Mythopoeia Ankáia Part 2: Of Áthru Balágnor 2/2

Yet the treachery of Balágnor was not bounded to this alone. For long ere he came to Úngothon he saw the maiden Silféinyn as she kindled her silver lamp Henrásilin in the cold dawn; and as the grey light of morning fell upon her face, he saw that she was indeed beautiful. So he took her, without the leave of Telúmono’s blessing, and she became his wife, and for a little while they were happy together. And many where the children she bore him, the Athrúfinen, as they were named.
But as Balágnor bent all his though upon his work and his lust for power grew as deceit and malice gnawed at the foundations of his heart, he came to forget Silféinyn and her silver lamp, for in Úngothon all light was forgot, until at last she was left to made the long passage of the heavens alone, the first to herald the dawn and first to mourn at day’s dying hues, even as she mourned at her own loneliness.
Yet his children he never forgot, for they soon followed him to Úngothon at his summons, and would gladly follow his leading along whichever path he took.
And thus it was that he sent them out into Nerethnimlo with lies on their tongues and guile in their hearts to win over, if they could, those who tended the Lamps, they who could see the very gate of Vinyoldë from the rail of their bright ships. And wherever they went, there always was some ear willing to listen.
Many of the nameless Ailósti fell into dark thought and abandoned their lamps so as to follow Balágnor. But even these were trapped, for they lost their fair, ethereal forms and were bound by their folly in hideous shapes of many kinds. Some became the mighty Draigángan, the dreaded demons of later tales; fire-breathing monsters with iron teeth and impenetrable hides. And so their lamps were put out and their ships strayed as lost ghosts through a darker Nerethnimlo.
But more terrible still was the fall of Tintwiel and of Ilún the Cold; for they knew Telúmono and saw through the lies of Balágnor even to the malice that lay in his heart. They were not deceived. They thought, maybe, to first ally themselves with him for a while and so throw down Telúmono with their untied strength, for in the vanity of their pride this was their thought and folly, and afterward overthrow the Black Hand and have the mastery to themselves. But how to divide up the world between them, they gave little thought, and if it could have come to pass, they would have fallen to warring against each other in the end. And so it was by their prideful desires that they fell into evil ways.
And so Áthru Balágnor the Overlord gathered to him followers of every kind, and the shades beneath Oralláigon grew dimmer and deeper. His black hands moved all things across the face of Ankáia to his will, and those who would not bow at his name he harried and waged war against until they were all destroyed or hid.
One such who withstood his wrath was from among his own people, Óchë of the Athrúfinen. Óchë the Faithful. Óchë Evertrue, alone of all his kin to gainsay their father and reproach him to his face; he would have thwarted much of his father’s malice if he could, but his brothers took him and gave him over to the Mimúthrioth and the fastness of their nets. There he was held in torment by the endless gnawing and worrying and cruelty of the Shadow Weavers.
But such treachery as that wrought by Balágnor could not remain forever hid from the light, and even as Tintwiel and Ilún fell swiftly into darkness, her brother Tastúplë and red Dindíol came to Vinyoldë and sought the audience of Víor to ask how it was that evil was allowed to prevail in Ankáia. Maybe it was that they too were tainted by the black lies, for they feared to go straight to Telúmono with news so ill, and so did not then learn the answer.
As it was, all that they learned was that at their coming Víor was roused in wrath beyond reckoning and that the hour was at last come to end the absolute rule of the Black Hand and cast him down from his dark throne.
As a thousand tempests Víor hurled himself from Vinyóldë, calling to his banner all who would still heed such a summons. And they broke upon Úngothon with might and fury, riving through the grey webs and driving the Mimúthrioth before them in a wild terror of their light; and thus was Óchë released from long torment. But Balágnor was not there.
For at the very moment that Víor flew to rage and ruin in Úngothon, Balágnor led forth his dark army with the sounding of many brazen throated horns against Vranos Sunskindler, even as he set west beyond the Ódan Echirímunt which girdled Ankáia. And Balágnor wielded Góthangon the Hellstooth, his great iron tipped spear that he made in the fires of Talquóro.
With the strong cords woven by the cunning of the Mimúthrioth, they caught Korcérason the Sunship and made it fast to the mountainside, and all that fell host clomb wildly over the rail, with shrieks and clamour and tumult. They broke the glass of Eilion, the lamp that Vranos kept, and would have put out the Great Flame, but ere they could quench its fire or be eaten up in its heat, there came two figures between them: Vranos himself and Rástmu, alone to stand at his lord’s side. And they defied their foes to come closer, and for a moment that host faltered in their purpose, even Balágnor with all his might. But taking up a shard of glass, Ilún sprang forward and drove it deep into Rástmu’s breast, so that Rástmu fell back into the flame, and was seen no more in Arí.
Then did Víor perceive his brother, and beheld the deed of Ilún, even from afar. And with all his following he raged toward Korcérason, even as Vrános was beaten down, with Góthangon pressed to his throat. But ere Góthangon could bite, it was smitten from the hand that wielded it, for Víor was come upon them, and battle was joined.
That war, the Great War of Brothers, devoured all the Worlds. From the bows of Korcérason it spilled over throughout the heavens, so it seemed all the sky was ablaze with fire. And Lirósto received a dreadful wound from Góthangon that he bore as a red scar in his side ever after.
From thence it raged across the face of Ankáia, and the Rilthilan were caught up in the turmoil. Many fought on the side of Víor, but still more fought in Balágnor’s name.
Elmó was slain as he led a host of his people against Ílo of the Cerastili. Those two met upon the wide fields of Ankáia and fought hand to hand; and Ílo wept as he felled Elmó beneath his stroke.
As for Nibbû, he took his two lesser osilan and clasped them against his breast and cast himself from a precipice, for he had lost the Osíltelo in the convulsions of the earth; for Ankáia was broken asunder, torn in two so that all the seas ran together into one place and the land was divided: Vuintalon in the west, and Eratalon in the East.
And as the seas rushed together, Oralláigon was surrounded, and stood far out in the middle of a vast ocean; but Dindiol drew his blade Draiglin and coming anigh the tree, he smote the great column of its bole so that an upwelling shiver ran all through it great length. From its deep root to its furthermost twig, it quaked as if it were some living thing raked with the pain of the blows. And though his blade was notched, Dindiol struck again and again; and Draiglin bit ever deeper, until with a crash that resounded far across Ankáia, Oralláigon fell into the depths, and it was swallowed up by wave and water and white spume rolled over its fruits.
And at the last Balágnor was taken and bound, for he had fled before Víor when he had first come with all his host behind him and his eyes bright with wrath and a light unfailing. He hid himself in a dark lair long prepared against such a chance; and he laughed, for there he thought he was secure, beyond the ken of his brother, but Óchë knew his father’s ways and had long sought to know all concealed doors and unseen paths of his father’s making. And so he delivered Balágnor over to Víor, and Víor named him blessed, and gave to him the place and ward of Rástmu who had passed away, by Vrános’ side.
Thus it was that Áthru Balágnor Overlord, the Accursed, was overthrown at the height of his power and was thrust from Ankáia into Lebtámos, beyond Vinyóldë, and into the prison of adamant prepared for him which is called Cúrleigon. There he sat in mouldering malice until the time when he would be loosed once more to his destruction.
But evil was already abroad in Ankáia, and the hour was not yet come for its mending. Though Víor and his folk hunted out or drove into hiding many of Balágnor’s servants, and the world was never again so wholly covered in evil for many ages, Ilún escaped their devices, and Tintwiel repented not her fall. And so evil endured, sleeping a little while still, yet ever present.
And as the Lady Mára Most Fair and Most Loved, looked down upon Ankáia from the Paroth and saw how tainted that fairest world had become, and how the greatest outrage of death was begun, she wept. In her grief she cast herself from the window of her home and strayed in the skies ever after, her tears shed in bitterness for the blighting of Ankáia oft wetting those very lands below. And she became wildered and was lost.

Mythopoeia Ankáia Part 2: Of Áthru Balágnor 1/2

When Telúmono gave over Ankáia to the dominion of the Rilthilan, as has been already told, Áthru was ill pleased, for he loved the new world dearly –dearer perhaps than he ought. And the hope of governing Ankáia himself as his own house had grown unbidden in his heart.
He thought at first to share the government with his brother and sister, and they would reign over the Rilthilan how it seemed best to them; but when he learned that this was never a part of Telumono’s purpose, Áthru forsook Vinyoldë and strayed homeless for a time ere he came to Úngothon, the craggy under-regions of Ankáia. He found that place lonesome and empty, unlit even by the Arlóserri and Ailósti, for as they passed beneath the world all save Vranos extinguished their lights and tended them as to be ready to rise once more in the East. But the flames of Vranos beat upon the rocks and deep pits and subterranean mountains of Úngothon without rest.
In those starless lands lived only the sightless, formless shadow-wraiths; and they feared and hated the light Vranos shed, for it stung their swollen eyes. Whence they first came is difficult to learn; many among the wise hold that they were fays who fled the light shed by the sky-barks when they first rose in the beginning days.
And as Áthru came across Úngothon, the Mimúthrioth (for that was their name), found him and held him, and would have done him ill. But Áthru was a master of words, and by fair speech he won them over and persuaded them to help him in the task of turning Úngothon into a paradise after the fashion of Ankáia, only cooler and dimmer; a land of cool shadows in which to hide from the scorching day; for that, he said, was his purpose in coming to Úngothon. And he fashioned them bodies to clothe themselves with in return for their service. But the bodies he gave them were terrible, like those of great spiders; and like spiders they wove thick grey meshes of web that shielded them from the rays of Éilion, the Great Lamp of Vranos. And they came to be bound by oath and a strange love to their new master.
In the midst of Úngothon Áthru set a mighty forge – Talquóro he named it, for upon its fires he smelted the metals from which he sought to fashion his realm. But the fires of Talquóro grew hot and burned fierce, and of a sudden they leapt forth and burned Áthru’s hands as he worked there, so that they pained him always and could not be healed and hindered him in everything. Thus was his own curse that he spoke in Vinyoldë worked out upon himself. And he was called ever after Balágnor, which is Black Handed.
Neither was anything he fashioned fair, but ever his designs would turn awry and result in forms of dismay – dark and twisted towers, blasted trees and poison lakes, dead cities of shriveled gardens and sightless windows; and over all the Mimúthrioth would hang their grey webs. And never could Áthru imitate the gift of life that was Telúmono’s alone to give, though he sought the secret unceasingly.
And so his shame and jealousy grew and he came to hate Ankáia with malice as strong as his former love, for he was neither permitted to rule it nor could he imitate it. And his cunning turned from how he could create life to how he could ensnare that which already was, and so come to rule it at last.
He sought out the purest of metals and gathered them together and brought them to Talquóro where he forged them long and hotly, thought his hands pained him sorely and his wounds opened up and wept blood upon his work. Yet his malice drove him on, and by his long toil he made the fairest and at the same time most fell of all his works: Oralláigon, the Iron Bough, a tree of vast measure. And he took Oralláigon and planted it in Ankáia that the eyes of all men, Ngóstili, Cerástili and fays might be turned towards it. For it was indeed a mighty edifice, its boughs spread far across the skies, league upon league, and they were hung with leaves of beaten silver in imitation of all the leaves of the trees that grew in Ankáia. They were set together so thickly that they veiled the land from the light of the lamps, so that it was cast into a shadow that even Vranos could pierce only as a half-remembered glimmer. And among the leaves were set many flowers, the wrought likenesses of the yellow drooping eilystin and the fiery blooms of quorordhon, and many others beside.
But its fruit was of the deadliest black; swollen berries of smooth stone, perfect and shapely, unlike anything else to come from the mind of Áthru Balágnor. Some were as large as a man’s clenched hand, and yet others as small as the worn pebbles of a riverbed. But all were most lovely, at times seeming to glow with a distant, inner luster.
And he treated with the Quendíli and the Ngóstili, appearing to them in a lesser guise than he was wont, more like an ailóstë of the heavens than his true form. And so they knew not who he was, nor whence he came, knowing only that he gave good gifts, as they thought them, and that he called himself Telúmanan, the Giver of Gifts; and that they saw no evil portend in this was indeed a wondrous thing.
But it may be that they knew nothing of evil, and that they were lulled by the goodness of his gifts and the willingness with which he gave them. And shortly he came to speak to them of different ways and other wisdom, as he said, a hidden knowledge that Telúmono had kept from them, for, he said, Telúmono considered them of small importance, mere playthings for his children’s amusement. If they would but heed him, and inquire into this better wisdom, he would show them a knowledge with which they might rival even the wisdom of the Vinyarni themselves.
And as a mark of his friendship Balágnor plucked seven fruits from Oralláigon, the osilan, and offered them to those that harkened to his words. And they took them and treasured them.
To Nibbû he gave three, one larger, two smaller, and the larger was called by Nimró Zrâmkâbbel, which is Desire in the speech of his people, but the Quendílli named it Osíltelo and Ngostheimë, which is Gift-fruit and Dwarvesbane. And Nibbû would suffer none save his own sons to touch or handle it, for he thought it the greatest of all the fruits given, as indeed it was. Therefore he counted himself deep in Telúmanan’s counsels.
To Elmó and his sons Áthru gave only two lesser fruits, and the remaining two he would have given to Ílo, but Ílo refused to take them, saying he would not treat with one who denied Ankáia the proper light of day and, with fair words albeit, sought to usurp the place of Telúmono.
And with his choice he saved his people from the deadly doom that fell upon the Quendíli and Ngóstili, for when they accepted his gifts and lorecaft, they gave themselves over to the dominion of Balágnor Black Hand, and took with along with the fruits his final gift and curse: that of death.
For the new wisdom that Áthru taught them was that of strife and envy, of greed and ambition and of a thousand other griefs and ills. And when their hearts were fully poisoned with shadow, they could no longer live, and so they died – slowly and still yet over many years, but the disease of death was loosed, and one by one they were laid cold in earthen mounds.
And yet some said still that it was better, now they knew fully. And they held to the lore of Balágnor and called him Master, for he freed them from their ignorance.