The Green Sun

This Week’s Prompt:94. Change comes over the sun—shews objects in strange form, perhaps restoring landscape of the past.

The Prior Research:THE SUN

“I think it’s finally stopped.” I heard Joesph say. We looked up from the poker game and canned beans. The fire in the fire place was still going, but the corresponding pitter patter of rain had paused.

“Check to see the visibiliy levels, John. Mary, see if you can see the flood waters.” Joesph said, looking out the window to the sky. We sighed.

“Right when I’m winning.” I muttered, going up to the attic. Our house was pretty high up, compared to everyone else. It was a pain when we had to walk up the stairs, but well. It was handy lately. From the roof, I could see the water that went out in all directions. The street was normally chock full of cars smashed together into damns, bits of wood, and the occasional gas fire rolling by. On good days, it receded low enough for us to get a boat out, and grab some supplies that hadn’t been lost.

Today, however, was a better day. The clouds overhead—the clouds that hadn’t moved for the last six months—were breaking. And below, I could see the tops of all the reefs.

“Its going down!” I said, running down to Joseph.

“Fog banks mostly rolled back too.” John called up. “We can definetly go for a run…and…”

“And I saw a bit of the sun!” I said, pulling on a heavier jacket. “God, I never thought I’d be happy for a sunny day.”

“Hm…high visibillity, calm but lowering waters…” Joseph said thinking. “We are running low.”

It didn’t take much persuading, really. We practically bounced to our crude row boat, heading out onto the streets. The reefs took some navigating—the car mirrors or broken glass from windows and occasional empty beer bottle meant we needed to navigate some. But the bigger issue we found was the water.

The water lowering was great in general—it meant this stupid storm was over, and the damage could be reckoned with. Schools could maybe start opening. We could check in with friends we’d only spoken with over improvised wire phones. Power could come back. And we could have some proper cooking for once, instead of burning dried drift wood for a fire. And plumbing. God I missed plumbing.

But the water lowering also meant some areas we used to row over now were grounded. It wasn’t a fast problem, but pushing our little ship up and over took some work. And it’s…amazing how different a place looks in the sunlight.

Green River.png

“It’s almost pristine, isn’t it?” I said, looking at red plastic Movie Theatre sign. The black letters beneath had been scrapped off, and a lot of the glass was smashed. But in the sunlight, pushing away the ever present mist and fog, I could almost read it.

“I mean…it looks nicer. Still a lot of seaweed on it.” Joseph said, pointing at the green growths that had spread over a lot of it. “Or algae or soemthing.”

The other thing I’d never noticed before? How much stuff was in the street. I mean, garbage yeah. But the sunlight shone through and for the first time I saw shapes clearly. I don’t even know the names of half the things I saw, swimming and crawling in the dirt.

“Think that’s a sea snake—be careful, those things are venomous.”

“Why didn’t we try fishing?” I muttered as we passed a large fish with red-gold scales, swimming and nibbling on a road sign.

“Because we don’t want to know what they’ve eaten. Same reason we boil water before drinking it.” Joesph said. John yelped as we drew near an intersection, and pointed down the street.

“What is—oh God, what is that?” Joseph said. Looking over, I stared at what was Main Street. The cloud cover had completely dispersed.

It was like the buildings had emerged from some cacoon. The ruined concrete and broken brick work was replaced by soaring carved marble and steel. The sky scrapers were carved with vast statues, arms reaching across to form bridges. They seemed to twist upward, spiraling instead of running straight up. The windows looked carved from coral, little portals inside. I could see other ships down the waters—the flood hadn’t sunken that much here, but the mist had given way to a thin green shine.

“This…this wasn’t here before.” I said, staring out on the soaring structure. “Should…should we check it out?”

“I mean, we have to right? Meet the new neighbors, all that?” John said, looking at the giant buildings with some trepidation.

GreenRiver.png

We rode the water down—and the sun was so bright. I guess my eyes hadn’t adjusted. The streets were full here, with high sidewalks we drew close to. There were some moasaics along the walls, and the people…they looked different. They looked taller, lankier. Most were wearing the sorts of clothes I had only seen in fashion shows. Long capes, dresses with high collars that wrapped around the mouth. Glittering gold and blue and green, reflecting back the green sunlight.

We could hear people talking, but I couldn’t understand a word they said—it sounded sing-songy. Birds with brilliant feathers flew over head, like some sort of peacock crow. It was as I looked around that I saw my hands—my raggedy hands slowly taking on a dimmly green sheen, the ship swelling into one of those big Venice canal boats.

“Joseph!” I said. I think I said. I didn’t know my own voice. “Joseph I think we should go back.”

Joesph turned away from the sun—his face looked avian, with round eyes and a sharp nose, and gold dust spreading under his fading eyes. Even his teeth where changing, turning sharp as he frowned.

“What are you talking about?” He said, his voice a bit lower pitch. His voice was shifting midspeech.

Green City.png

“Valenth, what’s taken you this day?” I heard John say. My head hurt—a migraine building in my head . I got those when the weather changed. I had wondered when the storm would—no the sun was what had changed, not the storm. The storm had just ended, the sun was wrong.

“We. We should head back. Something’s wrong with…” I looked up at the green sun shinging through the mists and hazes. Brass ships soared overhead—and a cloud drifted by. It was small, a wisp of the storms that faded from my mind. Clouds were rare in Balon—more common in the windswept north, but even then they were usally thin and misty things. But there it was, casting a slow shadow across the river. I looked and saw the green glass of the river turn to mud and wreckage. How strange the effect shadow can have on the senses.

And as it swept over us, our large ship was a rowboat. Our finery and changes vanished. And for a moment we were back to ourselves.

We rowed fast to keep up with the shadows, towards our old home. The water was still receding—and the clouds breaking. We had to abandon the boat and run along the edges of the buildings. The sun light broke in patches. Sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind, always turning what it touched into a strange bubbling brass mess.

Our home was high up—the waters never reached the top. They were gone from the entrance now, as we stumbled and panted through the doors. Homeward bound—up the stairs. Being high up was always bad when the power was out. The green light streaming in shifted the ground behind me—all gold piping and swirling shapes. The stairs flickered into ramps and back again—landings appeared and vanished. I slipped on steps that were gone the next moment and back the next as the clouds bought us a little more time. A little more time.

We didn’t make it to the top. A window cast over the stairs—and a door formed there, bright red and without any seams. I got there after Joseph, who was just slumped against a wall next to the window. We slumped together there, watching the wall as John came in. A bundle of freezing people, hiding in the shadow. Watching with dread as the dawn began—as the light inched its way closer along the wall and windows opened up above us.

Waiting.



This story took a bit to develop, and I think it’s not entirely finished still. I thought the image of sunlight breaking through a storm was more powerful then a gradual rise—as well as adding drama to avoid or approach the light. The idea of some…new age came from Aztec stories, but doesn’t entirely jive with revealing past scenes. I think making that more explicit—or beginning in the fantastic setting and having the clouds cause flashes to the apocalyptic flood visions might have worked better. I think the horror of slowly losing your self to a cosmic change, one as all encompassing as the Sun, was the way to go. I also…apparently find the color green strange and frighting I think. I’ll have to check earlier stories, but it seems to be a theme. Aw well, a note for the rewrites next year! In the mean time!

Next week! Old Colonial houses overgrown once more!

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THE SUN

This Week’s Prompt: 94. Change comes over the sun—shews objects in strange form, perhaps restoring landscape of the past.

The Resulting Story:The Green Sun

Oh, this is a timely story. I’ve just returned from visiting family in the Valley of the Sun. Growing up in Arizona, I think, made the notion of the Sun as a deity rather easy to grasp—a vast, often hateful daystar that sapped life and will from everything it saw. If I wanted, I could ramble for hours on the unconscious cosmology I had from growing up in Mesa Arizona, but that is for another time. Today, I want to talk about the Sun. The strange stories of the Sun as well as the more familiar ones.

One of the more familiar stories of the sun is that it rests where it sets, and a hero sets out to find or visit it. A few Dine stories deal with the children of the Sun. The first is a son born of an unmarried woman, for the Sun had grown jealous of a chief he had never seen. This son was brought up among his own people, and at fifteen was told by a white fly that his father was the son. Shortly after he was taken to his father on a rainbow, and was taught every game that existed. The Sun conspired to win every turquoise from the chief and people that he could using his own child. And the son in turns becomes such an amazing gambler, he not only wins the turquoise but also wins the people themselves, the spirits of rain and corn, and the chief! The greatest prize he wins, however, is a turquoise the size of man with feathers sticking out of it. When the Sun descends to collect the turquoise, his son refuses—instead offers to gamble for it.

The Sun then went out and had another boy—this one grew to adult hood in fifteen years. He was then brought up and shaped by his sister to into a duplicate of the first child, the Great Gambler. He is sent out to offer gifts to various beings—the bat a buffalo hide, the snake a pair of red stones, a shell to the brown rat, some ground stones to a little breeze. These all help him, either by sabotaging the Gambler or confounding his spies, until at last the people are freed. The Sun claims the turquoise, and takes the Gambler skyward.

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Another Dine story tells of the Sun seeking a bride—particularly the daughter of First Man and First Woman, White Bead Girl. He arrives first while she is alone, on a white horse, as a man dressed all in white. He then visits her for four days at night, unseen, and she in turn gives birth to twins. These twins prove hard to keep at home, going out and finding spies of the monsters that roam the world. They also learn, by a strange fly, that their father is the Sun.

They then journey East—and come to a land of nothing but sand. There they are warned by an old man to use some of his vomit when the Sun offers tobacco—because the Sun is dangerous and kills with many weapons. They then reach the Sun’s turquoise, and meet his mother. She hides them when the Sun returns, with his jealous wife, on a turquoise horse. The sun tests them—first with a pipe, which they smoke four times. Then with a sweat lodge, again heated four times. He offers them gifts after accepting them as his sons, and they reject each in turn. At last he offers to give them anything, and they ask for his lighting bolt arrows. They then succeed in answering his questions of the mountains, and descend down to fight the monsters that plauge the world. They do their own work from there, not relevant to ours.

AZ Sunset.png

The Sun grants another child to a mother in Greece. She asks to have the child for twelve years, and after that the sun can have them back—so the Sun gives her a pretty girl named Maroula. When the Sun returns twelve years later, he tells the little girl when her mother will give what she promised. Her mother tells Maroula to claim she forgot—and after that fails, she doesn’t let Maroula out of her house. Eventually she grows bold, and sends Maroula out for water. The Sun finds her and takes her away to his palace,and the great garden outside it.

Maroula, however, misses her mother and cries. And her tears during the day cause the garden to wilt. The Sun asks every night why she cries, and she claims two animals were fighting and she was scratched while separating them. At last, when she reveals the source of her grief, the Sun promises to send her home. He first calls lions to attend her—but they will eat her flesh and drink her blood if they grow hungry. As do the foxes. But the deer will eat only grass.

And so they go to take her home adorned with gold coins—and when they grow hungry, they place her in a willow tree. A nearby witch, a drakena, has sent her own daughters nearby to draw water. One sees Maroula’s face and thinks it’s her own. This repeats with each daughter—until the drakena herself comes and tells Maroula to descend and let her eat the young girl. Maroula distracts her by telling her to bake bread—and then escapes on the back of dear, sending mice to distract the witch as she flees.

The Sun as a dangerous force to humanity can be seen further in a Cherokee story. Enraged that people can’t look at her, she sends waves of heat to kill humanity from her daughter’s house in the sky. Humanity consults the little people for advice on what to do—how to escape this misery, they concluded they must kill the sun. So two serpents were sent to wait at the daughter of the sun’s house, fangs ready to bite the Sun’s ankle. The snakes, however, are blinded by the sun and flee—and the deaths continue, with everyone knowing at least one person who perished to the threat. So the Little People changed one man into the great Uketna (who we discussed here) and another into the Rattlesnake. The rattle snake got a head of the great horned Uketna and bit the daughter of the sun in his eagerness. He then returned, as did the enraged Uketna who was convinced he had lost his glory.

When the Sun saw that her daughter was dead, she went into mourning. The heat death stopped, but the sun never rose again—and this eternal darkness was untenable. So the Little People sent men with special bread and a box to the land of ghosts in the west to find the lost daughter. In the land of ghosts, they would find her dancing in a circle. The men where to strike her with sticks, causing her to fall down. Then they were to put her in a box and bring her back—never opening the box even a little. The men did so, and when returning west the daughter returned to life. From her box, she called out first for food, then for water, then air. This third one worried the men, who thought she might be dying. She escapes as a redbird—and this failure means none can be brought back from the living. Her mother the Sun nearly flooded the world with tears of grief—but was stopped by the new song of the drummer.

Amaterasu From the Cave.png

The Sun’s retreat is similar in many ways to Amaterasu’s retreat. Long ago, Amaterasu’s father, Izangi, sent her brother the storm god Susanoo away for his arrogance. He returned, and offered his sister a game of god shaping—each took an item from the other and created deities from it. Amaterasu created five goddesses from Susanoo’s sword, while he made three gods from her necklace. A dispute arose over who had won, Amtaresu claiming the gods her creation as they came from her necklace. This escalated until Susanoo rampaged across the world in his rage, and hurled a flayed pony into the weaving room of Amaterasu, killing one of her handmaidens. Enraged and grieving, Amaterasu retreated into a cave.

The result was darkness and terror over the land—a situation that the gods sought to resolve. First they brought out roosters to signal the dawn and lure her out. Then they brought mirrors and jewels from a nearby tree, hoping to catch some of her light. At last, the goddess of dawn danced atop a great drum naked, to the laughter and delight of the gods. This noise brought Amaterasu’s attention, and lured her from the cave. The gods quickly sealed off the cave, and she has remained in the heavens ever since.

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Of course the Sun’s daily retreat through the sky is most famously remembered in the story of Ra’s voyage through the kingdom of night. This journey, which is in fact the funeral of Ra, crosses many regions, some strange, some dangerous, many serpentine–here for instance, Ra faces Apep. The sun is of course reborn at the end, rising in the dawn as the scarab headed god Khpera. Below is a video summary.

 

Only once was this voyage interrupted or changed—when the goddess Isis took some of Ra’s saliva and created a serpent from it. She placed it in the sun’s path, where it lept out and bit Ra’s ankle. As the poison bore some of Ra’s nature, it actually afflicted him. All the gods of medicine came to help Ra, but none could cure him—until Isis came, and asked for his hidden name to undo the power of the snake. Isis then puts this power to use to cure pain and potentially raise the dead!

On the other end of the Sun’s Daughter tale, the Sun as a dangerous and horrifying enemy is apparent in both Greece and Mesopatmaia. The god Apollo, while now associated with the sun and music, began his history in the Illiad as a god of plauge and healing. A comparable god was Nergal, who was the lord of the noontime sun and the summer, dry season sun. Nergal in time became a god of war and the dead, his role as a bringer of misery aiding his conquest of the underworld. The healing aspects of the Sun persisted in Shamash, who we briefly touched on in the discussion of exorcists.

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And while we’ve talked of the death or endangerment of the Sun, there is one instance to mention from China. Here, there were once ten suns who each took turns rising—until all ten decided to rise at the same time. The people asked for relief, and so the great archer Yi was sent down. He tried to shoot arrows near the suns, to scare them away. They defied him still, and he grew angry. Drawing back his great bow he fired at one of the great orbs of fire—and the spirit of the sun fell to earth as a three legged raven. He did so eight more times—and the fireballs they carried fell to earth to form a great island, where the endless sea and rivers evaporate upon contact.

Another instance of control of the Sun comes to us from the Maori. Maui, tired of rushing to finish his chores before the sunset, persuades his brothers that it must be taught a lesson. After much warning that it will burn him, blind him, or give him sunstroke, Maui moves ahead with the plan. The party goes and finds the hole from which the Sun rises. They lay a trap over the hole, a great noose of rope. When the sun rises through it, unawares, they pull the Sun down. When he struggled, Maui struck the sun with his magic jaw bone. Maui commanded the Sun, so captured, to move more slowly across the heavens.

Maui and the Sun.png

The light of the Sun is and always has been then a mixed blessing—it is sometimes flighty, always needed, but often jealous and painful. Here we have the use of sunlight as a sort of revelation—a connection that links all the way back to our first story of Demophon. Here we have the Sun restoring and rebuilding a landscape, perhaps revealing its hidden face. What if, and I consider this regarding our story of Amaterasu, the sun we know is the one still in the cave. Alternatively, what if the sun suffers the fate of the Aztec Suns, and is replaced by a new god on the throne? The light of the sun itself changes, and the world becomes in a way inhospitable or more hostile then it was before. Our story seems to move more cosmic by its nature, but grounding it in the experiences of one person might help with that—I’m reminded of the Twitter story/account “the Sun vanished”, which likewise has as a start a strange and horrific cosmic change. What stories about the Sun do you know?

Bibliography:

Megas, Geogrios O. Folktales of Greece.  University of Chicago Press, 1970.

O’Bryan Aileen. The Dine: Origin Myths of the Navaho Indians, Smithsonian Institution, 1955

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Maat and Apep

This Week’s Prompt: 45. Race of immortal Pharaohs dwelling beneath pyramids in vast subterranean halls down black staircases.

The Resulting Story:The Immortal[Imperial] Rites

We have an exquisitely preserved corpse today, my friends. For Egypt kept her kings intact, either with desert sands or by mankinds hands. And her pharaohs and pyramids are known the world over. We’ve discussed some of Egypt’s associations before, in more exotic contexts. Here we’ll examine some more or less concrete narratives.

The Pharaohs had a divinity ascribed to them, often but not always inherited from a divine ancestor(typically Ra and Horus, although lineages vary). The supernatural duties of the pharaoh and the kings before them predominantly focused on maintaining order (Maat) in the world. Examples of this include the Nile’s regular floods, which if poor were proofs of the failing power of the pharaoh. The pharaoh alternatively was key in Maat among humankind as well. The pharaoh by maintaining good and just behaviors among humanity promoted the maintenance of the eternal order of the cosmos.

This was a sort of microcosmic achievement, the actions of the kingdom extending out into the universe. This was also the purpose of state sponsored rituals and temples, to keep an order over all the cosmos. The rising sun and the flowing river needed to be maintained, after all, or all life would perish from the earth.

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Notably, then, there are agents of Chaos to be opposed. The most prominent of these is Apep, a great serpent. Apep dwells in the underworld, and daily assails Ra to devour him. He is defeated by Bast and Set, depending on the time period, or even Ra himself. Apep bears a resemblance to Leviathan, who we talked about here, in his role as serpent devouring the sun. Compared to other world destroying serpents, such as Jormungandr or Vritra, Apep is rather small, a measly 16 meters (or, roughly,48 feet). Sometimes however, he is said to be the vast horizon, or just beyond it. His roar will shake the underworld, calling to mind mythological the Kur dragon. Apep posses a number of powers, including the favorite of the serpent: a magical gaze. His wars with Set are the thunderstorms. His battles below with Ra’s entourage are earthquakes. In the end, often, Ra claims him in the form of a cat. His actions betray a greater, almost immortal chaos that is waiting to be unleashed. Apep is thus the eternal enemy of the pharaoh and Maat, more than any other. Appropriately, as an immortal entity of chaos, some suppose Apep to be the first god-king, overthrown by Ra. Others say he was born of Ra’s umblical chord after Ra’s birth.

Interestingly, his name derives by some accounts from the word ‘to slither’. Apep is thus a crawling creature of chaos….and the relevance of this expands somewhat when we talk about the odd detail this corpse has. A set of black stairs. Where is this familiar image from? Mr. Lovecraft would later ascribe such stairs to the entrance of the Dreamlands. The priests at the bottom of the stairs have distinctly Egyptian sounding names: Nasht and Kaman-Tha. Furthermore, the ruler of the Dreamlands is that dread lord Nyarlahotep, who’s name is meant to evoke Egypt.

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Nyarlahotep has emerged in our examinations before, but let us take a moment to note a few parallels. Nyarlahotep frequently has the form of the Black Pharaoh, a form used to create cults and according to some rule Egypt for an unspecified time. Nyarlahotep’s most eminent title is the ‘Crawling Chaos’, something akin to the description of Apep as a slithering force chaos. Bast, the Egyptian god who in many cases defeats Apep, persists as an Elder God in the Dreamlands, opposing the more chaotic elements of the Cthulhu Mythos.

We thus have the interesting opportunity of engaging with the Mythos in a more concerete way. It has been sometime before we dealt in the mythos themselves, instead of their shadows. More intreastingly, Nyarlahotep’s character is the sort that can be directly included and confronted in the story proper. Not only because such confrontations are frequent in the mythos (Quest for Unknown Kadath, The Witches House, the Nyarlahotep poem), but also because Apep was so confronted. Priests of the Egyptian faith published guides to the overthrowing of Apep, dismembering his body.

We thus have established perhaps a society of immortal pharaohs (and truly old pharaohs as well. Apep is first referenced it seems in 4000 BC, placing our Pharaohs as older than any hero of the Illiad or Oddessy, and older then the civilizations that made them), dedicated to the maintaining or binding of an agent of Chaos from the world. I would say the waking world, rather than the world of Dreams, as that way will allow some menace to the agents of darkness. Our pharaohs are perched then at the peripice, on the boundary line between reality and the land of dreams.

Now, to spin the eternal battle into a single narration requires an outsider. I’d posit an outside observer, rather than a change in the battle. Partially because a change in the battle requires an overlapping amount of work (explaining the significance of the battle, the battle itself, and presumbably an outside observer finding it) while adding more than can be expected in our word count (the after effects of the battle, finding the site of the battle, and an ending that hinges on undoing the chaos or merely witnessing a victory). An outsider then may descend into the land of Egypt, perhaps persuing some local legend of the steps of immortality, perhaps even pursing the great hall of immortals that is beyond the Silver Key.

The story would then be a report of a terrible mystery or seires of mysteries (what is the purpose of this place, what do these pharaohs protect from, whence comes their power, etc). Our reporters endeavors to find it would make it resemble one of our earliest (and my favorite) stories, who’s character I think we should revive as well.

To continue this, the primary difficulty of the story will perhaps be getting to the place. We could include signs of the chaos nearly breaking through. A peasants revolt, a plague, a famine (the three very often are found together), any of these could provide difficulties to cross into the path of interpid investigator. We know such works existed in the past (such as Ibn Battuta, who wrote a number of journals from his travels abroad), and the difficulties those explorers faced in their works could certainly serve as reference for our current character.

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