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.