Lurday, Octember 32, Fifth Revolution of the Lindwyrm
It is only with the greatest sacrifice that I escaped certain doom in the shipwreck of the mighty Intrepid. The weremaids—aesthetically pleasing creatures though ferocious they are—defended their territory with fiery ardor and without fear of our guards’ brutanium blades. Why they spared me, a simple scholar with little value on the slave market, eludes me. That may be the reason why they chose not to take me captive. They may also simply have mistaken the cowering creature for a decorative ship ornament; I hear their vision is, like that of the behemoth lizards, based on motion.
The Goddess must favor me for I woke up roasting in the comforting rays of Sol, the afternoon sun, curled up on the pleasantly warm sands of a beach unknown to me. My notebook and pencil, tightly clutched to me, are the only belongings that I seem to have salvaged. I was baffled to find myself waiting in vain for Lur, the evening sun—smaller triplet of her two sister astres—to arise. To my great surprise, it simply failed to do so on this corner of the world.
Such places have been geometrically postulated by the most advanced cartographers of their time but quickly discarded as impossible for these models approximate our world as a sphere—indeed a preposterously foolish notion and clearly the result of generous overconsumption of elven herbs. And yet, I am sitting here, writing these lines, witnessing the direct proof of such ludicrous claims while, with the advancement of time, parts of my mind begin to concern themselves with more mundane survival measures. With this evening light missing, I expect to find sleep easily despite the horrors I have lived through or yet the deafening grumbling of my empty belly.
*
Moonsday, Octember 33, Fifth Revolution of the Lindwyrm
I feel compelled to reiterate my most recent praise to Nef. Not only do I owe her my very life but she directed me, without fault, to parts of the boscage where ripe fruit are hanging low and aplenty and game is hunted easily, were I not repulsed by the thought of slaughtering a helpless creature—or yet too clumsy with the crafting and using of appropriate tools. I trust, however, that hunger, should it ever come to haunt me again, will prove a generous mother of invention, should it lead me to break with my unwillingness to harm an animal for my own survival.
I must note, nonetheless, that this place—an island, I assume—carries the cold, eerie certainty that I, too, am at the constant peril of being ravaged by a predator unknown to me for I can feel prying eyes follow my every move, waiting for my caution to falter. For the moment, I shall remain vigilant in every step and retreat between the sharp, slick rocks that render the strait where I camp hostile and difficult to reach.
Despite my presentiments, the sheer beauty of this place has, nonetheless, not escaped me. Nature flourishes in colors I have never seen in lush prosperity that offers shelter for both prey and predator alike.
*
Nysday, Octember 34, Fifth Revolution of the Lindwyrm
I now have confirmation that I am, in fact, on an island far from the most zealous explorers’ ventures, exotic trade routes—or yet the Centunyx wars fought in my homelands. Horrid creatures: horse-headed nyxes. Though very welcome, my absence from all this needless bloodshed may be, I doubt that I’ll ever meet another human soul again.
My explorations took me to the top of the nearby mountain. The climb, albeit steep, was safe and easy enough for an unpracticed bookworm as myself. Although nearly losing my stomach’s nutritious contents once arrived at the top, I felt grateful for having opted against walking around the island. Its circumference spans at least seven days’ worth of disciplined marching that I am hardly capable of.
Unfortunately, my humble drawing skills will hardly suffice to render a more useful map of this goddess-forsaken rock than the sketch I drew below.
*
Solsday, Octember 35, Fifth Revolution of the Lindwyrm
In the late hours of this morning, I made an unsettling discovery. A carefully carved piece of wood—likely a totem—has been laid at the end of the rocky strait I have chosen as my humble abode. Its demented eyes seem to be following me, and yet it just sits there as if guarding me from incoming dangers. Its pointy teeth were recovered from animal—or yet human?—sources and obviously sharpened with precise tools, giving the impression of bloodthirsty hostility, should this idol ever be vexed. Bones arranged to resemble abstracted arms are holding a spear made from, as far as I could tell, a human femur. I do not yet fear for my life, but this discovery gives disconcerting certainty that, although so far invisible to me, I am not the sole inhabitant of this isle. Further, it also fuels other misgivings; this land’s inhabitants might be no stranger to barbaric customs such as ritualistic slaughter.
In disregard of those findings, I can’t deny that I am, in fact, fascinated by the morbid beauty of this trinket of worship and would hope to learn more about its creators, symbolism and purpose.
Being too distracted pondering on the evident danger, however, I was unable to focus on the most immediate tasks at hand and found myself only capable of crafting a primitive, dysfunctional bow and three traps that would not hold the prey.
*
Brightday, Octember 36, Fifth Revolution of the Lindwyrm
The hunger I’m suffering seems to induce acute hallucinations, for it seemed to me that my nightly rest was interrupted by nearby drums and chanting. My eyes failed to find the source of the noise. And yet visions haunted my perception: hominids wearing giant wooden masks almost as tall as themselves, surrounding me, dancing around me and drawing ever-shrinking circles, and every attempt of mine at establishing contact was thwarted by the figures vanishing into thin air.
I woke up dehydrated, barely able to move. I am, furthermore, running a high fever, drawing yet more precious water from my body. The splitting headache and gut-wrenching nausea are giving me a bleak outlook for my remaining lifespan.
I am facing the fact that these lines may be the last I’ll ever write, here on this island, on this last day of this revolution that I had anticipated to spend studying the customary hospitality of the courtesans in the port of Dungallogh instead of stranded on a hostile rock. Should anyone ever come into possession of my diary and read this, heed my words and leave this place at once, for there is little else than the desolation, fear, and despair that awaits you here.
*
Nefsday, Apranuary 1, First Revolution of the Moon Crane (I believe)
After a day and night—possibly more—of vivid fever dreams, I found myself none short of flabbergasted to awake still part of the physical world on the first day of this new revolution. Amidst the mind-warping episodes, it seemed to me that a young woman was feeding me a bitter liquid that immediately soothed the urge to wretch. Words and sounds in a language unknown to me were whispered into my ear and although I could not decipher a single syllable, I felt evil spirits leave my body and the cold grip of death unclench from my soul.
To my greatest astonishment and delight, I was no longer hungry and found my two gourds filled with water. It poses a great mystery to me how I could have overlooked those. My memory of the past few days is, nonetheless, very blurry and although I can’t recall filling them up, I prefer not to rely on my recollections.
Still feeling rather feeble, I will spend this first day of the new year in the confines of my shelter and only return to my explorations tomorrow.
*
Lurday, Apranuary 2, First Revolution of the Moon Crane
On my way to refill my gourds with fresh water, I found several ruins reclaimed by nature. Testimonies of an ancient civilization’s splendor. Extensive reliefs likely narrating the paths of heroes, legends or spiritual rituals, adorned with intricate glyphs I have never before seen; and I doubt anyone before me ever has.
The language appears complex and bears no resemblance to any ancient symbols known to me. I could identify over two hundred drawings—far too many for a quick afternoon’s study. Some of those drawings may, however, serve as punctuation, dingbats or hold purely decorative purpose. They may predate even our civilization’s earliest attempts at capturing language and are chiseled into slabs far denser and harder than even my grandfather’s obsidian knife.
Sadly, I had to leave in haste, ere sundown robbed me of valuable daylight. I must admit that the topological conundrum that denies this place the light of Lur, the evening sun, still puzzles me beyond my limited mental capacity.
Upon my return, I found two crabs impaled on a stick close to my abode. With no hesitation, I devoured them, sending a prayer to the Goddess and to whomever had the kindness of watching over me.
*
Moonsday, Apranuary 3, First Revolution of the Moon Crane
Upon leaving camp to retrace yesterday’s steps to the archeological ruins, I was startled when I found the woman who’d nurtured me in my fever dreams awaiting me. I was both shocked and relieved upon realizing that this part of my delirium had not been a mere dream. My perception mostly restored, I was nothing short of awestruck over her ravishing beauty.
Although not yet sure of how reliable my senses were after my delirious ordeal, I attempted to greet her in several different tribal dialects I am savvy in but only earned myself an amused giggle—a bewitching one.
She spoke with a smile and inspected me with childlike curiosity. Although I was not able to understand her language, she succeeded in miming the story along with her elaborations. One word appeared to be of great importance. I quickly understood that it meant poison. Although the importance of that word eluded me at first, I came to understand that my choice in fruit and roots to nourish my grumbling belly had been unwise.
She further taught me the words of gratitude in her tongue but I believe that the siren-like laughter I evoked in her with my ridiculous attempts at mastering them repaid her generous deed manyfold.
She was equally interested in learning my tongue, which provoked more of her melodious giggle upon her tries at pronouncing the words. Alas, our rudimentary conversation was abruptly interrupted when other voices called her name. The blush on her olive complexion only emphasized the beauty of her face. The batting of her eyelashes made my heart melt and left me looking for several minutes in the direction she had left, along with two other indigenous islanders.
Itzá, I thank you for my life that you have saved.
Note to self: Next time, don’t forget to ask her about the figurine, you hormone-sultified dimwit.
*
Nysday, Apranuary 4, First Revolution of the Moon Crane
At the first ray of light, I was awoken by footsteps. A delegation of women, decorated in what I believe are warriors’ ornaments, led by Itzá, awoke me and escorted me to their village. She made sure that I was well-guarded during the entire march.
I could tell that all of those women were struggling to uphold their discipline and would have rather touched me and examined my, by comparison, porcelain-white skin to satisfy their curiosity. I learned, furthermore, that Itzá seemed to be something of a leader—a captain, maybe, for her garments seemed a lot more flamboyant, bordering on tastefully opulent.
I was escorted to a place whose stunning architectural beauty took my breath away. Contrary to my initial beliefs, I was not taken to a collection of tribal clay huts but welcomed in a city whose splendor surpassed even the radiant halls of Romena. I was speechless face to this testimony of the native’s advanced development that possibly dwarfed every civilization that I know of.
A thorough study of this nation would easily grant me a position among the greatest researchers in my Alma Mater—in case I shall serve these people as more than just fresh material for new totems, that is.
Still, I was left wondering how I could have overlooked an entire city from the vantage point of the mountain. Possibly, the exuberant greenery was arranged in ways clever enough to conceal any signs of intelligent design to curious eyes.
The city was populated by, as far as I could see, exclusively women and few kids—all of them females. Immediately, the suspicion that I should serve as a sperm donor overcame me, but all efforts of communicating on such an elaborate level were, as of that moment, fruitless, so I was momentarily reduced to regale myself on the sheer magnificence of this place.
I was first bathed and properly cleansed by two of the lower servants, both of them elderly women, but still breathtakingly beautiful in how they wore their age and status with dignity. Had I not benefited from my noble upbringing, I may have succumbed to the temptation. Interestingly, they seemed particularly curious about my perineum. They appeared to be especially fond of cleaning it and acted as if they were expecting to find something other than just skin. Unfortunately, as of that moment, our verbal communication was, due to its limits, mostly reduced to haphazard gesticulation, so there was no way of finding out what had piqued their bemusement.
Even when Itzá came looking for what took the servants so long, her gaze seemed to rest on that particular area of my body, further nurturing my suspicions of being, in fact, nurtured to give a healthy provider of genetic material. I was escorted to quarters of my own soon after.
Is it a genetic mutation that makes this entire population female? How do they procreate if no males are ever born? Do they rely solely on shipwrecked explorers? Is there another population on this island consisting solely of males? If so, why did the female and not the male tribe salvage me? Or are their males captive—or worse: have they been killed and worked into ghastly trinkets?
I shall remain vigilant while making the effort of learning their language lest I end up roasting over their village fire and my skin turned into a little girl’s doll’s fabric.
*
Solsday, Apranuary 5, First Revolution of the Moon Crane
I spend most of my time accompanying Itzá on her daily ventures, repeating phrase after phrase of her words. It may, for the moment, earn me more laughter and amusement than anything but this I must endure for the greater purpose of communicating. As much as I am, at all moments, concerned for my safety, now being fully nourished, my scientific fascination is the predominant impetus.
It appears that this civilization, the Kuatli, albeit having a rather tribal hierarchy, is far more advanced than my initial estimations. Every citizen is taught to read, write, arithmetic, astronomy, medicine, hunting and harvesting the rich forest. These people are especially proud of their medicine, which, given the hostility of the environment, is not entirely astonishing. In some way, I feel privileged for having been found by these people and not just left to rot as food for local fauna.
For that, I thank the Kuatli. May Nef bless their souls.
*
Brightday, Apranuary 6, First Revolution of the Moon Crane
Besides my quickly growing vocabulary, I learned, with great relief, that the figurine placed near my campsite is not an omen of my impending doom but rather a guardian spirit. Despite my initial assessment of its materials’ origins, Itzá explained to me that those statuettes come from a far more primitive past when cannibalism, lethal competitions and xenophobia were the Kuatli’s pride.
Those remains of darker times, said Itzá, are preserved and still used as mementos of customs left behind. They serve, she added, as a reminder of why progress toward a more open and progressive society is to be preferred over falling into ways of brutality and hate. My own people could learn from these virtues.
I further learned that the elderly couple who had washed me so carefully two days prior are Itzá’s parents. To my asking how this is possible, considering both of them are female and procreation needed a male as well, she was confused. I must add that I have not yet caught the appropriate vocabulary to express gender in this language.
Itzá, nevertheless, dismissed my asking as ‘foreign humor’ and was quite amused by my questions.
I have, in discussion with other women, learned that the ruins I discovered a few days ago are not ruins but, in fact, sacred ritual grounds—specifically for the annual ritual of fertility. To my queries as to why they allowed this place to be reclaimed by nature, they replied that there is no more powerful sign of fertility than nature throwing its roots and drawing its life essence from the potent soil. This made perfect sense to me.
And yet my inquiries on how they procreated without a partner of the opposite gender were, here as well, met with confusion and lack of understanding. It may simply be my currently very limited capabilities to communicate with them.
*
Nefsday, Apranuary 7, First Revolution of the Moon Crane
(Backdated entry written shortly after the rise of Nys, the morning Sun, on Apranuary 8)
Itzá took me to the sacred fertility ritual grounds to help me interpret the scriptures and reliefs. She pointed specifically at a carving of two dozen figures arranged in a circle. She allowed me to cut off the dense twines covering the details of the carefully crafted art.
First, I only recognized the grander scheme of the artwork: twenty-four people arranged in a circle, each of them facing sideways and bent at the hips. Only upon closer and careful inspection, I began recognizing more details. All those figures seemed connected to each other over a rod-like shape protruding from one person’s loin and reaching between the legs of the person in front of them—penises; twenty-four of them.
I was puzzled by this discovery. Obviously, those women knew of the existence of penises and they seemed capable of preservation of their population so why would they deny any knowledge of males? And why was there evidence of a circle of males copulating on their sacred grounds? Just artist’s fantasy?
Only when I was—with Itzá’s obvious coy delight—closely investigating the precise anatomic placing of the point of penile insertion, I realized that those phalli were, in fact, penetrating vaginal openings and not anuses. Shocked by this discovery, I cleaned my spectacles and rubbed my eyes only to find the identical images being projected to my retinas anew.
This circle of debauchery was depicting the reproduction of hermaphrodites.
When I turned around, mind full of unspoken questions, I found Itzá answering them all by standing there in her naked beauty, penis mightily erect, pointing at me, glistening with copiously flowing pre-ejaculate.
Finding myself unable to react appropriately to her overt display of sexual desire, I was glad to hear her brief explanation of how, in preparation of the upcoming fertility ritual, she needed to choose a partner. Being in the duty of taking care of me, the foreign visitor, she had, thus far, failed to find a suitable mate, and, in the course of escorting me, found me acceptable.
I could not deny that I was reciprocating her sentiments and, hence, gladly accepted her offer to indulge in the carnal preparations for the upcoming fertility ritual, albeit with initial reservations. These were, nevertheless, swiftly discarded when her lips met mine and my mind capitulated, without protest, to the promise of ecstatic bliss her kiss conveyed.
I was surprised by how her solid shaft pressed against my abdomen enchanted me to commit acts I had, thus far, discarded as deviant pastimes of men lead astray. And yet my innate scientific curiosity only aided her cause to educate me in the delectable pleasures of penile gratification.
With no further motivation needed, I fell to my knees and worshiped her totem-like phallus carved from fleshy granite with my hands, mouth and the phlegm my throat secreted as a response to her probing. She thanked my enthusiasm by returning the oral treatment with equal measure.
I eagerly learned about their sexual customs that included acts regarded as inconceivable in my culture, and yet they proved exciting and pleasurable beyond description.
My intellectual reluctance notwithstanding, my anus willingly accepted her attempts at penetration, given how much natural lubricant her penis was coated with, silencing the parts of my mind that opposed such union of the flesh.
We fornicated deep into the night, taking turns in covering each other in ejaculate until we fell asleep in each other’s arms, exhausted.
Indeed, this experience raises the question of why such practices should be forbidden if they proved so pleasurable? Musings aside, I have gladly accepted the honorable role as her elected seed receptacle in tomorrow’s fertility ritual and am overjoyed to find her taking the role of bearing my offspring, should our copulation come to fruition.
*
Lurday, Apranuary 8, First Revolution of the Moon Crane
I woke up well-rested and refreshed on the sacred grounds with Itzá sleeping curled up at my side, her flaccid member being no less impressive than it was standing at full attention. The first rays of the morning sun, Nys, were cast directly onto my eyes. I rubbed Itzá’s shoulder to awake her, which made her cuddle against my side closer, half-awakened.
I kissed her forehead and she shifted her weight so she was lying on me. Her lips still had the faint taste of our previous night’s lovemaking when she kissed me and smiled at me. We remained in this position, enjoying each other’s closeness, until our bodies required more solid nutrition than just mutual fondness, and then returned to the city, holding hands.
Naturally, once there, we had great difficulties parting and retreating to our respective quarters. Alas, there was much to do for both of us.
I am, for once, writing my diary entry at the beginning of the day rather than at its end, for it is the day of the fertility ritual and I have yet to prepare my mind and body for the fest of debauchery that awaits me.
