Epistle II: I venture into the Void and ask about the Gibberish and Sounds
for such I hight you in the Forbidden Gardens.
Thank you for your letter and flower. Please forgive the brevity of my reply. It is far easier to paint words that other personry have written down than to compose new words and write them down. At least it is difficult for me. One is traveling outwards with the fleet unto the Outer Void. Thy Father will be leading some of the troops. Time is breaking apart around us. But please do not worry about me or anyone else. It is our honor for to fight for you.
Please embrace my Mother for me, and kiss Fhermáta and Siêthiyal and Karuláta for me, and please make sure that all of my dinosaurlings and kittens and ducklings and lambkins and other plantimal friends are wellfed and tended.
I have one idea. As we approach the Void, and time breaks away, and shadows reveal the myth and darkness of the many worlds, sometimes I can see glimpses of other times, and hear snatches ofa few words and elements of one toungue after the next. I think you should ask your divine Mother about what the rest of her family may know, for I think she may be one of the few beings able to remember such incidents and phrases. She may remember the bones of language. When we encountered the Dark one, Our Heart Raven, he sang unto us in a confusion of sounds and growls which made not sense even for me, and for the countless ages when he was alone and dreaming his own dream, he was, he claims, ignorant of even the idea of verbal structure. At the end of the Silver Age, when the Xhiyóqii, the second race of Færie were going extinct by order of your Father, the made Thùntrakhil used to venture into the Void and grew mad by pearing into the growing nonsense. Thùntrakhli tried to take notes on the jibbering he was hearing, perhaps he thought it to be salvation and symphony, but he was mistaken. You may be able to find some of his writings in the Abby, as the Empress of Tomorrow all books are open unto you. Khniikhèrkhmair the Prophet once mentioned having to learn how to dream when he became slave unto Raven, perhaps his having to learn what comes natural to the rest of us may be an anology to what you will do to teach me to talk. It is written that some of Raven’s brides knew words of language unknown to the rest of us. How did Eilyaîrfha speak? To that end, Karuláta, Raven’s last child, sometimes has some odd expressions of her own. She is a good choice to be your amanuensis. I was at thinking, though, that in some of the legends that I heard and in the stories you used to read aloud to me while I played the harp in accompaniment, that sometimes when a mage speaks words of Babel and sometimes in connection with a blessing, that they are called Gibberish, the magical words. How can that be so, because all children speak Gibberish, save for me and Ixhúja of course, and some creatures like the Traîkhiim delight in such forms of expression. Why even the Tánin Automata who are at long last mostly helping us in the war, sometimes even they speak in a strange way, perhaps under the influence of the Prophet or of the holy incense that they wrote. Among the dreams I have met such as Khniqalìnye, sometimes they also speak in riddles. Is Gibberish a part of Babel? Or is it just the play that we children do. May I show some of your historical and linguistic notes to Khniqalìnye and the other dreams? Also, I was wondering whether you could write a little about the sounds of Babel. I can get Khrùkhtii and Paloîta to read your letters aloud to me, but it may help if you can talk about the sounds, for although I can purr and growl and snarl and mew and imitate all of the sounds of the beasts of the fields and the creatures of the deep and all that fly and sing, still I have only been able to make the sounds of Babel when in your presence and with a great deal of help of thee.
My loved Éfhelìnye, my Qwasáta of moonbright eyen, I shall tell you a secret. For although the old Generals and Priests and Elders all can recite the various stories of the murky beginning sof Babel, of Raven’s inconstant and inconsistent claims to have invented of, of the divine dialect of Khniîxhwa, and of the words used in the Holy Writ of Khniikhèrkhmair, already a new story spreads as to the theory and origin and purpose of Babel, and I think this is the story that our generation and the ones to come will tell.
Once upon a time, so the ætiologia climes, long long ago, a very lonely child, a Princess of the Solar House of Pwéru fell in love with a lad not of the stock of her caste. And the maiden’s name was Éfhelìnye, which is interpted as, My Live and My Beloved, and the gossoon’s name was Puîyos, which meaneth, Perfumed and Enchanting Divine Love. And the Princess was so filled with love for him that she wanted to create something for him, a work of art so wonderous that it could express all the longing and beauty and love that she could not put in words. She once wrote a poem which reads in part:
Temfhinèxhyeu túxhrejor pú
/ khnón éjayùtya’ aqhus
Khnón khwelipeyùtya xhnoe
/ khnón khyeqayùtya púqi
Xhnoe khnón khmalonùtya xhnoe
/ khnón jangqiyùtya púqi.
Qir oâqe jó xhroe xul
/ túxhmi khnituyófhi púsa
/ pòtyim pfhu túxhrejor.
/ fhiltiyèthya túxhni’ eixìngesa’ aqhus
/ khyása tnaqnàsta’ eixhrejor.
Khmapanguyèkhmes ker kòrot.
/ Khlijhayùkhyoatt teirxhmi jin.
Which is interpretted:
In order to describe you
I have no words,
Ond no affixes ond
Ne phonemes I have.
For many years
Shall I labor for you,
Creating a language
Suitababel for you.
It indeed shall be as complex
Ond as beautiful as you, ond
It shall praise you,
Every wørd of hit.
All language shall be yours.
Babel shall I create for you.
The story which our generation shall tell our children and childrens’ children is that the Starflower Princess so loved Puîyos, the Knight’s Son, that she created this entire language as a love poem for him. And this is true, I know, that all the language of the Dreamtime, all the words sung by a quadrillion, quadrillion speaks in the billions upon billions of words is merely a reflexion of one person’s undying devotion unto another, expressed in a medium made ancient and ineffable and timeless and called language. Therefore, although the Wise may call it the First Language, Babel for us and our children shall be known as the Language of Love.
Éfhelìnye, please especially give my love to Karuláta for being so kind as to help you in copying your epistles. Know that as soon as the War is won that I shall return with our Fathers. I will reward Kàrula and have presents for all my Sisters, and the Priests tell me that on that day that you and I may be honored to undergo the ritual of sanumexhmnujoxíja, the betrothal ceremonies.
Yours for all time
Some notes smuggled in the next letter
Okay, so what exactly did my foster Brother mean when he writed that he would reward me for being the Princess’ private little secretary slave? He’s being a little vague here. Is he bringing me candies and pretty baubles and new dresses? Or is it just filial warm happy family love feelings. Thanks for helping, Akhlísa. You’re a good part of the Clan. I want my reward! And let me mention that it’s a lot harder to copy out Éfhelìnye’s writings because she uses a lot of big words I don’t know and sometimes I fall asleep in the ink and then have to redraw the whole thingamadoo. So, what type of warison am I getting? Puey, are you planning on changing your mind and taking me as your senior Concubine as the Elders intended? That would be a nice reward. I don’t think this whole idea of an husband taking a single consort is going to work. You will bring me something nice, right? I want flashy and shiny and bright.
Khlís!!! [followed by several jáng explanation marks]
Brother, do I get a reward also? Since I’m not actively ruining this project, I believe I deserve something. As if living with Éfhelìnye isn’t difficult enough, now I have to get used to her as the Empress. Ugh. Just bring me back some nice toys, okay?
Siêthiyal!!!!!! [followed by even more jáng explanation marks]
Will you two stop adding these sheets to the Princess’ letter? It’s hard enough to get the Ravens to flutter up through heaven and earth to reach our Puey, let alone do it on time. Don’t you have chores to do?
Fhermáta, and I don’t need any fancy jáng explanation marks
I WANT PIE FHÓLUS