The Tale of Kutava (Part II)

(Continued from Part I)

‘I have told ye already of my great interest in the zintushe as a youth, have I not? Then I shall continue.
‘As I have mentioned, when I asked my father about the beasts and dragons of which the old tales told, he had doubt as to whether these ever existed. Although sorrowed at hearing this, I was all the more motivated to learn of these creatures, and my belief only grew. My young friends were also interested in them, though perhaps not so much as I, and we passed many joyful hours in the forest pretending that we were the great dragon slayers of old, making battle with imaginary beasts. However, with this I was not content, for I wished to know more about the zintushe, and most of all, I sought some piece of evidence, however small it might be, that the zintushe were still alive somewhere, perhaps in the great mountains beyond the river, or perhaps in those mysterious lands to the east, Tokmea and the rest.
‘At length I decided what I must do: go to the old man Zêstika and beg that he might impart upon me some of his vast knowledge of things long ago. No one knew his age, but it was agreed by all that he was the oldest person who yet lived in Stalshi. Of all the people I knew then, only he might know that which I longed to be sure of, that the zintushe were real.
‘Thus, the next month, I and all the other children gathered at the house of Zêstika upon the hill, for to hear another of his innumerable tales. This night he spake of the origin of the Kutvête, the high, snow-capped mountains of the south. He told how in those days, before men arrived on the shores of Ĝimlu, the entire land was flat, and all that grew was grass and small plants. Among the animals that lived there, there was peace. However, the chief of the llamas waxed angry, because the terimlae habitually dined upon one llama daily, and the llamas had nowhere to flee. Thus their chief appealed to the vesniqui, which in the tongue of my people is translated uslaelmike.¹ The chief of the llamas spake thus to the vesniqui: “I know that ye are skilled in building the mounds on which ye sit, lying in wait for your dinner. However, now it is we the llamas who are being dined upon. I beseech you, therefore, that ye come to our aid, and build for us hills, that we might hide among them and thus evade the jaws of the terimlae. Heretofore ye have built only small hills for your own purposes, but now I ask that ye build for us bigger, and we shall be indebted to you forever.”
‘Fortunately the vesniqui agreed to help the llamas, and through their cooperative labour they constructed the great range of mountains which my people call Re Kutvête. Zêstika explained to us that the vesniqui of that age were much larger than they are now, and this seemed to us a very reasonable explanation. To many this would seem like an unlikely story, but to us children it was accepted as absolute truth.
‘As the story drew to a close, we listened as Zêstika told of the final fates of the llamas and the terimlae. The llamas took refuge in the mountains built for them by the vesniqui, and of course, when men arrived in Ĝimlu, it was the terimlae that declined in number, as brave men such as Terimla Kon hunted them.
‘When Zêstika finished his story, a cry rose up from the children, as we begged that another tale be told us. This we did, though we knew our behest would not be granted. Zêstika arose, and bade us return to our respective homes. “I trust the tale beliked you, but ye must wait a month if ye desire to hear another tale.”
‘As the other children left to go home, I was last, and even when all had gone out, I lingered.
Zêstika looked askance at me. “Why tarriest thou, lad? I have said already that I shall not now tell another tale.”
“I am sorry sir,” I said, “I wished only with all despatch to ask some questions, if haply thou wilt.”
“What sayest thou, lad? Thou speakest as Tiáshivesen.”²
“I wish to know more about the zintushe, and the terimlae in particular. I have heard that these never lived, yet I believe they did—or wish to believe.”
“I see that thou seekest avouchment that the zintushe were real, dost thou not? Then hearken unto me, and I shall tell thee some of what I know.”
‘He motioned to me that I might be seated once again, and spake thus:
“I myself have not seen the terimlae, nor any of the zintushe for that matter. However, I shall tell thee that which I believe: the story which has been passed down to me from my fathers.
“Although I myself have never beheld the greatness of the êsna, nor seen the great claws of the terimla, my grandfather, Marnta-inta, whose father is not remembered, told me of the zintushe when I was your age, or perhaps younger.”
‘As I gazed upon the old man Zêstika, I could hardly imagine him ever being my age, much less having a grandfather! I knew then that he was about to tell me something from ages past, so long ago that I could not even fathom the years. He continued.
“When I was young, I asked the same question which thou now askest me: Do the zintushe still live today? What has now become of them? My grandfather told me that many long years had passed since the beasts were last seen in the land, and many years have passed since he told me this. However, he told me of a land across the sea, far away, from whence the zintushe came. He called it simply Re lu ĝiv re zintushe (the land of the zintushe). He also told me how that men such as Terimla Kon long ago would shout as their battle cry, ‘Ĝevishlêjak vonê eterĝu!, Return ye unto your home!’”’

Continue reading: Part III

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¹ These creatures (éanent in the tongue of Zéfelen) are ant-eating insects that build small hills in the dirt. They are common on both sides of the Specific Ocean.

² I did not understand this expression at first, but later Thareli, Kutava’s granddaughter, explained its meaning to me. The expression is one purely of Zéfelen, not Ĝimlu, and shows Kutava’s assimilation into that culture. It comes from an old tale of Zéfelen, concerning a messenger sent to warn a king of imminent danger. The messenger was unspecific in his speech and because of his lack of communication, he was not understood until the last minute, and the king barely escaped. The messenger Tiáshivesen was then punished by death. This tale is now told to children in Zéfelen, to encourage them to speak clearly and specifically.