It is not hard to see, on the part of those who delight in feasting their eyes on graphic novels at least, that this is a totally new experience compared with reading a book or looking at a painting, for example. And we should carefully note that it is not the word ‘read’ that has been used in this context. Thus, there is a need to develop a fundamentally different method of discussing comics. The unit of the narrative in a comic strip is the panel. This represents a new hybrid sign which unites literary aspects with visual ones. In the panel, which uses a highly stylized aesthetic, space represents time, creating out of no-where a fantastic world based in fictional truth where everything is always mutable. All these characteristics contribute to fashioning a looking-glass reality where the narrator of the story is a character in it. It also confuses the objective pictorial viewpoint of the viewer, and his sense of identity on top of that, since he cannot differentiate consciously between his situation in the real world during his experience, and what is happening in the simulation of reality which is created in the comic book. He becomes a contributing author who has input into the narrative, and it is he who fills in important gaps, providing alternative interpretations for the story [*].
In the Drímatorí, in the comfort of the flying bed (although it's not in motion at the moment), under the quilt with its monstrous images, by torchlight, our little David (or Daud, Da-hwyth, Dai) – although he’s a spotty teenager full of hormones now – just loves reading those amazing comics inspired by the ancient and strange legends of the Guild of Secrets. Mamrick (‘The Shadow’) of the White-land is the author, and there are terrifyingly beautiful illustrations by Grossmann (‘The Wýkinger’) who comes from the idyllic town of Aberdydd across the Keltik Sea. The Old Soldier, that funny man whose eyes are always sparkling, who’s like a friendly, clever Uncle, has been providing them for him, one way or other. The young protégé’s been looking forward to the deliveries so keenly, because the comics are so great, and really, he’s been leaning so much about magic from the peripatetic story-teller and the graphic novels (to give them their correct name).
He doesn’t know what the best thing is, what with all the ceremonies, and slaying, and flying to the Nw Yrth, and the poetic swearing, and the strange languages, and Oh, those pictures of talking tombs, and blue towers, and the mutant baby! (But then again, considering the complete anarchy raging around him, he doesn't know whether he's coming or going. You could say that he doesn't know who he is for sure – nor anyone else come to that – not to mention where he is from day to day, from where he's come, and where he'll be going in the future.) But perhaps the best thing is all those explosions. And, come to think of it, what about the wacky aliens who want to take the Eyrth over, not to mention the All-World? By Wezir (who’s one of the most important figures, by the way), David's itching to be a Wizard when he grows up! (Although, to be totally honest, some of the characters remind him far too much of vile people in his own life: slimy priests, brutal teachers, and fathers ... well, 'nuff said there! And some of the goings-on are wickedly violent, and give him the most lurid nightmares. Even stranger, come to think of it, the Old Soldier's more like a cold black spectre or a baleful raven than a real person – sometimes at least.) But never mind about all that, he shrugs his shoulders, snuggles down, and here's the beginning of the story –
"Millennia ago, Lwgalmakh, the old astrologer, renowned seer, and spiritual leader of the Gkwbeyd nation, unearthed the sacred books called ‘Dingir Galgalngwnera’ (that is, 'For All the Great Gods') in the ruins of the fabled city of Eridw. These had been sent to Eyrth during the dawn of the red moon, when order and disorder were separated on the Nw Yrth by the servants of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers. They intended to tempt inquisitive human beings, individuals who were keen to learn secrets of all kinds, desiring to get to know how to wield power, control other people, and influence the course of events. And from staring at the pages containing so much unbelievable information, the seeker would see images materializing all around him…
“And he would feast his eyes on multi-coloured moving pictures of what has been, what is, and what could be. But it is not the things that will be without a doubt which would be shown, we must emphasize, but rather the most likely outcomes according with the desires of the watcher. As a result of the shocking revelations Lwgalmakh experienced whilst reading the living symbols, it came to pass that he did several things. The first of them was to forge a two-edged sword blessed with an ancient hex in Emingi, which runs: 'That is not dead which can eternal lie; And with strange aeons even Death may die,’ and he infused it with his own blood…
"Then, terrifying to relate, it was necessary for him to immolate himself in fire, in order that he might be reborn in the form of a miraculous babe, so that, finally, having matured and endured a number of trials, he could cross the void to the Nw Yrth in the form of a handsome young man. And now I, Sorakados the Prince, have succeeded in discovering the secrets of my inheritance, although first of all I had to stare for hours into the oily rainbow that swirled on the black face of my scrying-glass whilst meditating about the ancient book. By doing this, and waiting, chanting, I came realise that it is I who am the old astrologer, my name meaning ‘Sorcerer’ in the original language of the Nw Yrth, and that I shall need to follow the trail of Lwgalmakh…
“And so, I prepared to travel straight to the Nw Yrth, where I would wander yonder and anon, spying on every thing which the multifarious inhabitants did, whilst tasting pleasures unheard-of. But I knew that I would stay there for ever if it were not for the wand inscribed with rwnic letters, red and powerful, which would allow me to return unscathed to the Eyrth, on a flying bed with the wings of a white eagle. And in this matter I would be like some other renowned Magus who wore a grey mantle to start with, which turned blazing white after he came back to life having been killed by a flaming demon...
“And four tokens I took to aid me on the journey, in order to pay tribute and assuage the guardians who are to be found there. For there would be challenges to be faced at the gatepost between the Two Worlds, on the shore of the Tearful River, at the threshold of the City of the Ziggurats, and in the Bejewelled Forest. And so, I had a bead as blue as the eyes of an unborn babe in the womb; a stone as black as the sin of the whole Eyrth, from the House of Rebirth; a seed as green as the plankton in the Cerulean Vastness that’s always laughing at the futility of the human race; and a feather as white as the wind, plucked from the flank of a Winged Serpent…
"Moreover, I was carrying in my hands two rag-dolls to be a sacrifice if there were need; and like a dead man, I transported two coins in my mouth as a present for the Avaricious Watchers. In my belt, fastened with a golden buckle, there was the magical sword. About the weird vistas, I had been warned beforehand by the images. And indeed, I saw a lame man driving a mule loaded with possessions, and riches, and parchments; an old woman weaving the fate of humanity on a massive loom of bone; and a dead man drowning in the river between the realms of being and non-being. And there was I also, on the boundary between living and dying, between the Eyrth and the Nw Yrth. And despite all the eerie sounds – the bones crunching; the insects constantly chirruping, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, the jackals howling at the marauding ravens – I went straight past them...
"I have walked in the wake of the shooting star, whilst skirting the deepest cesspits of the Other World. I have journeyed down the Glass Mountain, following the River of Tears towards the Bloody Sea at night. I have descended into the belly of the Serpentine Monster that lives there, which transported me to El-bonya on the Southern Continent. And in the end I have broken through the main gate of the City of Seven Ziggurats into the Netherworld beyond. And here I foretell and declare what shall happen from now on…
"Here in the middle of the forest of columns of amber inlaid with jet-stone, amongst the unattended piles of diamonds and emeralds, rubies and sapphires, the countless shades of the dead and gone will surge around me silently, bringing their gifts: an unblemished ewe, a black rooster, a white cat, and a perfect ram. But I shall not need such offerings...
"I shall dance with the most ancient, loveliest, temptress, Tefnuth, the Goddess who was abandoned by her sweetheart when she was about to give birth to their child. She shall be decked in a gown of black silk, white gloves, and a red turban. And I shall whisper sweet nothings in her ears, such as, 'On the wild wind you fly, between this world and the other. From the twilight realm, you see from your perch, the trials of the quick; and the wake of the dead.' And without the least shadow of a doubt, her mad horses shall bring to me the spirit of my Mother the Queen, who was sent to death before her time by her Husband, my Father the King. And then I shall be able to bring my Mother back to life…
“Moreover, I shall commune with Hebé, the unruly essence of love and vengeance and offer her golden rings so that she may protect a certain girl who is to be wife to me when I return. It is she who is bearing a baby whose soul is a pearl of great price, compared with the all others which are as grubby as the Hell-hounds' kennels, and this Son, the powerful one to come, shall inherit all the glory of the kingdom in due course…
"At this point, by my own doing, I shall sacrifice the other on the altar of the self, draped with purple velvet, exchanging one life for the whole creation. Through the power of my words I shall annihilate all that was made in the Two Worlds, leaving only the green buds of regeneration amidst the grey ruins of destruction. After this my desire and my will shall become one with each other, and the creator shall unite with his making. Thus, shall I fashion a new world, in which truth blows hither and thither on the wind of my imagination. And then, at that time, shall I ascend to glory!"
These are enchanting words, of course, and Sorakados was speaking from the heart. And having read the accursed book in the way described above, he believed that he had learned everything to be had from it. But despite that which would have been, the Sorcerers had tempted him to the Nw Yrth on false pretences. The tale of his downfall is long and painful to relate, let alone to hear. But only the following need be said here. A soon as he finished his presumptuous soliloquy before the chief gate of the City of the Seven Ziggurats, a cruel wind arose, and swept the Prince away.
While he was in the talons of the storm, he was forced to fight against a host of dread creatures, including a pack of voracious, rabid dogs, with bodies as white as the chalk in some devilish teacher’s torture-chamber, eyes as blue as those of the House of Rebirth in the middle of the red desert, and ears more ginger than the flames that shall singe the Eyrth to a cinder when the Sun dies in the incredibly far future. Next, he slew the majority of the flock of wild, vampiric horses, each one of which had eight legs like in the old tales of the Northishfolk, and was biting, and stamping, and trampling, and whinnying as if the Two Worlds were at an end. And then he was dropped, almost naked, and covered in blood and bruises, amongst an enormous forest of pines in which there were otherworldly creatures of every kind, and shape, and size. which would eventually set upon him terribly.
And in the real world (if such it can be called), in the wobbly bed, our heroic lad, David, imagines journeying to other worlds, living other lives. On every side he hears Hebé the spectral grey mare neighing without restraint, and her eye sockets are balls of fire, and her bony body leaps as if it were made of quicksilver. But then he is sorely disappointed to learn about the demise of Sorakados in a flaming bonfire after being tricked by Swtakh, servant to the Sorcerers.
But despite that, David still dreams and desires with all his might that he could pick up his hero's mantle, escape, and go to feast his own eyes on the wonders of the Nw Yrth. And there, he would fight against Tefnuth, Mistress of the Dead, in her speechless dominion full of wealth and luxury that are of no worth to anyone there, but this time the mortal would win and claim the appropriate prize. But first, he'll have to get on with learning how to evoke the founder of the Guild of Secrets.
* * * * * * * *
One night, sometime later on, and somewhere else, having studied, and meditated, and read, and stolen, he tries so hard to play the part of the psychopomp who will rouse the brave but foolhardy Sorakados, lost in the Other World. He wants to use the Master's knowledge and power to rescue his poor Mam, his tortured angel, who almost died while bringing him into the world, and drag her back from beyond the grave – willing, or not. He can see her in Heli-hrelí now, her haggard form in its slack brown shroud ponging of rosewood, wax and wet ash, her peepholes reproachfully mute. And so the young Mage starts to act his heart out, performing the most effective magic he's discovered, or invented [**]:
“Adhó·nay hi·není! Here am I, my Nameless, Bodiless Lord, presenting all these priceless gifts. And I give to you: wealth in the form of feagkráy stones from the Whyagkápv Islands, forever lost on the bottom of the Jealous Main; an eternal elegy snatched from the mountains of bodies amidst the muck on the killing-fields of Klvkrt; Lady Meykbeds’ rusty, gore-stained dagger which was buried for generations under the walking forests of Skalba; the pencils that pierced the eyes of a repugnant, cruel coward, to kill him stone dead; a magical claw that I won from a garrulous rat in one of the granaries by the House of Rebirth in the Black-Land of Kúma with the help of an unborn babe, spectral but sarcastic; an invisible feather stolen from the wing of a Fallen She-Angel as she plummeted through the Screeching Cleft in the substance of the All-World; and, most importantly, hot blood that pours willingly from my own veins as an offering to my Forgotten Master.
“From the dusk I call you, into the darkness I summon you. Only I build the bridge. Only I open the way. I have laboured to discern, to understand, and to declare the secret names of thousands of the demonic horde to glean information so I could follow your trail.
“And fourteen of the most adroit exponents of the creative spell-binding arts, that is twice the normal number of types of ambiguity [***], namely – Az-mothus, Eligor, Farax, Geymuhn, Kerbere, Loray, Morisuhn, Mẃ’uh, Nāgá, Oriax, Owzandil, Separ, Shíymtum, and Zagan – at last enabled me, after ages of bargaining, of deceiving, of commanding, and of suffering, to track you down successfully. And then I began imploring, beseeching, begging, using the ancient prescribed forms, although you did not respond, because I was not able to describe you correctly, and so kept on failing to give you back your name. But now, through the most exhausting exertions of mind, body, and spirit, I have discovered your nature and your characteristics. Only I know who you are. Only I can identify you, your Grace, as I prepare to wash you with living fluid in this unique ceremony, having called you with poison and summoned you with pain.
"And ‘The Lost One’ are you, O my Liege, who has been denied his true title for so long. Massive stones and tragic threnody, slick dagger and sharp sticks, dirty talon and holy quill: with these I honour you. Here in the blackness, with my own life, I invite you, whose name means ‘Arch-Enchanter,’ back from the Underworld of Heli-hrelí. For although the gate is sealed, my voice permeates all space and my mind transcends the confines of time to provide a path. So, come, O glorious Prince, come! And here I name you – Zhlugh-uzhu, Sorakados, Thoahatha! Let your spirit unite with mine, and be free!”
Of course, if desires were thoroughbred racehorses from el-Rābí then peripatetic mendicants would snatch victory in the Taviston Steeplechase every year; but in general, the world does not conform to a man's will, no matter how powerful are his thoughts, does it? But, having said that, magical powers are different, and there's always room to hope, isn't there? And that minute when his blood spills in silent fury into the cheap brass goblet he's pinched from the junk-shop, it feels like the mocking darkness has been torn open by a peal of thunder sufficient to split his head open. Everywhere, there's an ultraviolet glow and a stench of ozone, and some inhuman guffawing echoes through the smelly bedroom. But then, nothing. Perhaps the silly boy should've known that no-one can call a spirit back to life from the grip of the Grim Reaper. The inconsolable lad cries himself to sleep once again, this time in a bloody bed, while some portion of his magical power disappears from within him. But, as a result of his misplaced desire, a gate between the Two Worlds opens, and the shadows of a pair of the Savage Sorcerers – the Fairest and Most Deadly Goddess, and the Spectral Mare – slip through, to grace, or curse, young David’s life, and the Decrepit Eyrth, from then on {Growing Up}.
* * * * * * * *
[*] I am reminded here of the psychedelic insight of the Shaman Turlukh Mak·áydh, Master Ethnographer and founder of Novelty Theory, and have provided a paraphrase for you. — P.M.
It's not otherworldly sparks, nor holy sputum, nor divine wind that animates living things, but the ethereal impression of information and instructions. Realizing this, perchance one might infer that language is the Thorlin's greatest invention, since this is the best tool for discovering, describing, and developing reality. Language has been all-important to us as we found and maintain civilization, create faiths and engage in politics, conquer and kill, devise science and numerology, make poetry and love. Language illuminates the past and leads us towards the future. It also permits true time-travel, because through reading we hear the voices of long-dead and unknown people speaking to us from across the millennia, clearly, directly and quietly in our heads. But there is price to all of this: whilst we act on reality and change it, reality works on us and changes us in turn. The life of the Thorlin is exceptionally complex and disordered, therefore, because of this interaction, and all our experiences – such as falling in love, winning and throwing away fortunes, suffering from diseases, being healed, and dying at last – are more similar to literature than to science. As a result, the Thorlin are tortured, since they are divinities and worms at the same time – fragile, shame-filled, and mortal, but also conscious, wondrous, and proud. So, the idea of an essential, fixed nature is a necessary lie, as we are forced to change and adapt all the time. But, having said that, the situation's not hopeless, for we ca choose and steer how we develop and grow, my means of the stories we tell.
By means of tales, we collect and condense the priceless understanding of every age that's gone before us. We must first of all realize that although heedless story-telling can ensnare us and harm us, learning to use narratives carefully and effectively can set us free as well. More than educate and entertain us, more than produce new sensations in us, the best yarns can open doors to alternate worlds where we can immerse ourselves and get lost in a fictional reality as if we were experiencing an interactive lucid dream. We should learn and practise, therefore, the cognitive technology of fashioning and reciting tales. If we accept that even mistakes create paths towards new discoveries, we will be able to find salvation (in the World as it is) by using the imagination to enhance our comprehension and understanding of Creation. If all individuals indeed seek out and follow their bliss, then the All-World will open doors for us even in featureless walls, and we, the Thorlin, will at last develop to be a brand-new species, the Indigo Children. And sometime in the far future, when the final days of the ultimate society arrive, as the Ephemeral Eyrth burns to a cinder, desperate for a fresh start, the race's collective knowledge will hypnagogically re-circulate the remnants of previous millennia of striving. Then, these superheroes – the only ones left who can dare to embrace and celebrate complexity, avoid killing their actions by judging too harshly, interlace minds, and overcome the deathly forces raging everywhere – will have to drag the seeds of our legends kicking and screaming to some new form of existence.
[**] This is an adaptation, as far as I can see, of Hrōthirīks Burgēnsis’s Bidding, as contained in the Magda-Elen Apocrypha. — P.M.
[***] The seven types of ambiguity are: metaphors, the creative union of opposites, puns, slips revealing internal conflict, words steering thoughts, incomplete sentences begging for completion, and the irresistible lure of half a binary opposition. Information regarding these was imparted to Wilyakhèlmaz Ámetansunu while he travelled as a wandering minstrel through Dzhyang’hey, the most easterly region of the Impenetrable Dominions of the Uttermost East. — P.M.
Nid anodd gweld, o ran y rhai sydd yn ymbleseru yn boddio’u llygaid ar nofelau graffig o leiaf, mai profiad hollol newydd yw hwn o’i gymharu â darllen llyfr neu edrych ar baentiad, er enghraifft. Ac fe ddylem nodi’n astud nad y gair ‘darllen’ a ddefnyddiwyd yn y cyd-destun hwn. Felly mae rhaid datblygu dull gwahanol yn ei hanfod o drafod comics. Yr uned i’r naratif mewn stribed comic yw’r panel. Mae hwn yn cynrychioli arwydd hybrid newydd sydd yn cyfuno agweddau llenyddol â rhai gweledol. Yn y panel, sydd yn defnyddio estheteg dra arddulliedig, mae gofod yn cynrychioli amser, gan greu o ddim fyd ffantastig wedi’i seilio ar wirionedd ffuglennol lle mae popeth yn y pair bob amser.Bydd y nodweddion hyn i gyd yn cyfrannu at lunio drych-realedd lle y bydd traethydd y stori’n gymeriad ynddi. Bydd hefyd yn drysu safbwynt darluniadol gwrthrychol y gwyliwr, a’i synnwyr hunaniaeth ar ben hynny, gan na all wahaniaethu’n ymwybodol rhwng ei sefyllfa yn y byd go iawn yn ystod ei brofiad, a’r hyn sydd yn digwydd yn efelychiad dirwedd a grëir yn y llyfr comics. Bydd yn dod yn awdur cyfrannol a chanddo fewnbwn i’r naratif, ac efe fydd yn llenwi bylchau pwysig, gan ddarparu dehongliadau amgen i’r hanes [*].
Yn y "Drímatorí," yng nghysur y gwely hedegog (er nad yw’n symud ar hyn o bryd), o dan y cwilt ac arno ddelweddau o angenfilod, wrth olau tortsh, bydd ein David bach ni – neu Daud, Dai, Da-hwyth, Dai) – er fod e’n llanc plorynnog llawn hormonau yn ei arddegau bellach – yn dwlu ar ddarllen y comics arddedrcog 'na wedi’u hysbrydoli gan chwedlau hynafol a hynod Urdd y Cyfrinachau. Mamrick (‘Y Cysgod’) o’r Wlad-wen yw’r awdur, ac mae darluniau arswydus o brydferth gan Grossmann (‘Y Ficing’) sy’n hanu o dref Aberdydd dros Ddylan y Keltiaid. Mae’r Hen Filwr, y dyn doniol ‘na a’i lygaid yn pefrio bob tro, sy fel Wncwl clyfar, cyfeillgar, wedi bod yn dod â nhw ato fe. Mae’r noddedig ifanc wedi bod yn edrych ymlaen at y dosbarthiadau mor frwd, achos bod y comics mor wych, ac yn wir mae ‘di bod yn dysgu cymaint am hud gan y cyfarwydd teithiol (dyna’i eiriau ei hunan, cofiwch chi) a’r nofelau graffig (a rhoi iddyn nhw eu henw cywir).
Dyw e ddim yn gwybod be’ yw’r peth gorau, rhwng yr holl seremonïau, a lladd, a hedfan i’r Nw Yrth, a’r rhegi barddonol, a’r ieithoedd estron, ac O, y lluniau ‘na o feddi siaradus gyda thyrrau gleision, a’r baban o fwtant! (Ond eto i gyd, o ystyried yr anhrefn llwyr yn berwi o'i gwmpas, ŵyr e'm un ai mynd neu ddod mae e. Fe all dyn weud dyw e'm yn nabod pwy yw e i sicrwydd – na neb arall o ran 'ny – heb sôn am ble mae e o ddydd i ddydd, o ble mae e 'di dod, ac i ble'r aiff e yn y dyfodol.) Ond falle taw'r ffrwydradau oll yw’r peth gorau. Ac, erbyn meddwl, be am y creaduriaid arallfydol waci sy'n moyn cymryd y Ddaear drosodd, heb sôn am yr Holl Fyd? ‘Neno Wezir (sy’n un o’r ffigurau mwya' pwysig, gyda llaw), mae David yn ysu am fod yn Ddewin pan fydd yn tyfu lan. (Er, a bod yn gwbl onest, mae rhai o'r cymeriadau'n ei atgoffa'n ormod o lawer am pobl ffiaidd yn ei fywyd ei hun: mynachod sebonllyd, ysgolfeistri ciaidd, a thadau ... wel, y calla' dawo! A rhai o'r digwyddiadau'n andros o dreisgar, ac yn rhoi iddo'r hunllefau ercha'. Ac, erbyn feddwl, mae'r Hen Filwr yn eitha debyg i rith du oer neu i gigfrain andwyol – rywbryd, o leia'.) Ond, be' bynnag am 'ny, dyma ddechrau’r stori –
"Filenia yn ôl, fe ddatguddiodd Lwgalmakh yr hen sêr-ddewin, oedd yn weleddd o fri ac arweinydd ysbrydo i genedl y Gkwbeyd, lyfrau sanctaidd o’r enw ‘Dingir Galgalngwnera’ (hynny yw, ‘Ar gyfer Fy Nuwiau Mawr Oll’), yn adfeilion dinas chwedlonol Eridw. Roedd y rhain wedi cael eu danfon i’r Ddaear yn ystod gwawr y lleuad goch, pan ddidolwyd trefn oddi wrth anrhefn ar y Nw Yrth gan weision y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd. Roedden nhw’n bwriadu denu bodau dynol chwilfrydig, unigolion oedd yn awyddus i ddysgu cyfrinachu o bob math, gan ddymuno cael gwybod sut i drin pŵer, rheoli pobl eraill a dylanwadu ar gyfeiriad digwyddiadau. Ac o syllu ar y tudalennau’n cynnwys cymaint o wybodaeth anghredadwy, wedi’u hadlewyrchu mewn drych sgrio, fe fyddai’r chwiliwr yn gweld delweddu’n ymrithio o’i amgylch…
“Ac fe fyddai’n gwledda’i lygaid ar luniau symudol, amryliw o’r hyn a fu, yr hyn sydd, a’r hyn a allai fod. Ond nid yr hyn a fydd yn ddiamau a ddangosid, mae rhaid pwysleisio, ond yn hytrach y canlyniadau tebycaf yn cydymffurfio â chwantau’r gwyliwr. O ganlyniad i’r amlygiadau ysgytwol a brofodd Lwgalmakh wrth ddarllen y symbolau byw, fe ddarfu iddo wneuthur sawl peth. Y cyntaf ohonynt oedd gofannu cleddyf deufin wedi’i fendithio â rhaib hynafol yn Emingi, sy’n rhedeg; ‘Nid marw’r fath beth a eill huno am hydoedd; A’r Angau Glas drengo ar ben dirgel oesoedd.’ Ac fe’i tymherodd â’i waed ei hun…
“Wedyn, frawyched dweud, roedd rhaid iddo’i offrymu'i hun mewn tân, er mwyn iddo gael ei aileni ar ffurf baban gwyrthiol fel, o’r diwedd, wedi aeddfedu a dioddef sawl profedigaeth, y gallai groesi’r gofod i’r Nw Yrth ar ffurf dyn ifanc, golygus. Ac yn awr yr wyf fi, Sorakados y Tywysog, wedi llwyddo i ddarganfod cyfrinachau fy etifeddiaeth, er mai yn gyntaf oll yr oedd rhaid imi syllu am oriau ar yr enfys o olew a chwyrlïai ar wyneb du fy nrych sgrio wrth gynhemlu uwchben y llyfr hynafol. O wneuthur hyn, ac aros gan lafarganu, fe ddeuthum i sylweddoli mai myfi yw’r hen sêr-ddewin, a’m henw’n golygu ‘Swynwr’ yn iaith gysefin y Nw Yrth, ac y bydd arnaf angen dilyn trywydd Lwgalmakh…
“Ac felly paratois i deithio’n syth i’r Nw Yrth, lle y crwydrwn yma a thraw, gan ysbïo ar bob peth a wnâi’r amryfal drigolion, wrth flasu pleserau di-sôn-amdanynt. Ond roeddwn yn gwybod yr arhoswn yno am byth oni bai am yr hudlath wedi’i harysgrifio â llythrennau rwnig, cochion a nerthol, a adawai i fi ddychwelyd yn iach fy nghroen drachefn i’r Ddaear ar wely hedegog ac arno adenydd eryr gwyn. Ac yn hyn o beth, byddwn yn debyg i ryw Ddewin arall o fri a wisgai fantell lwyd i ddechrau, a droai’n glaerwyn ar ôl iddo godi o farw’n fyw wedi cael ei ladd gan gythraul fflamllyd...
“A phedwar tocyn y deuthum â nhw i’m cynorthwyo ar y daith, er mwyn talu teyrnged a bodloni’r gwarchodwyr sydd i’w cael yno. Am y byddai heriau i’w hwynebau ar y cilbyst rhwng y Ddau Fyd, ar lan Afon Wylofus, ar drothwy Dinas y Sigwratau, ac yn y Goedwig Emog. Ac felly yr oedd gennyf lain cyn lased â llygaid baban heb ei eni yn y bru, carreg cyn ddued â phechod y Ddaear oll, o Dŷ Aileni, hedyn cyn wyrdded â’r plancton yn y Meithfor Glas sy’n chwerthin bob tro am ben ofergoeledd yr hil ddynol, a phluen cyn wynned â’r gwynt wedi’i phlycio o ystlys Sarff Asgellog...
“Ymhellach, yr oeddwn yn dwyn yn fy nwylo dwy ddoli clwt i fod yn aberth pe byddai angen; ac fel dyn marw, yr oeddwn yn cludo dau ddarn arian yn fy ngheg yn anrheg i’r Gwylwyr Trachwantus. Yn fy ngwregys wedi’i chau â gwäeg o aur yr oedd y cleddyf hudol. Am y golygfeydd rhyfedd roeddwn wedi cael fy rhybuddio ymlaen llaw gan y delweddau. Ac yn wir, fe welais ddyn cloff yn gyrru mul a lwythwyd â meddiannau, a chyfoeth, a memrynau; hen wragedd yn gwau tynged y ddynolryw ar wŷdd enfawr o esgyrn; a gŵr marw yn boddi yn yr afon rhwng teyrnasoedd bod ac anfod. A dyna oeddwn hefyd ar y ffin rhwng byw a marw, rhwng y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth. Ond er yr holl synau iasol – yr esgyrn yn crensian; y trychfilod yn ddi-ball rincian, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er; y siacaliaid yn udo at y cigfrain ysbeilgar –euthum yn syth heibio iddynt...
"Rwyf wedi cerdded yn sgil y seren wib, wrth fynd heibio i garthbyllau dyfnaf y Byd Arall. Rydw i wedi teithio i lawr y Mynydd Gwydr, gan ddilyn Afon Dagrau tuag at y Môr Gwaedlyd liw nos. Wedi disgyn i fol yr Anghenfil Sarffaidd sydd yn byw yno yr wyf, a’m cludodd i El-bonya ar y Cyfandir Deheuol. Ac o’r diwedd rwyf wedi treiddio trwy brif borth Dinas Saith Sigwrat i’r Isfyd y tu hwnt. A dyma fi’n darogan a datgan yr hyn fydd yn digwydd o hyn ymlaen…
"Yma yng nghanol y fforest o golofnau o ambr a fewnosodir â muchudd, ymysg y pentyrrau wedi’u hesgeuluso o ddiemwntau a gwyrddfeini, rhuddemau a saffirau, fe fydd eneidiau di-rif y rhai isel eu pennau’n ymchwyddo o’m cwmpas yn fud, gan ddod â’u hanrhegion: hesbin berffaith-gwbl, ceiliog du, chath wen, a hwrdd perffaith-gwbl. Ond ni fydd arnaf angen y fath offrymau…
"Fe fyddaf yn dawnsio gyda’r hudoles hynaf, fwyaf glandeg, Tefnuth, y Dduwies a gyfradawyd gan ei gariad pan oedd hi ar fedr esgor ar eu plentyn. Bydd hi’n gwisgo gŵn hir o sidan du, menig gwynion, a thwrban coch. Ac fe fyddaf fi’n sisial geiriau serch yn ei chlustiau, megis, 'Ar y gwynt gwyllt hedfanwch, rhwng y byd hwn a'r llall. O deyrnas gwyll, fe welwch o'ch clwyd, gystuddiau'r byw; a gwylnos y meirwon.' A heb y gronyn lleiaf o amheuaeth, fe ddaw’i cheffylau ffrochus ag ysbryd fy Mam y Frenhines, a anfonwyd i farw cyn ei phryd gan ei Gŵr, fy Nhad y Brenin. Ac wedyn fe allaf fi ddwyn y Fam yn ôl i fywyd…
“Ymhellach, fe wnaf ymddiddan â Hebé, hanfod afreolus cariad a dial, a chynnig iddi fodrwyau o aur nes y diogelo ferch neilltuol sydd i fod yn wraig imi pan ddychwelaf. Hyhi sy’n dwyn baban a’i enaid yn berl drudfawr, o’i gymharu â’r lleill i gyd sydd mor frwnt â chytiau cŵn Annwfn, a’r Mab hwn, yr un nerthol i ddod, fydd yn etifeddu holl ogoniant y deyrnas maes o law...
"Ar hyn o dro, o’m pen a’m pastwn fy hun, fe fyddaf yn aberthu’r arall ar allor yr hunan, wedi’i gorchuddio â felfed porffor, gan gyfnewid un bywyd am y cread oll. Trwy nerth fy ngeiriau y dileaf bob peth a wnaed yn y Ddau Fyd, gan adael dim ond blagur gwyrdd adfywhad ymhlith adfeilion llwyd dinistr. Ar ôl hyn yr â f’awydd a’m hewyllys yn un â’i gilydd, ac fe una’r crëwr a’i wneuthuriad. Felly y lluniaf fyd newydd, lle mai gwirionedd a chwytho hwnt a thraw ar wynt fy nychymig. Ac yna, y pryd hynny, fe fyddaf yn esgyn i ogoniant!"
Geiriau swynol yw’r rhain, wrth gwrs, ac roedd Sorakados y Tywysog yn llefaru o galon. Ac wedi darllen y llyfr ysgymun yn y modd a ddisgrifiwyd uchod, roedd yn credu’i fod wedi dysgu popeth i’w gael ohono. Ond er gwaetha’r hyn a allai fod wedi bod, roedd y Swynwyr wedi’i dentio i’r Nw Yrth drwy dwyll. Mae hanes ei gwymp yn hir a phoenus ei adrodd heb sôn am ei glywed. Ond nid oes ond rhaid dweud y canlynol yma. Cyn gynted ag y gorffennodd ei ymson rhyfygus o flaen prif borth Dinas Saith Sigwrat, fe gododd gwynt creulon, ac ysgubo’r Tywysog ymaith.
Tra oedd yng nghrafangau’r storm, cafodd ei orfodi i ymladd yn erbyn llwyth o greaduriaid erchyll, yn cynnwys cnud o gŵn cynddeiriog, rheibus, a’u cyrff mor wyn â’r sialc yn siambr artaith rhyw athro cythreulig, eu llygaid cyn lased ag eiddo Tŷ Aileni yng nghanol yr anialwch coch, a’u clustiau mwy cringoch na’r fflamau fydd yn llosgi’r Ddaear yn ulw pan fydd yr Haul yn marw yn y dyfodol anhygoel o bell. Nesa’ fe laddodd rhan fwya’ o’r gre o geffylau fampiraidd gwyllt, a chan pob un wyth coes fel yn hen chwedlau’r Llychlynwyr, a oedd yn brathu, a stampio, a sathru, a gweryru fel petai’r Ddau Fyd ar ben. Ac wedyn fe gafodd ei ollwng, bron yn noeth, ac yn waed a chleisiau i gyd, ymhlith fforest enfawr o binwydd ac ynddi greaduriaid arallfydol o bob math, a siâp, a maint, fyddai’n ymosod arno’n enbyd ym mhen yr hir a'r hwyr.
Ac yn y byd go iawn (os gellir ei alw felly), yn y gwely simsan, mae’n harwr o lanc ni, David, yn dychmygu teithio i fydoedd eraill, wrth fyw bywydau eraill. Ar bob ochr mae’n clywed Hebé y gaseg lwyd rithiol, yn gweryru heb rwystr, a thyllau’i llygaid yn belenni fflamgoch, a’i chyrff esgyrnog yn crychlamu fel petai wedi’i wneud o arian byw. Ond yna fe siomir e'n ddirfawr o ddarllen am dranc Sorakados mewn coelcerth fflamllyd ar ôl cael ei dwyllo gan Swtach, gwas i’r Swynwyr.
Ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, mae David yn breuddwydio a dymuno nerth ei enaid y medrai gymryd mantell ei arwr, dianc, a mynd i foddio’i lygaid ei hun ar ryfeddodau’r Nw Yrth. Ac yno fe fyddai’n ymladd yn erbyn Tefnuth, Arglwyddes y Meirwon, yn ei thiriogaeth fud lawn cyfoeth a moethau sy ddim o werth i neb yno, ond y tro hwn byddai’r dyn marwol yn ennill a honni’r wobr deilwng. Ond yn gyntaf, bydd yn rhaid iddo fwrw ati i ddysgu sut i wysio sefydlydd Urdd Cyfrinachau.
Un nos, rywbryd yn nes ymlaen, ac yn rhwyle arall, wedi astudio, a myfyrio, a darllen, a dwyn, mae David yn trio mor galed i chwarae rhan tywysydd ysbrydion fydd yn deffro Sorakados dewr ond byrbwyll, ar goll yn y Byd Arall. Mae e eisiau defnyddio gwybodaeth a nerth y Meistr i achub ei Mam druan, ei angyles wedi'i dirboeni, y bu bron iddi farw wrth ei ddwyn i’r byd, a'i llusgo hi’n ôl o’r tu hwnt i’r bedd – o'i bodd neu'i hanfodd. Mae'n gallu'i gweld hi yn Heli-hrelí nawr, ei chorff curiedig yn yr amdo brown llaes ac arno oglau rhosbren, cwyr a llwch gwlyb, ei llygaid yn edliwgar fud. Ac felly, dyma'r Dewin ifanc yn actio nes diffygio wrth berfformio'r hud mwyaf effeithiol y mae wedi cael hyd iddo, neu'i ddyfeisio [**]:
“Adhó·nay hi·není! Dyma fi, fy Arglwydd Di-enw a Di-gorff yn cyflwyno’r holl anrhegion amhrisiadwy hyn. Ac rwy’n rhoi i chi: cyfoeth ar ffurf cerrig feagkráy ar Ynysoedd Whyagkápv ar goll am byth ar waelod y Cefnfor Cenfigennus; marwnad dragwyddol a gipiwyd o’r mynyddoedd o gelanedd ymhlith y llaid ar feysydd lladd Klvkrt; dagr gwaedlyd rhydlyd yr Arglwyddes MacBeth a gladdwyd am genhedloedd o dan fforestydd cerdded y Skalba; y pensiliau a drywanodd lygaid cachgi creulon, gwrthun i’w ladd yn farw gelain; crafanc hudol a enillais gan lygoden fawr siaradus mewn un o ysguboriau ger Tŷ Aileni yng Ngwlad Ddu Kúma gyda chymorth baban ananedig, oedd yn rhithiol ond crafog; pluen anweledig a ddygwyd o aderyn Angel Syrthiedig wrth iddi godymu drwy’r Rhwyg Sgrechlyd yn neunydd yr Holl Fyd; ac yn fwyaf pwysig, gwaed a dywallta o’i wirfodd o’m gwythiennau fy hun yn offrwm i’m Meistr Anghofiedig.
“O’r gwyll rwy’n eich galw chi, i’r tywyllwch rwy’n eich gwysio chi. Dim ond myfi sy’n adeiladu’r bont. Dim ond myfi sy’n agor y ffordd. Rwy wedi llafurio uwchben darganfod, dirnad, a datgan enwau cyfrin miloedd o’r lu dieflig er mwyn tynnu gwybodaeth fel y gallwn ddilyn eich trywydd.
“A phedwar ar ddeg o’r perfformwyr medrusaf y celfyddydau cyfareddol creadigol, hynny yw, dwbl y nifer arferol o fathau ar amwysedd [***], sef – Az-mothus, Eligor, Farax, Geymuhn, Kerbere, Loray, Morisuhn, Mẃ’uh, Nāgá, Oriax, Owzandil, Separ, Shíymtum, a Zagan – a’m galluogai o’r diwedd, wedi oesoedd o fargeinio, o dwyllo, o orchymyn, ac o ddioddef, i ddod o hyd i chi’n llwyddiannus. Ac wedyn, myfi a ddechreuodd erfyn, deisyf, crefu, gan ddefnyddio’r ffurfiau penodedig hynafol, er nad ymatebech oblegid ni fedrwn i’ch disgrifio’n gywir, ac felly daliwn i fethu â rhoi’ch enw yn ôl i chi. Ond bellach, trwy’r ymdrechion caletach o ran corff, a meddwl, ac enaid, myfi sy wedi darganfod eich natur a’ch priodoleddau. Dim ond myfi sy’n adnabod pwy ydych chi. Dim ond myfi all eich enwi chi, Eich Gras, wrth imi baratoi i’ch golchi â hylif byw yn y seremoni unigryw hon, wedi’ch galw chi â gwenwyn a’ch gwysio â phoen.
“Ac ‘Yr Un Colledig’ ydych chi, O fy Arglwydd, y gwadwyd iddo ei wir deitl ers cyhyd. Cerrig enfawr a galargan alaethus, dagr llithrig a ffyn finiog, crafanc front a phluen lân: gyda’r rhain rwy’n eich anrhydeddu chi. Yma yn y düwch, â’m bywyd fy hun, rwy’n eich gwahodd chi, yr hwn a’i enw’n golygu ‘Pen-Gyfareddwr,’ yn ôl o Isfyd Heli-hrelí. Oblegid er bod y porth wedi’i selio, mae fy llais yn treiddio trwy’r gofod i gyd, a’m meddwl yn mynd y tu hwnt i gyfyngiadau amser i ffurfio llwybr. Felly, dewch, O Dywysog aruchel, dewch! Ac yma, myfi sy’n eich enw chi – Zhlugh-uzhu, Sorakados, Thoahatha! Gadewch i’ch ysbryd uniaethu â’m hun i a byddwch rydd!”
Wrth gwrs, pe bai’r Mynydd Gwydr yn gaws fe fyddai’n haws cael cosyn; ond yn gyffredinol, dyw’r byd ddim yn cydymffurfio ag ewyllys dyn er cymaint pŵer ei feddyliau, ydy e? Ond, wedi dweud hynny, mae pwerau swynol yn wahanol, ac mae wastad le i obeithio, on’d oes? A’r funud yna, pan fydd ei waed yn arllwys mewn llid mud i’r ffiol rad o bres mae wedi’i dwyn o’r siop drugareddau, mae’n teimlo fel ‘sai’r tywyllwch dirmygus wedi’i rwygo gan drwst o daran digon i hollti’i ben. Ym mhob man mae llewyrch fiolet a drycsawr osôn, ac mae beichio chwerthin annynol yn atseinio drwy’r ‘stafell wely ddrewllyd. Ond wedyn, dim byd. Falle dylai’r bachgen twp fod wedi deall taw neb yn y Ddau Fyd sy’n gallu galw ysbryd yn ôl yn fyw o afael y Medelwr Didostur. Ac mae’r llanc anghysuradwy’n crio ei hun i gysgu unwaith eto, y tro hwn mewn gwely gwaedlyd, wrth i ryw gyfran o’i bŵer hudol ddiflannu oddi mewn iddo. Ond, o ganlyniad i'w angerdd cyfeiliornus, dyma agor porth rhwng y Ddau Fyd, a chysgodion pâr o'r Swynwyr Milain – y Dduwies Decaf a Mwyaf Marwol a'r Gaseg Rithiol – yn sleifio drwyddo, i fendithio, neu felltithio, bywyd David ifanc, a'r Ddaear Fusgrell, o hynny 'mlaen.
* * * * * * * *
[*] Dw i’n cael fy atgoffa yma o fewnwelediad seicedelig y Siaman Turlukh Mak·áydh, Meistr Ethnobiolegydd a sefydlwr Theori Nofelti. Myfi sy wedi aralleirio yma. — P.M.
Nid gwreichion arallfydol, na phoer glân, nac anadl duwdod sy’n animeiddio bodau byw, ond argraff etheraidd gwybodaeth a chyfarwyddiadau. O sylweddoli hyn, efallai y casglai dyn mai iaith ydy dyfais fwyaf y Thorlin, am fod hon ydy’r erfyn gorau i ddarganfod, disgrifio, deall, a datblygu realedd. Mae iaith wedi bod yn hollbwysig i ni wrth sefydlu a chynnal gwareiddiad, creu crefyddau a gwleidydda, concro a lladd, dyfeisio gwyddoniaeth a rhifoleg, barddoni a charu. Mae iaith yn goleuo’r gorffennol ac ein harwain at y dyfodol. Mae hefyd yn caniatáu gwir deithio hudol trwy amser, am mai trwy ddarllen y clywn ni leisiau pobl hen farw ac anhysbys yn siarad â ni dros y milenia’n glir, yn uniongyrchol, ac yn dawel yn y pen. Ond mae pris i hyn oll: tra ydym ni’n gweithredu ar realiti a’i newid, mae realiti’n gweithredu arnom ni a’n newid ni yn ei dro. Mae bywyd y Thorlin yn eithriadol o gymhleth felly, o achos y cydadweithio hwn, a’n profiadau i gyd – fel cwympo mewn cariad, ennill a cholli fortiwniau, dioddef o heintiau, cael ein hiacháu, a marw o’r diwedd – yn debycach i lenyddiaeth nag i wyddoniaeth. O ganlyniad, artaith y Thorlin ydy ein bod yn dduwdodau ac yn fwydod ar yr un pryd – yn frau, yn warthus ac yn feidrol; ond hefyd yn ymwybodol, yn rhyfeddol ac yn falch. Felly dim ond celwydd angenrheidiol ydy syniad natur sefydlog hanfodol, oherwydd gorfodir ni i newid ac addasu drwy’r amser. Ond, wedi dweud hynny, nid ydy’r sefyllfa’n anobeithiol, gan ein bod ni’n gallu dewis a llywio sut rydym yn datblygu a thyfu, trwy gyfrwng y straeon rydym yn eu hadrodd.
Gan ddefnyddio hanesion, rydym yn casglu a chrynhoi dealltwriaeth amhrisiadwy pob oes sy wedi mynd o’n blaen. Rhaid i ni sylweddoli’n gyntaf oll mai er bod dweud storïau’n ddiofal yn gallu’n dal ni a’n niweidio ni, y gall dysgu’u defnyddio’n ofalus ac yn effeithiol ein rhyddhau ni hefyd. Mwy nag ein haddysgu a’n diddanu, mwy na chynhyrchu synwyriadau newydd ynom ni, mae’r straeon gorau’n agor drysau i fydoedd amgen ble gallwn ni ymdrwytho ac ymgolli mewn realedd ffuglennol fel petawn ni’n profi breuddwyd eglur ryngweithiol. Dylem ni ddysgu ac ymarfer, felly, dechnoleg wybyddol llunio ac adrodd hanesion. Os derbyniwn ni mai camgymeriadau hyd yn oed sy’n creu llwybrau tuag at ddarganfod newydd, gallwn ni gael hyd i waredigaeth (yn y Byd sydd ohoni) trwy ddefnyddio’r dychymig i ehangu’n dirnadaeth a’n dealltwriaeth o’r Greadigaeth. Os ceisio a dilyn ein bodd a wna pob unigolyn, bydd yr Holl Fyd yn agor drysau i ni hyd yn oed mewn waliau dall, a byddwn ni’r Thorlin yn datblygu o’r diwedd i fod yn dras newydd sbon, y Plant Indigo. A rywbryd yn y dyfodol pell, pan gyrhaedda dyddiau olaf y gymdeithas derfynol, wrth i’r Ddaear Ddarfodedig losgi’n ulw gan awchu am ddechrau newydd, bydd ymwybyddiaeth gyffredinol yr hil yn ailgylchu’n hypnagogaidd weddillion milenia blaenorol o ymdrechu. Y pryd hynny, bydd raid i’r uwcharwyr hyn – yr unig rai ar ôl a all feiddio i fynwesu a dathlu cymhlethdod, osgoi lladd eu gweithredoedd trwy farnu’n rhy llym, rhyngwynebu meddyliau, a goresgyn y grymoedd marwol yn ffromi dros bob man – lusgo had ein chwedlau dan weiddi a strancio i ryw fath newydd ar fodolaeth.
[**] Dyma addasiad, hyd y gwelaf, o Archiad Hrōthirīks Burgēnsis, a gynhwysir yn Apocryffa Magda-Elen. — P.M.
[***] Y saith math ar amwysedd yw: Trosiadau, ymuno creadigol cyferbyniadau, geiriau mwys, llithriadau’n datgelu anghytgord mewnol, geiriau’n llywio meddyliau, brawddegau anghyflawn yn ymbil am ddiwedd, ac atyniad anwrthsafadwy hanner gwrthwyneb deuol. Datgelwyd gwybodaeth ynglŷn â nhw i Wilyakhèlmaz Ámetansunu wrth iddo deithio’n glerwr drwy Dzhyang’hey, parth mwyaf dwyreiniol Dominiynau Anhreiddiadwy’r Dwyrain Pellaf. —P.M.