Deep Space
November 11th, 2199 CE
“So if you wanna know where we’re going. In life I mean. If you wanna know where you’re going, you need to know where you came from.” The old woman- the Matron’s eyes were wide as she spoke.
Tobu rubbed his eyes. He had just gotten up and lumbered into the mess hall and she had just said all of this completely unprompted. “O…kay?”
“Yasteria. Where the plains met the sea. Forty-five hundred years ago.”
“Uh…?” Tobu wondered if he was still dreaming, because this was surreal. The Matron continued, unfazed by his confusion.
“The first elves,” said The Matron. “The first elven civilization. Alva. The speakers of the Urgabom script.”
“The… the what?”
“https://tep.wiki/wiki/Alva#Prehistory_and_Ancient_History The first written elven language. They found it on old tablets in Alva, from long, long before the time of the Khans. Forty-five hundred years ago it was. We don’t know much about it, but we know that forty-five hundred years ago, the elves cast us out. Our ancestors. They cast us away from the elven homeland, and we had to leave across the sea.” The woman kept talking as if any of this was a normal thing to say.
“You… you’re talking about… the elven migration to Gondwana?”
“Yes,” said the Matron solemnly. “Yes. Our ancestors were cast away and they left on the sea. There isn’t anything out on the open ocean. It’s just you, your family, the water, and the moon. And it was like that for generations, until they reached the land. The new land. But they weren’t done yet, no. Where they landed, there were already people. And they didn’t want us. So our ancestors had to walk a long, long walk.” The Matron, as crazy as she was, was certainly a captivating storyteller. Tobu found himself actually listening. Even the pilot had come into the mess hall to listen to her.
“They walked alongside the spine of the world through a long and terrible desert. They had to walk at night, because in the day it was too hot. So they had each other… they didn’t even have the ocean. They just had the moon. And that’s the way it was, for generations. Until they reached the jungle, and the sea again. A smaller sea, and then an island, a vast island. Empty. It was theirs.”
“Avnatra. The island of Acronis,” said Tobu.
“Yeeees,” the woman said, more solemnly still. “Avnatra. https://tep.wiki/wiki/Acronis#Physical_geography And the little sister, they would later find, and the brothers and the cousins, many, many islands. Our ancestors became fruitful, like the fruit trees of the jungle, and multiplied. And they spread across all the islands, across all the continent, save the kingdoms of the jaguars and the snakes. Our ancestors had everything. They had everything, so they forgot what it was to have nothing. They forgot the ocean. They forgot the moon. They became sloth, and pampered, and spoiled. All of them, except for a few.”
“So the elves reached Gondwana,” said Tobu. “And you’re claiming these-”
“Shhhh!” The woman’s eyes furrowed violently as she raised a hand and sharply shushed him. Tobu stopped speaking. After holding her angry gaze for a moment, the Matron continued. “Among our ancestors were storytellers. Some of them were. They kept hold of the stories of old, the stories of Alva. The language. The writing. By the time they had reached Avnatra, only a scarce, scarce few of our ancestors remembered the old ways. Only a few sacred scribes remembered the language, and the symbols. Only a few sacred storytellers remembered the ocean and the moon. Only these few remembered that before they had lived in the land of plenty… they had been exiles. These few people were the Tavari. That’s what tavari means. Exile.”
Tobu didn’t dare speak out anymore. He thought that he might be seeing where the Matron was going with this.
“The ones that knew they were tavari, that they were exiles, they gathered together, all in the same place, so they could protect their knowledge by being together. The place they chose wasn’t far from where we stood when we got on this ship. They built a massive temple complex where they honored the ocean and the moon. But the other elves eventually came to their lands, as they lavishly expanded to take up whatever space they wanted. And their ways even began to infect the tavari. They became sloth and pampered and they forgot the temples. And when they were gone, there were no more storytellers who knew the old ways. There were no more scribes who remembered the old script. But the tavari and the other elves had mixed together, and so they still spoke the tongue, even though they lost the text for it. Now, they were all Tavari, but none of them remembered.”
So… where is this story going? is what Tobu wanted to ask, but he knew she was about to tell him. Or he hoped.
“They divided among petty chiefdoms and vied for power amongst each other, because being spoiled leads to greed, and envy. But they all called themselves Tavari, even if they had forgotten what the word meant. And, eventually, they more or less came back together again. And then they were one Tavarís, there on their island of Avnatra. The other elves, they were all foreign now, they had divided so long ago. It was only here, on our island, where we spoke the language that had come from Alva. Or, the daughter of the language that came from Alva.”
“Tavari-Acronian is a language isolate,” said Tobu out loud, nodding. That had been something he did learn in school. “It isn’t related to any other known language family. But you’re saying… it’s descended from the lost language of the Urgabom Script. And we’re descended from the people who spoke it.”
The Matron was nodding too. “But there is a funny thing about forgetting. Sometimes, what is forgotten as a fact is remembered as a story.”
Tobu was still nodding. He was certain where this story was going now. He felt himself smiling.
“So, a few people told the stories. And stories change over time. You forget they really mean anything. People told stories about long, terrible journeys. About long, dark nights. About where you can find hope. And some people told stories about the moon. About how it had always been there with us, in what would otherwise have been our darkest night. But the story changes along the way. They had told the story of the moon being with us since the very beginning so long that eventually, they told the story as if the moon had been one of us. A person, just like us. And then they told that story so long, that people began to disagree about it. Some of the people believed that they were all the children of this person. That the ancestors contained this sacred power. But some of the other people didn’t think the moon had been one of us, that it had been… something higher than us.”
“One group of the Tavari began to follow a tradition of ancestor worship. And the other a tradition of worshiping a moon goddess. Who eventually became-”
The Matron raised her hand to silence Tobu, but she was smiling now. “Yes. You know what I’m saying now. This used to be a secret truth. I was only told it the day I became the Matron. So you see now of whom and what I speak. Avnatra. It has been thousands of years since our distant ancestors began their exile, and there are only bits and pieces of the ancient culture left lingering. A vast majority of the Tavari people follow a long and ritualized tradition of ancestral worship. But in the distant north, across a dense jungle, out on the edges of civilization, there are a few people who have kept on to the old traditions of the moon. And at some point, we don’t really know, somewhere around 1470 CE, we begin to see the idea of the goddess Akrona.”
Upon mentioning the name of the goddess, the Matron placed the old gold necklace around her neck. It was the first time Tobu had ever seen her wear it. It looked too heavy for her old shoulders.
“Of course, by this time, the story’s gotten so twisted, they don’t even know she’s a moon goddess. They just know she’s a goddess who likes the moon. These people associate the moon and the ocean with life, because one of the tiny fragments they held onto from the old ways was how the ocean and the moon had sustained them - had kept them alive. You know the story. The women bathing in the sea.” The Matron motioned and-so-on with her hand and smirked.
“There was a war, you know that, and ironically, the Tavari are exiled again. Though they don’t even remember they’re called exiles at this point. But again they are cast across the sea, and they go on to found the new Tavarís, et cetera et cetera. So, like I said, this was once a secret truth. I was told the night I became the Matron, like so many Matrons before me. We’ve known this, that Akrona and our entire religion are just part of the exact same culture as the Tavari, for a long time. They switched to Staynish letters instead of the old Tavari alphabet in the Acronian language because they knew they were ultimately derived from the Urgabom Script. They encouraged the government to Common Heritage - The East Pacific - Tapatalk to the Tavari in the 1800s because they didn’t want Akronists to go snooping. They did end up digging up the old temple, Common Heritage - The East Pacific - Tapatalk It was like 2020 or something by then. So in 2090, when I became the Matron, we had already figured out the whole story.”
“So what’s… the big deal here? Why the secrecy? I mean, obviously, the Acronian religion and culture had to come from somewhere, right? Where else would it come from but the Tavari?”
“It’s not the culture they were upset about. It’s Akrona. The idea that Akrona is just some forgotten Tavari pagan moon goddess? No, the Church couldn’t take that. Akrona had to be exceptional. Akrona had to be unique. Anything else was heresy. And treason. And even before finding the temple they had known that through the old whispers, so the Matrons just got used to it being a secret. Because it always had been.” The Matron’s tone of voice had gotten less awe-inspiring and mystical. Now, she was just talking politics.
“So you were elected Matron in 2090, you said? I mean that’s pretty long after the collapse,” said Tobu. The political revolution that had toppled the political and governmental power of the Church of Akrona, which by then was rampant with oppressiveness, had occurred in 2052. That was definitely something he had learned a lot about in school.
“Well sure, but there was still a church. It just wasn’t the government anymore. And it was certainly smaller, but we were still there. The line of Elders and Matrons was still unbroken. And, of course, that long after the fall of the church, there weren’t very many Akronists left for me to preach to. Hardly any, in fact. About ten or fifteen years after I was elected, we start founding new planets out in space. And then… the government starts getting weird.”
It felt so strange to hear her talk about these events so casually, as if it were a normal thing to be talking about how you were alive, and already a grown woman, a hundred years ago. Still, Tobu listened.
“I don’t know how much you learn about what life’s like out in space. Obviously you on Urth have your own issues to deal with. But somehow, even with the vast infinite reaches of space before us, out in space, things started getting very restrictive. Used to be, they left us Akronists alone. Most everybody just thought we were weird. And that was fine, really. But then they started to hate us. Called us slanderous, called us anarchists. And I suppose… I suppose we were anarchists, in a way.” The Matron sighed. “I know the Church did a lot of terrible things. But for more than five hundred years, the Church of Akrona made sure that no one went hungry and no one didn’t have a roof over their head. That every abandoned baby found a parent, and that no one died alone.” Sparkles were beginning to gather at the corner of the Matron’s eyes and she stopped for a moment. “I was rambling,” she said, and then cleared her throat.
“Anyway, the Church taught you that you weren’t just some serf beholden to some petty chief. That you were a person, equal to everyone else, that deserves dignity and a life you should be able to enjoy. Because it’s a gift. But by the time we had gotten to space, the Church had been gone so long… no one remembered what it was like to have these things. And it embarrassed the government. They didn’t like us telling people they deserved to have a home and not go hungry. Made ‘em look bad.”
Tobu again could see where the Matron was going with her story, but he nodded and let her continue.
“So they crack down on us. Eventually, they declare us an ‘unlawful’ organization, and even terrorists. It was in 21… oh, 2120 or thereabouts, I suppose. I would have been about eighty at that point. Old for a human but only a little old for an elf. And, of course, then the government goes and sets up a fake Church of Akrona. And they have their own little pretend Elders and pretend Matron, but the pretend Matron is always very nice and says nice things about the President and the Assembly, and the Church tells people that if they’re good to the government and do what it says, they’ll be with Akrona when they die.”
Normally when the Matron spoke the name Akrona she did so glowingly and reverently. This time, after she finished her sentence, she furrowed her brows and spat on the floor. The pilot of the ship, still listening, quickly lifted his foot to avoid it and then decided to go back to the cockpit.
“They don’t know Akrona and they don’t worship her. All of ‘em are demons. Demons and ghosts.” She gestured dismissively with her hand. “So, I’m the last true Matron. And I say I’m the last one because there isn’t really a Church anymore. It’s just a handful of us anymore. There aren’t any Elders either. We’re all Elders. You’re an Elder. The Akronist traditions your mother taught you, at this point, are ancient history. As ancient as the moon over the Concordian Sea our ancestors cared for so much. And now, you’re one of the last sacred storytellers.”
There were tears in Tobu’s eyes too. “So, that’s where we came from. Acronians, Tavari, we’re all the same, we always have been. We are both heirs to an ancient forgotten truth. So where does that bring us? How does that tell us where we’re going, and what we’re doing?”
The Matron smiled her toothless smile. “We’ve lost our way again, we Tavari,” she said. “We’ve forgotten the moon and the ocean, for now we have seen so many on so many different worlds they seem trite and forgettable. And so we suffer. The Tavari-Acronian Union is a terrible state. It has forgotten and abandoned part of its people and it crushes the other under an iron heel so it can wring the knowledge out of… that damned slamgate.”
“The… what slamgate? The one we’re about to go to?”
The Matron blinked and then waved her hand. “It… nevermind, that’s another story. What I’m saying is, the TAU tells you where you can live, where you can go to school, what you can study, where you can work… and if you can’t keep up on your own, you’re left to wither and die. They don’t care for their people. They’re far more oppressive, far more restrictive, than the Church was, even at its worst. And so we Akronists, we few who are left, we have to live up to our history. We have to do what we did before.”
“We have to… worship the Moon again?” Suddenly, Tobu was lost.
“No. On Avnatra, seven-hundred-some years ago, when the petty Tavari chiefs had made all their people serfs, that was when Akrona revealed herself to us. That was when the Church dared do something radical and tell people that everyone was equal, that they deserved to never be hungry, never be without shelter, never be without dignity. And we inspired the people to rise up and make a better world. Now, I know we lost our way. I know we did. But we can make amends for the wrong we did before by ending the wrong that plagues us now. We can offer the people something to believe in, something to come together for.”
“Is that… you mentioned the other day, something about… living forever?”
“Yes,” said the Matron. “We aren’t quite there yet. But we, along with a group of Axdelians, are studying, and we’re getting there. Obviously we have to be secretive about it. But with this knowledge - even the knowledge we do have. How to extend life, how to cure some of the worst diseases - we can inspire people to rise up against the TAU. We can re-center life in people’s lives. That’s our duty as Akronists. Akrona is the matron of all life everywhere. She is life. We must serve life. Our people have forgotten the moon. Now, we have to be the moon.
“You’re getting poetic again,” said Tobu. He supposed it was appropriate. She had been elected leader of the clergy, after all.
“I just mean that we have to be the bright light through which our people can know hope. Because that’s Akrona’s ancient truth, and so it is ours.”
“I’m… not sure I signed up to be some sort of anarchist activist. And I’m certainly not a scientist. I don’t know what I’m going to be able to do to help you.” Tobu felt small. He felt far too small for the mass and gravity of the task the Matron was laying before him.
“I already told you what you can do. You can believe. You can be a storyteller. You can spread the word. You, Tobu, can be our Acolyte. You can be a Priest.”
“A… a priest? But I’m a-”
The Matron raised her hand. “It is no longer only women who are spoken to by Akrona. There are too few of us for her to be picky. We all can be called, even you.”
“You want me to be a Priest? What, you want me to go around places trying to convert people?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said the Matron. “What you’re going to preach, what you’re going to go around places to tell people, is that they can make their way to us and live forever and never be sick again for the rest of their lives. Or, really, just that we’re building up people to make a break for it. Don’t worry, you won’t be the only one. But I know you’ll be the best one.”
“I… I’ve never done anything like this before,” said Tobu, feeling even smaller. “I don’t even know anything about living in space, or really what the government does to people out here.”
“You know what the government does. You know the hardship of not having a place to call your own, of having to scrabble around to piece together enough to eat. You know the hard elements, you know how to survive. You know suffering, pain… you’re small and thin, you can fit into hidden places, talk to people secretly. And your face isn’t in any recognition databases. The authorities don’t know who you are, and they don’t care.”
“I’m… an exile,” Tobu said, a smile slowly forming on his face. “They’re the ones that left the planet, and yet, still, we’re the ones that were exiled.”
“The wastelanders.” The Matron was smiling too.
“Well, it’s like you said… we’re all wastelanders, aren’t we?” Tobu grabbed the Matron in a tight embrace. She felt like she hadn’t been hugged in a long, long time. “I think I can do it. I think we can do this.”
The Matron softly placed her hands on Tobu’s back. “I know we will. I believe.”