fath ecosystemau.

 

Gan Ddynion Hysbys a Gwragedd Mawr Kimbria, dw i di dysgu llawer o bethau [6]. Dw i’n gwybod sut i wneud teisen o afalau a dail bresych, dw i wedi’u tyfu yn ‘y ngardd gyda ‘nwylo’n hunan, yn cynnwys hefyd ffrwyth y mandrag, spikni, cwmin, a gwallt y cigydd mwya byrbwyll yn y Parth Glas, sydd â’r pŵer i reibio arthes ffyrnig, a’i chadw rhag amddiffyn ei chenawon; ac i beri ofn, a chwant, a llid yn y bodau hynod ‘ny’r Delkvovim, o’r tu hwnt i’n dirwedd ni.

 

Ac o sylweddoli hyn, fe ddeallai taw os peiriant yw dirwedd, peiriannydd all dyn fod, gan iro olwynion bodolaeth, ac ymyrryd â gweithrediad y ddyfais, neu hyd yn oed yn ail-osod gleiniau’r abacws yn llwyr. Felly roedd e’n uchelgeisiol dros ben, ac yn llawn syniadau aruthrol. Nawr, ni raid dweud, mae meddyliau hen ddyn yn crwydro cymaint â rhai un ifanc, gredwch chi fi, rwy’n deall o brofiad! Ond tra mai’r cyntaf sy’n gallu anwybyddu’r fath lithriadau, yr olaf sy bob amser yn gorfod canolbwyntio arnyn nhw, wrth fwyhau ei feiau o ganlyniad. Felly er mwyn cyflawni unrhyw beth o werth, mae rhaid i’r hyfforddai ifanc ddatblygu gallu’r wrach o adael i’w ddychymyg redeg yn rhydd, wrth ei reoli ar yr un pryd. Ac o ran hynny, dw i ddim yn gwybod o gwbl a lwyddodd.

 

Dw i’n deall sut i alw ar i’r tair ellylles, Vikinilim, Yovililim, a Karulilim, gynhyrchu sebon o fraster dynol a photash brwd, sydd â’r pŵer i olchi pechodau gwaetha dyn ymaith; ac eli o’r arennau a’r ysgyfaint, sydd â’r gallu i iacháu pob clwyf. Dw i’n gallu gorchymyn i’r Van-yandrim Fawr â’i benglwm taclus, wedi’i faeddu wrth ymaflyd codwm rhydd, ddarparu anrhegion i fi. Fe fydd e’n adeiladu i fi wedyn wely hedegog; llunio pâr o fotas diemwnt â phowdwr gwn yn eu sodlau; rhoi i fi adenydd y ddraig wen chwedlonol; a dod â morthwyl diatal Dvaldí i fi. Ac felly fe alla i neidio’n uwch na’r binwydden dalaf; a hedfan i Seren y Ci yn yr Hyd Deheuol; a theithio i Lwyn Xlotlringku Vlaltanlu-tnalzse yng nghanol Rhos Poen a Dioddefaint; a thurio i lawr drwy Fôr Bustl Du i gyrraedd Isfyd Heli-hrelí sy’n oer, a mud, a diffaith.

 

Rydym ni Aelodau Llawn Urdd Cyfrinachau’n credu bod rhaid i ni adrodd yn glir fel cloch, “Fe ddigwyddiff y pethau hyn,” gan ddatgan natur y digwyddiadau’n ddiamwys, yn ogystal â’u trefn, eu hystyr, a’u canlyniadau. Trwy siarad yn ddienw, a digyffro, a heb gysgod o amheuaeth, fe fyddwn ni’n cyflawni’n nodau. Yn wahanol i’r rhai ohonom ni yn yr Urdd, fodd bynnag, fe gredai’r Dewin ifanc nad yw dyn yn gallu dysgu’i grefft gan rywun arall; ond fod yn rhaid iddo ddyfeisio’i system ei hun. Doedd e ddim yn fodlon rhannu’i rithiau bregus, cywrain, felly, rhag iddyn nhw ffoi yn y fan, neu gael eu sefydlogi yn y ffurf anghywir cyn datblygu’n llawn. Dyna Reolau’r Gwaith Mawr, yn ei dyb e o leiaf.

 

Dw i’n deall sut i greu gemau amhrisiadwy o lygaid nadredd a breichdlysau anhraethadwy o ddeniadol o ddannedd babanod; sut i alw a rheoli stormydd ar y dŵr glas, gwyllt; sut i niwtraleiddio melltithion gwaetha cariadon dialgar a gam-driniwyd; sut i siarad yn rhugl iaith yr adar, y bwystfilod, a’r chwilod; sut i achub bywydau, pylu llafnau, a diffodd fflamau; sut i dawelu galar, cryfhau’r galon, ac achosi cwsg; sut i beri beichiogi gyda chalon dyn drwg wedi’i hanner pobi mewn tân o bisgwydden; sut i neud i gŵn udo, peri i gnawd bydru, a deffro ofn ofnadwy; a sut i fragu medd yn cynnwys gwreiddiau derw a rwygwyd, canghennau llosg pinwydden, a chnawd ac esgyrn eryr y môr wedi’i biclo mewn mêl, i fwrw’r melltithion mwyaf erchyll, a rhoi’r bendithion mwyaf godidog.

 

Yn wir, fe fyddai’n gwrando, a gwylio, a benthyg, a dwyn egwyddorion hudol yn gyson. Ond wedyn fe fyddai’n eu haddasu nhw at ei fwyn ei hun bob amser. Yn anffodus, gaeth e ei ddal gan y syniad o ddianc rhag heneiddio, y gelyn mwyaf yn ei farn e, a thrwy geisio gwrthod treigl amser, fe lesteiriai dwf ei bwerau. A beth nad oedd e'n sylweddoli, ym myd plentynnaidd, bendigedig y crëwr, oedd nad bywyd tragwyddol sydd o bwys, ond nwyf bythwyrdd. Falle gan ei fod mor ifanc, ac am nad oedd e’n deall dim byd yn ffurfiol am y Grefft, naeth e osgoi cyfyngiadau confensiynau. Roedd llawer iawn o gyfle iddo fod yn lwcus, a gweithiai’n ddi-drai, heb wybod beth oedd e’n wneud y rhan fwyaf o’r amser, a bod yn onest.

 

O ran y swyn ola, mae rhaid i chi roi’r cynhwysion mewn crochan pres, a’u trin dros saith niwrnod ar dir sych ar ben mynydd moel wrth i wynt oer ruo o gwmpas ; eu troi nhw dros saith nos ar lannau afon wyllt yng ngoleuni'r lleuad; a’u hoeri nhw dros saith niwrnod yng nghanol coedwig anghysbell yn llygaid yr haul. Ac wedyn bydd y ddiod yn cynnwys nerth y ddaear ddifeddwl, a’r môr byrbwyll, a’r awyr greulon. Byddwch i’w hyfed gyda’r wawr er mwyn galw ar Avi-vatha ac Ema-mothí i yrru pwy bynnag dych chi eisiau cael gwared arnyn nhw ymhell ymaith i Gors Anobaith, neu’ch cludo chi drwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd i Dirwedd Amgen.

 

Trwy siawns neu gyd-ddigwyddiad, felly, fe greodd gymaint o bethau celfydd ond yn wahanol iawn i’r rhai dyn ni’n llwyddo i’w cynhyrchu fel arfer, a’u rhyddhau yn y Ddaear Greulon hon. Fe fynegai’i ewyllys nid ar ffurf dadleuon, traethodau, na darlithiau, ond drwy fiwsig, a graffiti, a straeon, a chartwnau. Hyd yn oed heddiw, mae’i feddyliau a’i ddelweddau’n fy swyno i, a’i eiriau’n ddrych rwy’n gallu syllu arno’n ddiddiwedd, wrth glywed ei lais cryg, chwareus yn preblan yn ddi-baid ond mor selog. Mae gwrando ar y llafarganiadau’n codi croen gŵydd arna i o hyd, gan wneud i’m galon guro’n gyflymach, a hala ysgryd arnaf fi.

 

Ac oherwydd hyn oll, fe fydda i’n taflu casineb i’r awyr rewllyd wrth sefyll dan olau’r Lleuad Oriog fel na fydd e fyth yn cael ei anghofio, ac fe fydda i’n plannu serch yn y pridd byw wrth orwedd dan olau’r Haul Llachar fel na fydd e fyth yn gwywo. Wrth gyflawni’r Gwaith Mawr, fe fydd yn rhaid i fi gael ‘y nghladdu mewn eira, ‘yn socian gan law, ‘y moddi mewn gwlith, ‘y nghroeshoelio ar goeden bomgranad, a ‘ngwenwyno gan fedd sanctaidd. Ond bob tro fe fydda i’n diodde’r artaith, ac yn goroesi, gan ddatgan taw byr yw bywyd, a hir angau, a taw ‘ngeiriau i a gaiff eu clywed.

 

Hoffwn i ddweud iddo newid y Ddaear Greulon, ond sut, a beth fydd yn digwydd o ganlyniad, does neb yn gallu gweld eto. Ond heb os nac oni bai, mae pethau mawr ar droed. Gadewch i fi gloi gydag un o’i hoff chwedleuon, “Hanes Aethus y Famfaeth Ryfelgar”—

 

“Ganol nos, a phawb yn cysgu fel mochyn ac eithrio’r Famfaeth, sy’n eistedd yn ymyl y crud yn y feithrinfa, yn cydio yn llaw gogoniant mae wedi’i phrynu a’i henaid, a myfyrio’n ddwys uwchben gwirionedd drygioni dynion, anocheledd dioddefaint, a rheidrwydd dial. (Sut cyrhaeddodd hi'r Byd hwn, neu bwy'n wir ydy, neb a ŵyr, ond mae 'na rai'n ensynio iddi gael ei lluchio allan o ryw sffêr arall trwy adwy oraidd yn yr awyr.) Yn y crud, mae cnepyn mawr o lo, yr un maint â chlobyn o faban. Dyma agor y drws, ac mae hi’n gweld y wir Frenhines yn dod i mewn, yr un a gafodd ei lladd gan y Brenin ysgeler, neu a fu farw wrth esgor, efallai. Daw’r Frenhines â’r cnepyn o lo ma’s o’r crud, a’i roi at ei bron yn dyner fel mae'n gallu sugno, ac mae’n neud hynny fel petai’n fyw. Wedyn dyma hithau’n ysgwyd y clustogau cyn rhoi’r cnepyn o lo’n ôl a’i fwytho fe, a’i orchuddio â’r garthen fach. Dyw hi ddim yn anghofio’r baban chwaith, yn fab ysgymun i hithau a’r gŵr sy’n byw, a charu, a threisio eto. Dyma hithau’n mynd ato yn y gornel ble mae e’n gorwedd ar y llawr, a’i gicio’n greulon â blaen ei botasen o ledr madfall, coch, cyn gadael y ‘stafell heb air. Y bore wedyn mae’r Famfaeth yn gofyn i’r gwylwyr a ddaeth neb i mewn i’r palas yn ystod y nos, a hwythau’n ymateb, ‘Naddo, welon ni mo’r un enaid byw.’ Ac o ddysgu hyn, fe ymlawenha hithau, wrth anwesu llaw gogoniant erchyll, hogi ei llafn, a phreblan â hi’i hun yn gyson mewn ieithoedd anghyfarwydd.”

 

Yng nghysgodion yr affwys, dan y donnau o dar pin a’r haul hanner nos, yn neuaddau’r Isfyd a golau gwael ynddynt ble mae eneidiau’n cerdded yn nedwyddwch dallineb, a’u penglogau gweigion yn atseinio â phoen, fe fydda i’n cyhoeddi trengi oes. Yno, ble mae mwydod rhithiol yn treulio popeth yn y pridd euraidd, meddal mor ddwfn dan y meysydd gwyrdd ac awelon y môr, fe fydda i’n maddau i’r rhai oedd wedi’u gorfodi i farw wrth fyw ar wyneb y Ddaear Greulon dan sawdl y grymoedd gormesol.

 

“Ac ar ôl hynny, dyma’r Famfaeth yn rheibio trigolion y palas nos ar ôl nos, a’r Frenhines yn dod a gwneud yr un peth, ond bob tro heb ddweud na bw na ba. Ac wrth iddi fwydo’r cnepyn mawr o lo mor dyner, dyna fe’n troi’n blentyn cydnerth, a’r gwir fab yn gwywo fwyfwy nes iddo ddiflannu’n lluwch o’r diwedd, a’i enaid yn mynd i bwy a ŵyr ble. (Efallai drwy'r Bwlch Byrhoedolg a agorwyd yn fwriadus neu beidio gan y Colwyn Crwydrol yn ffoi wedi'i ymlid o Fyd i Fyd  gan ei Fam, yr Hurlofrudd Hodolus – pwy bynnag oedden nhw mewn gwirionedd.) Wedi deugain niwrnod mae’r carfaglach wedi tyfu i fod mor fawr, ac mor gryf, ac mor glyfar â dyn mewn oed (er nad yw hynny'n dweud llawer a bod yn berffaith onest), ond yn annisgybledig, a mympwyol, a chreulon hefyd. A dyma’r Famfaeth uchelgeisiol yn sleifio i mewn i siambr wely’r Brenin a thorri’i gorn gwddf â dagr du, danheddog a miniog iawn. Ac wedi eneinio’r disodlwr ifanc â gwaed ei dad, mae hi’n ei osod ar yr orsedd. Ac mae yntau’n mynd ymlaen i deyrnasu dros y Byd oll gyda chymorth llaw gogoniant, dan nawdd rheibus y Famfaeth Ryfelgar. Ond o achos ei wehelyth hynod, ni ddaw e fyth o hyd i gariad, a’r plentyn siawns iddo fydd yn dinistrio’r byd yn llwyr, maes o law, a’i ail-greu ar ei lun ffiaidd ei hun.”

 

O ffrwyth wedi sychu bydda i’n cymryd hadau fyrdd a pheri iddyn nhw flaguro’n flodau dybryd â phetalau duon, fydd yn tyfu gwreiddiau a choesynnau danheddog i amgáu, a meddiannu, a thagu, a llyncu popeth yn y Byd Wylofus uwchlaw. Fe fydda i’n tanio fflam dywyll yng nghledr llaw pob pechadur i ysu’r oerni annioddefol, gan ddatgelu gras creulon a thrugaredd cryf, fydd yn cynnal heb niweidio. Ac wedyn, fe adawaf y bydd y rhai’n braenu dan y ddaear yn cofio a datgan heb feirniadaeth eu henwau a’u pechodau di-rif, cyn i fi eu dinistrio’n llwyr, a’u hadfywio â thân ymwybodol a hylif byw, gludiog, gwyrdd-ddu tywyll, brith, fel gallan nhw esgyn o’u cwsg i ddechrau’r cylch tragwyddol o’r newydd, ond, fe dyngaf, yn hollol wahanol [7].

 

Wel, dyna uchelgais i chi, mae’n codi gwallt fy mhen meddwl amdani. Yr oedd yn anrhydedd ac yn fraint i fi fynd o gwmpas am sbel gyda dyn ifanc yn gorlifo â’r fath syniadau, ac, Ww, roedd y Grym Diatal mor gryf ynddo, er gwaethaf ei holl ddiffygion. Fe geisiai gyfathrebu â ha-Dzhànga a rhyddhau nerth llon cylchoedd natur i ail-greu’n Byd Ffrwythlon ni. A meddwl ei fod ar fin llwyddo – siŵr o fod – i brofi’r "dirgelwch cyfareddol ac arswydus." Ond … wedyn. Cymerodd rhywbeth arall drosodd. Efallai iddo wysio'i “nviznu nkanku” (“enaid cythreulig”). Beth bynnag ddigwyddodd, ar ôl hynny, diflannodd yntau heb adael ôl. Tybed beth ddigwyddodd iddo, mewn gwirionedd – a beth oedd ystyr y geiriau estron hynny a bryfociai fe gymaint? W, damo, a’r Ddaear Greulon yn prysuro tuag at ddinistr mor erchyll o gyflym, mae arna i angen gwybod [8]!

 

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[1] Gobeithio y maddeuwch i fi am fentro fy nyfynnu fy hunan yn hytrach nag ail-ddyfeisio'r owlyn — P.M.

 

[2] Efallai y bydd yn ddefnyddiol nodi’r canlynol yma. “Proctor” yw person sy’n cymryd yr awenau neu’n gweithredu o ran un arall pan fo angen. Mae’r gair yn gallu cyfeirio at “goruchwyliwr, rheolwr, stiward, neu warden.” Mae’n tarddu o’r enw Etrwsgeg “prōcūrātor” (yn cynnwys yr elfennau “prō + cūrāre,” hynny yw, “o ran + trin”), sy’n golygu “asiant.” Newidiodd hwn i fod yn “procuraterour” mewn hen Fferenci, ac wedyn “procuratour, procatour, procetur, proctur” mewn Pretaneg Canolog. Gannoedd o flynyddoedd yn ôl, roedd “proctoriaid” yn atwrneiod yn y Llysoedd Eglwysig ac wedyn, daethant yn swyddogion a helai a lladd hereticiaid, rebeliaid a herwyr, crafangu trethi oddi wrth y tlodion a’r gorthrymedig, a chynnal a galluogi ymarferion drwg y miloedd o “chwiorydd a brodyr glanaf.” Erbyn heddiw, mae “proctor” yn golygu “asiant, dirprwy, procsi, neu gynrychiolydd,” ac mae rhai’n dweud (yn y Gimbreg), “prwyadur,” hynny yw, “comisiynydd neu brocurator.” Mae’r cyfenw “Procter” (yn hytrach na’r enw cyffredin “proctor”) i’w glywed dim ond mewn ychydig o lecynnau ym Mhretania (Aberdydd, Daylig, Potypw), yng nghanol y Cyfandir (Aynarwal), ac ym mhellafoedd y Cyfandir Deheuol (Ndumbw, yn ôl pob sôn) heddiw. Wrth gyfeirio at “Jack Procter” a “Gertrude Llwynlesg,” mae llawer o bobl yn ysgrifennu “Jac” a “Gertriwd” yn y Gimbreg, ond swnia’r enwau hyn yr un fath ag yn y Bretaneg (mwy neu lai), ac felly dw i ddim wedi’u sillafu nhw felly yma. Dyw “Steffan Grossmann” byth yn defnyddio’r enw Pretaneg “Stefan,” ac felly na wnaf fi hynny chwaith. Adwaenid “David Procter” fel “Dai” gan eraill ar adegau (ond byth fel “Dafydd” na “Dewi”). Dewisodd “Ffredrig (neu Frederick) Llwynlesg” fabwysiadu’r ffugenw “Ffred Phantastig” (neu “Fantastic Fred” yn y Bretaneg) am ryw reswm gomic, er na ddeallaf fi mo’r jôc, mae’n flin ‘da fi ddweud. (Ac wrth gwrs, mae’i ddefnydd o’r sillafiad yn cynnwys “ph” yn y Gimbreg yma yn fympwyol iawn, a dweud y lleiaf, ond dyna chi.) Gyda golwg ar ein ffrind David, wel, defnyddid yr enwau Dvaldí, Davuth, Daa·hweeth, Thoahatha, Dāwīdh, Dāwūd, Dauídh, Dāvīd, Daud, David, Dai, Davo, Daf, Duvi, Dato ac yn y blaen mewn amgylchiadau gwahanol (fel y crybwyllais o’r blaen), i adlewyrchu’i bersonoliaeth amlweddog. Noder y sillefir “Daa·hweeth” hefyd fel “Dá·hwyth.” Rhagflaena “dot canolog” (neu, yn llai cywir, heiffen) sillaf pan nad yr un gyntaf yn y gair fydd hon. (Mewn rhai ieithoedd eraill, defnyddir acen ddisgynedig neu do bach i ddangos llafariad wedi'i phwysleisio.) Cyfeirir at Jelena fel Seléynē, Helénē, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona ac Elena hefyd, er bod pobl yn chwerthin am ben y farddes feddyliaethol fawr ei pharch wrth ddefnyddio rhai o’r enwau hyn, yn fy marn i o leiaf. — P.M.

 

[3] “Rwnau” (unigol “rŵn” – “iaith, cyfrinach, dirgel”) yw llythrennau wedi’u hendorri’r Wýkingren. Cyfrwng nerth hudol syfrdanol ydyn nhw i’r rhai sy'n gallu’u defnyddio’n fedrus. — P.M.

 

[4] Wedi'r cwbl, fe roddai fe'r argraffiad ei fod yn credu taw cellwair anfeidrol oedd e, oedd popeth, oedd bywyd, fel ffilm gaethiwus, fyddai'n eich lladd wrth ei gwylio drosodd a throsodd i sicrwydd. Ac yn y ffars arteithiol 'na, yn debyg i ryw ddifyrrwr trasicomig, byddai dyn farw heb gwyno i alw ei fam yn ôl i fyw, ac i ladd ei elynion gwaetha oedd ei ffrindiau gorau ar adegau (neu'r fordd arall). Ac yno fe fyddai'n poeni'n ingol am ffansïo'i chwaer ond yn dwlu ar gariad oedd yr un ffunud â hi mewn gwirionedd. (Wedi dweud 'ny, i'n ymennydd ffrwcslyd i, fe allai'r pâr o fenywod 'na sy'n hyfryd – ond yn ddigon i godi ofn arnoch chi a bod yn onest – ddod o blanedau gwahanol, er bod y ddwy ohonyn nhw'n aelodau o'r rhyw deg o leia, heb os. Sai byth wedi'u gweld nhw ochr yn ochr yn y cnawd, chwaith, erbyn meddwl!) Ta be, dyna lanciau i chi, yn enwedig y rhai tra chlyfar ond twp! — P.M.

 

[5] Ond, erbyn meddwl, hyd yn oed pe gallech chi wneud hynny trwy fwrw’r rwnau, er enghraifft, a phe câi’r rhagfynegiadau oll eu gwireddu, ni fyddai dim ots a wyddech neu beidio, neu a ddewisech chi sôn neu dewi, achos buasai’ch ffawd eisoes wedi’i phennu, beth bynnag a wnaech. Fe fyddai’ch ymateb i’r argoel eisoes yn rhan o’r oracl ei hun, mewn rhyw gylch anfad sy’n hunangyfeiriadol ac anorfod. Cewch eich damnio y naill ffordd a'r llall, fel y meddan nhw! Myn yr Hen Feistri Erchyll, mae’n gwneud i’ch ymennydd doddi wrth ei gysidro. (Dydw i erioed, raid cyffesu, wedi llwyddo i ddefnyddio Cardiau Dadlennol Llwynlesg, na Chabinet Ysbrydion Mrs Piper, i ddarogan y dyfodol, er i fi geisio’n ddigon aml. Ond, fe’u caed yn ddefnyddiol iawn o ran dehongli digwyddiadau’r gorffennol.) — P.M.

 

[6] “Be’n y Ddau Fyd sy’n mynd ‘mlaen ‘ma, ‘achan?”, wi’n clywed chi’n weud, “Dyw’r llythyren ‘k’ ddim yn yr wyddor Gimbreg mwyach!” Wel, wi’n deall eich pryder, Ddarllenwyr Astud o’r tu hwnt i Gimbria (“Kimbria,” cofiwch, ddim y “Parth Coch”!), ac mewn ffordd dych chi’n gywir. Mae’r llythyren “k” wedi diflannu (neu gael ei halltudio, neu’i hysgymuno) o’r iaith erbyn hyn, er ei bod yn gwrthod cael ei dileu o ambell air hynafol ac arwyddocaol iawn (yn gyffredinol, enwau lleoedd fel “Kimbria,” “Kwm-ran,” a “Kaergenydd,” yw’r rhain, yn ogystal â “Kimbreg” ac ati). Ond, ers llawer dydd, roedd y llythyren “k” yn rhan hollbwysig o orgraff yr iaith, ac mae’n sicr nad oedd y newid yn boblogaidd yn y lleia. Pam a sut, felly, gaeth y symbol hwn ei yrru mor warthus o’r wyddor?

 

Wel, dyma’r ateb i chi, ond rhaid esbonio sawl peth i ddechrau. Ganrifoedd yn ôl, roedd minteioedd o eithafwyr brawychus yn cynhyrfu’r dorf trwy gydol Ynysoedd y Teyrnasoedd Anghytûn o bencadlys yn rhywle yn Hen Famwlad Kimbria (yn ôl y propaganda ledaenid gan yr Awdurdodau Aruchel). Ar y slei bach, mwy nag ychydig heddi sy’n credu’u bod nhw’n poeni’n ofnadw fod ‘na ryw ffynhonnell o nerth melltigedig – hynny yw, un eithriadol o bwerus – wedi’i chelu yng Nghimbria, yng ngwaelod Keunant y Kelyn ar droed Kader Karatawk, efallai. Yn ôl y sôn, roedd y rebeliaid yn defnyddio’r grymoedd goruwchnaturiol yno i herwryfela yn erbyn Cymundeb y Cosmoadolwyr y Llywodraeth Lwgr ill dwy’n llwyddiannus iawn.

 

Wrth gwrs, mae pawb yn gwybod hefyd y dyfeisiwyd y wasg argraffu yng Nghimbria bryd hynny. “Khwedlau Kenedlaethol Kimbria: Kasgliad yn kwmpasu kyni, komedi, a khyfarwyddyd” oedd y llyfr cynta i ddod allan o’r wasg hon. Ni raid dweud taw set o hanesion eithaf anweddus, doniol, difrifol, a chyffrous iawn, tra dychanol, ac yn llawn cynifer o syniadau sy’n wrthsefydliadol ac yn herio popeth a gynrychiolir gan yr Eglwys a’r Wladwriaeth yw hon. Roedd gwerin ledled y Byd yn dwlu ar glywed y “Khwedlau” yn yr iaith wreiddiol, gan honni bod rhyw bŵer hudol ynddyn nhw hyd yn oed os na all dyn ddeall y geiriau i gyd (ac maen nhw'n dal i ddweud felly heddi). Wedyn, yn fuan ar ôl i’r “Khwedlau” ymddangos, cyhoeddwyd “Komentarïau Kritgol ar Bob Kysyniad ynglŷn â Khykhwyniad, Kreth, a Khwŷl y Kosmos Kyfan: Kyfres o’r kyfrolau kliriaf yn kynnwys kanlyniadau kyfoeth khwilota kyfoes sydd yn kynhyrkhu kywirdeb kanolog” yn anghyfreithlon gan Gymdeithas Orthrymedig Tabernaclau Annibynnol (Tarddell a Llawdir Bod a’u bendithio nhw!),

 

Dych chi’n gallu dychmygu i’r academyddion mawr yng Nghomisiwn Gorfodi Cydymffurfiad ac Atal Gwallau Meddyliol yr EFE fynd yn gandryll [ó]. Cyhoeddon nhw fod y llythyren “k” yn ddieflig gan fod ei thair strôc yn gwawdio tri pheth sanctaidd: undod anrhanadwy’r Pŵer Cosmig; y ffaith taw odrif sy’n cynrychioli gwirionedd; a’r ddirnadaeth na all natur wrywaidd, driaidd “plws” fodoli heb natur fenywaidd ddeuaidd “minws” i’w chyflawni a’i difa.

 

Roedd cynrychiolwyr y Dra-arglwyddiaeth Dadol yn mynnu yn ogystal (yn anargyhoeddiadol iawn, yn fy marn i), fod “k” yn hollol amhur a chableddus am ei bod yn sanctaidd yng nghrefydd hynafol angenfilod gorffwyll yn rhefru'r Dyffryn Sintu. Yn y lle cynta, roedden nhw’n tynnu sylw mewn tystiolaeth (bron yn dwyllodrus, wedwn i), at y ffaith bod y llythyren “k” mor gyffredin yn iaith bob dydd y boblogaeth (ac mae hyn yr un mor wir heddi ag yr oedd bryd hynny). Mae’r llynnoedd yno’n llawn lilïau’r dŵr (“kamal”), arwydd bywyd, ac mae’r brain (“kaw”), y colomennod (“kotur”), y colomennod gwynion (“katij”), a’r cogau coel (“kukil”), yn hedfan a chlwydo ymhlith meysydd saffrwm (“kong”), y lonydd (“kocha”), yr afonydd (“kwal”), a’r pontydd (“kadal”). Ar ben hynny, mae’r werin yno’n dwlu ar yfed te gwyrdd (“kahwah”) o gobledi efydd (“khose”), a bwyta bara fflat wedi’i lefeinio’n ysgafn (“kulcha”). Mae’r menywod yn gwisgo penwisg (“kalavalyun”) yn cynnwys cap hir wedi’i blygu (“kalpush”), a phawb yn cario pot yn llawn marwor poeth (“kangri”) a gwisgo cap â fflapiau i’w cadw’n dwym (“kantopa”) yn ystod fferdod y gaeaf (“kathyush”). Wel, dyna neis, on’d ydy, ond fyddai neb yn cwyno amdano, fydden nhw - ddim cyn dydd Sul y pys? Wrth gwrs na ‘nelen nhw!

 

Felly, dyma i chi’r gwir reswm dros gasineb y Dad-Eglwys Oruchaf. Yno hefyd (yng ngeiriau’r Bwl Damniol), yng ngogledd pell y Glyn Ffrwythlon, mae’r anwariaid dan orchymyn Pwnditiaid Kasheyra yn ymroi i ymarferion cywilyddus Ioga Kundalini i eilunaddoli endidau uffernol o’r enw Kailashapati a Kali, ac Ioga Kanna i ymbil ar y gwrth-Arglwydd Krishna. Yn anfata oll (rhuai’r Cwnstabliaid Collfarnol), mae’r cablwyr bryntion yn dysgu ei bod yn bosib i fodau dynol geisio gras nefol (“kirpa”) gan y grymoedd anfodol hyn, trwy holi’n gyson y cwestiynau “kus, kati, kar, kem, kot?” (“pwy ydy, o ble, pryd, pwy sydd, i ble?”) ynghylch tarddiad, natur, a ffawd yr Holl Fyd, drosodd a thro nes iddyn nhw syrthio i berlewyg ecstatig. Ac wedyn, ar ôl cyfathrebu’n gyfriniol â Ffynhonnell Bodolaeth a Diwedd Olaf Popeth, byddan nhw’n ymdrechu i fyw bywyd fel petaen nhw Kalpavrikhsha, yr Olwyn Dragwyddol, yn cylchdroi’n dawel a heb lestair, gan berfformio “nishkama karma” (hynny yw, gweithredu heb obaith gwobr), a chael eu llenwi â thosturi (“karuna”) tuag at bob peth byw yn ei dioddefaint a’i ing. Trwy hyn, mae’r hurtynnod ffiaidd yn dychmygu y dôn nhw’n debyg i Kamadhar, llywiwr (“kewat”) Bad Bywyd (“Jeevan Kishti”), gan fynd â’r Thorlin i Fyd Newydd Ffyniant (“Kalyana”).

 

Wel, o dan yr esgus hwn, gorchmynnodd Presidiwm y Prebendwyr Pedagogaidd nad oedd yr “k” i gael ei defnyddio rhagor yn y Gimbreg, ac y byddai’n rhaid llosgi pob copi o’r “Khwedlau” a'r “Komentarïau” yn ei chynnwys. Ar yr un pryd, cychwynnon nhw ymgyrch i erlyn y rhai’n defnyddio’r iaith fel hereticiaid a theyrnfradwyr yn y Llysoedd Eglwysig a Sifil, gan addo y cosbid gwrthgilwyr trwy gael eu llosgi wrth y stanc. Y tyb y dyddiau ‘ma yw taw trwy fychanu’r Gimbreg a rhwystro pobl rhag ei defnyddio fwyfwy (yn ogystal â chadw rheolaeth dros yr holl fersiynau swyddogol o Straeon Mwyaf Gafaelgar y Byd – yn eu barn nhw – yn yr “Hen Lyfrau,” a gorfodi credoau “Llawlyfr Llên Uniongred”), yr oedd yr Awdurdodau’n gobeithio lladd yr iaith yn llwyr, ac y byddai hyn yn ergyd ysgytwol fyddai’n helpu i ddifodi’r Gwrthwynebiad yn YTA a’r tu hwnt. Gyda phenderfyniad didostur, llwyddon nhw i gael gwared ar y llythyren echrydus “k” o’r iaith (mwy neu lai), ac i alltudio rhan sylweddol o boblogaeth Kimbria hefyd, pan ffodd llawer o’r gwerinwyr yn ffyddlon i “hen ffyrdd y cyndadau” i sefydlu cymunedau yng Nghalon y Cyfandir i ddianc rhag yr erledigaeth gartre.

 

Ond creodd y Gweinidogion Gogoneddus broblem waeth byth hefyd ar hap a damwain, am fod eu gweithredoedd byrbwyll yn chwythu ar dân dadrithiad ym Mhretania. Yn dilyn hyn, cododd o unman gymdeithas gudd wedi’i sefydlu ar ddysgeidiaethau ynghylch nodweddion swynol tybiedig gwyddorau, ieithoedd marw, a mythau a choelion o wledydd pell. “Kwlt Kykyllog y Karthwyr Kysegredig” ("KKKK") oedd (ac ydy) yr enw arni, ond mae hi’n gyfrinachgar dros ben. Ymhellach, ymhen fawr o dro, dechreuodd y Grŵp Mewnol Goleuedig hwn o ddisgyblion derbyniedig ddefnyddio technegau gwaharddedig ac eithriadol o ddansierus o Ddyffryn Sintu (ac o bedwar ban Byd, mewn gwirionedd), i alw ar a harneisio egnïon hynod (gweler yma “Y Gât Dân a’r Allwedd Iâ” ac “Ynghylch Metel a Dŵr” ym “Melltithion Fyrdd y Cenhedloedd Cableddus”). Rhyfeddach na ffug yw gwirionedd, meddan nhw – heb sôn am y canlyniadau annisgwyl – ond dyna hwyl “Egwyddor Cyfanrwydd Organig” on-Mansha i chi! [ó] Hynny yw, yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang. — P.M.

 

[7] Dw i wedi bod yn crafu ‘mhen ynghylch tarddiad a natur y deunydd hynod a thyngedfennol hwn. Wedi pori drwy’r holl lenyddiaeth briodol, dw i wedi dod o hyd i gyfeiriadau at sylweddau tebyg a ddisgrifir fel “grefi, gwlybwr, gwlych, hylif, mêr” a “sudd.” Ymhellach, cyfeirir at y lliw o bryd i’w gilydd fel “amaranth, ceiriosliw, cnodliw, cwersitron, fflocs, fermilion, gwanwden, helygwyrdd, iasbis, labrador, molystor, puwc, saffr” a “sinoblog.” Yn eithaf aml, mae’r stwff wedi’i ddisgrifio fel “enfysaidd, enfysog, aml-liwiog, amryliw, lluosliw, seithliw,” neu “symudliw.” Efallai bydd pawb yn cysylltu â fe’n ei glywed yn ôl ei chyfansoddiad a’i ddymuniadau’i hunan. Dw i ddim yn moyn ymhelaethu ar 'mhrofiad 'yn hunan yma: mae'n rhy boenus o lawer. Digon dweud taw ar ôl yr holl olau'n fflachian, dannedd yn rhincian,  a rhegi fel diawl, yr argraff fwya sy'n aros gyda fi yw düwch llethol, angheuol, mud. Mae pob awdur a sylwebydd heb eithriad, fodd bynnag, yn dweud bod yr hylif yn ymddangos fel petai’n “fyw” mewn rhyw ffordd, a’i fod yn mwynhau priodoleddau tra rhyfedd a grymus ond yn gyfnewidiol iawn. O ystyried yr holl ddarlleniadau amgen ar gael, a chan fod llawer o’r crybwylliadau yn y gwaith hwn yn sôn am “hanfod trawsffurfio nertholaf” yn defnyddio’r geiriad “hylif du,” fi sy wedi’u safoni nhw i gyd i’w darllen fel hyn. Arnaf fi y bydd y bai felly, os byddaf wedi camarwain y darllenydd o ran manylion, ac rwy’n ymddiheuro’n llaes o flaen llaw (os yw hynny o ryw werth). — P.M.

 

[8] Yn ystod fy hyrddiau anfynych o ing llethol, dw i’n mud ddychymyg sut daw’r greadigaeth i ben o’r diwedd Mae’r afonydd, nentydd a moroedd oll yn cynllwyno i lygru’r tir â gwenwyn byw’n dywyll bitsh, cyn i’r fflamau ffiaidd yn ymledu i bobman, i ysu’r cyfanfyd. I bob gyfeiriad dw i’n clywed niwl dulas ac yn rhywle ffurf hanner dynol a gŵn amdano yn crwydro o amgylch gan ystumio a llafarganu. Ac wedyn, mae’r tonnau drewllyd yn codi a chau dros ei ben – dros ein pennau ni -- gan ein sugno i lawr i – i ble, at beth? Yn ein diwedd y mae’n dechrau. Ro’n i’n arfer ofni peidio cael y gair olaf, rhag ofn taw’r gair olaf oll fyddai hwnnw. Ond nawr dw i’n arswydo o sylweddoli bydd popeth, a phawb, yn cael eu gorfodi i ailadrodd yr holl drasiedi anobeithiol hon drosodd a thro yn dragywydd heb saib na newid, o bosib. Sut, dybia i yn fy oriau pruddaf, gallai’r gylchred gyfoglyd hwn fyth yn cael ei thorri? — P.M.