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Daeon’s Q&As

posted by Steve at 02:58 AM, June 03, 2002 | Filed under : Visions, Questions & Answers | Comments and Followups

Daeon’s Visions:

7. A man stands in the dappled sunlight filtering through the forest’s canopy, his features long and lean. A serene look colours his face almost as much as the antlers protruding from his brow.

60. A lady huddles on the bank of a pool under a weeping willow, one arm wrapped around her drawn-up knees. She looks like she has been crying. Her other hand is held out tentatively, halfway between her and a small fire hovering just above the water.

89. A dark-haired man, dishevelled and bleeding and with his hands bound, kneels in a forest clearing beneath a sliver of moon. Before him, a black-clad woman emerges from the shadows bearing a dagger and a goblet.

20. The putrescent remains of something unnatural, perhaps a demon, lie in a moonlit glade, an arrow protruding upward. The creature’s limbs still clutch at the arrow and it appears to have died in some pain. In the foreground on a broken tree stump lies a syrinx, carelessly discarded.

124. Tankards of ale held aloft, ruddy faces and riotously colourful clothing glowing in the bright light of lanterns and hearth-fire, a rowdy band of mercenaries fills a tavern with shouts and song. One grabs at the bottom of a serving-girl, who seems to enjoy the attention.

7. A man stands in the dappled sunlight filtering through the forest’s canopy, his features long and lean. A serene look colours his face almost as much as the antlers protruding from his brow.

“Me! Kern!”

Britta: “Daeon? Who… or what… is Kern?”

“I am Kern! Or rather a part of me is. Daeon is my child-name; really only Mater and Pater call me that now. My other names reflect various aspects of my divinity. Kern is my winter self; he who hunts outlaws, outcasts and lone travellers over the snowy wastes, kills them and eats their flesh raw. He is the harshest and cruellest one, nature in winter. I have other aspects: Adonis, Priapus, Pan, and they are much nicer people.”

60. A lady huddles on the bank of a pool under a weeping willow, one arm wrapped around her drawn-up knees. She looks like she has been crying. Her other hand is held out tentatively, halfway between her and a small fire hovering just above the water.

Ignia, the Nymph of the Mereflames. I loved her once but hate her memory.

Lilly: Why do you hate her memory?

“I wooed her fairly but when she woke by my side she regretted her ‘weakness’ and blamed me for seducing her against her will. Unable to bear her own guilt, she killed herself, but not before cursing me to lose that which she saw as the root of her evil, my manhood. Her curse allowed the demons into Arcadia and in fighting them I was indeed mutilated. But she failed to recognise or chose to ignore the link between the Land and the Gods. Because I was unable to partake of the cycle of rituals, the rains failed, the seasons became harsh and disease and famine swept the land for several years; thousands died unnecessarily and Arcadia is still not recovered. What she did to me was merely a petty attempt to assuage her own guilt and is beneath contempt (I’m now healed); what she did to Arcadia is unforgivable.”

Ossian: “This shadow of yours seems tied together with your wellbeing. Do you think that the rest of us also have similar ties to the shadows?

“I’m not entirely sure what you mean by the term ‘shadow’; I’ve heard Pater use it too, but Arcadia is a place of light rather than darkness. I’ve been around the Golden Circle and seen how in some places they misguidedly set up shrines to the worship of the Amber Royal family, in whole or in part. But I’ve never heard of any response to worship or ritual at these shrines so I don’t see how they can be gods in any meaningful sense. However, I’m sure you could be a god, somewhere, as long as you were willing to work at it. You only get out what you put in, you know - life’s like that.”

89. A dark-haired man, dishevelled and bleeding and with his hands bound, kneels in a forest clearing beneath a sliver of moon. Before him, a black-clad woman emerges from the shadows bearing a dagger and a goblet.

Mother - like me a creature of the wild but darker, more predatory - at the Winter Solstice Sacrifice.

Jovian: “How do you really feel about human sacrifice - do you enjoy it, or discourage it, or simply accept it as how it’s always been?”

“It’s not just how it’s always been, it’s how it has to be. This sacrifice is what renews the land, driving the cycle of the seasons. Having said that, a human sacrifice is uncommon, four years out of five, some herd animal is all that’s needed. When the sacrifice is human, he’s usually a volunteer. In this case, for example, he’d murdered his wife in a rage and had been cast out of his village. That meant either a miserable death from exposure out in the wild, or else I’d get him as Kern. This way his death meant something and his soul was saved.”

Lucas: “Do you take your own press seriously?”

“Godhood is more than a name: it is a condition of being. One does not achieve it merely by being immortal, neither is it the conditioning of an aspect for that is merely playing games with the self image. Is it the raising up of an attribute? Of course not: it is a simple matter for any of you to wield godlike powers far in excess of anything I could oppose.

Being a God is the quality of being able to be yourself to such an extent that your passions correspond with the forces of the Universe, so that those who look upon you know this without hearing your name spoken. Some ancient poet said that the world is full of echoes and correspondences. Another wrote a long poem of an inferno, wherein each man suffered a torture which coincided in nature with those forces that ruled his life.

Being a God is being able to recognise within one’s self these things that are important, and then to strike the single note that brings them into alignment with everything else that exists. Then, beyond morals or logic or aesthetics, one is wind or fire, the sea, the mountains, rain, the Sun or the stars, the flight of an arrow, the end of a day, the clasp of love.

One rules through one’s ruling passions. Those that look upon the gods then say, without even knowing their names, ‘He is Fire, She is Dance, She is Destruction, He…is Love’. So, to reply to your question, whether I believe or not is irrelevant; what is important is the faith of those who behold me.”

Jerod: “Do you honestly think you are a god?”

“The question isn’t whether I think I’m a god, it’s whether others do. Thousands, perhaps millions, of people pray, sacrifice and make obeisance in the justified hope of invoking or placating me. But you do not live in Arcadia so you do not need to worship, so I am not your god…yet. But there are those among you who now are doubters that in the coming times shall perhaps come to wonder, to worship and to believe.” Daeon smiles. “Especially the women.”

Marius: “Are you satisfied with your state of existence, living in roles defined by seasons and sacrifice? Stated differently cousin, now that you have achieved godhood, what else is there for you if godhood is not enough?”

“The question is meaningless: I am that I am! You are a Prince of Amber, so I understand; what else is there for you if your princehood is not enough?”

Brennan asks: “Daeon, what would you do if I showed the people of your Shadow how to get by without reliance on you, or any other god or ritual, ever again?”

“You could do that easily, by leading them to another land that isn’t tied to Gods that care for it but I doubt they’d thank you. If they do not like the way they live, they are free to leave of their own accord; the paths are clear enough. If you did lead all the people away, others would come to take their place and things would go on much as before I would think.”

Brennan: “I don’t think that’s what I’m talking about. That’s offering to remove some people, replace them with others, and make sure that never the two shall meet, disagree, or compete; out of sight, out of mind. I’m talking about a gift of knowledge to all the communities of your shadow, showing them a way, for example, to maintain their fields and fertility without beseeching aid, and so forth. All while still maintaining those communities, in their homes. In short, to borrow Jovian’s turn of phrase, what if I made you no longer the Needful Thing in your home?”

Daeon laughs. “You clearly don’t understand how it works. You could show the people what you like; the fact is, without the rituals, things would go wrong. Without Imbolc, for example, spring does not come. If you were to ‘show’ the people how to maintain their crops without ‘beseeching aid’, you would have to show them how to grow crops in the snow. The rituals drive the year; that’s why among other epithets I’m ‘Lord of Time’ and ‘Overseer of the Year’. I don’t grant ‘aid’ to the people; I drive Arcadia’s seasons in a very real and meaningful sense. Now, my question to you is, what would you do if it turned out Amber works the same way?”

Brennan: “If Amber worked in what way? If there were a mystic link to Amber and the sustained absence of her nobility caused actual harm to it? Well, Amber has done without me for millennia: I expect she can and will continue without me for millennia more.”

“My, my!” Daeon chuckles, “You do have an ability to miss the point; luckily, theology is a hobby of mine. Remember, by your own philosophy, all shadow is a reflection of Amber; therefore Arcadia theoretically reflects Amber. It’s very close to Arden, so the reflection is close. Now consider that Amber’s king has, apparently, just sacrificed himself to renew the Pattern and thereby regenerate Amber, with, you’ll note, very tangible ramifications across all shadow. Also consider that Amber has one of the most potent fertility goddesses I’ve ever met as the focus of it’s state religion and all the usual calendrical festivals you might expect - are you sure the King’s part in ritual doesn’t maintain his Kingdom? Look what happened when the King was absent?”

20. The putrescent remains of something unnatural, perhaps a demon, lie in a moonlit glade, an arrow protruding upward. The creature’s limbs still clutch at the arrow and it appears to have died in some pain. In the foreground on a broken tree stump lies a syrinx, carelessly discarded.

Vengeance is sweet, and is now complete.

Paige shrugs: “I’ll take the easy one. What was vengeance exacted for, and why?”

“I have, or rather had, a sister. Actually, I have several but the one I have in mind is…was my full sister, Dione. While I am the spirit of generation inherent in wild nature, Dione was the spirit of innocent delight in nature. She was happy and innocent, utterly without malice or deceit. Unable to perform my traditional role while maimed, I took upon myself the destructive aspect of my godhood (always inherent in a fertility deity) and set about slaying the demons. I thought I had them all but the last and worst killed and partially ate Dione while our mother was asleep (she’s largely nocturnal) and while I was…otherwise engaged. Mother gave me her bow and bid me avenge Dione’s death while she carried the meagre remains off for burial. I killed it with a poisoned arrow and watched it die in agony. I played one last dirge to Dione’s memory before departing to carry my vengeance to the creature’s homeland, which is now done. Sweet as vengeance is, I confess it cannot remove the bitter taste that went before.”

Brennan: “What is a sufficient condition for this type of vengeance?”

“I’d never done vengeance before so I can’t tell you. These creatures had materially harmed the Land and done the unthinkable: killing my sister. Dione was an innocent; an inability to defend herself was her very nature. That required vengeance. If Ignia had lived, I would also have taken vengeance on her for her callous attack on the land - that is no doubt why she killed herself.”

Martin: “Now that you’ve taken on your destructive, vengeful aspect in full, how has it changed you? Will you ever be able to separate that face from the face that gives life?”

“There is no separation, there never has been; they are two sides of the same coin. Life must end in death and there can be no new life without death: the old must go to make way for the new.

This is the fundamental aspect of nature that too many who see only my sister’s side of things can’t understand. They see the ‘cute’ seal pup or the little kitten and fail to see that the cute baby will grow into a 20 ton viciously territorial bull elephant seal or a 10ft feral maneating predator - both of which in their own time will die.

As I said before, Kern never entirely goes away and he has always been an integral aspect of my personality.”

124. Tankards of ale held aloft, ruddy faces and riotously colourful clothing glowing in the bright light of lanterns and hearth-fire, a rowdy band of mercenaries fills a tavern with shouts and song. One grabs at the bottom of a serving-girl, who seems to enjoy the attention.

But it’s not all work, work, work as a fertility deity, I know most of the taverns in Amber and the Golden Circle quite well and I like to make the tavern wench’s job more rewarding.

Aisling: So, what are the limitations and duties of being a fertility deity?

“I have duties: certain rituals and festivals must be presided over at each of which I’m expected to appear in a particular aspect. At Midsummer, for example, I must appear as Priapus, and ravage the many maidens and matrons that gather on Maiden’s Hill in the hope of conceiving. Many men are also involved in this but I am expected to spend three days in constant intercourse. The children born of this are rarely mine but the women are usually blessed with gravidity soon after. At Beltane, youthful Adonis appears to herald the return of Spring. Perhaps the most important is Imbolc, the Feast of the Bride; in which a nubile woman volunteers to marry Kern each Candlemas, February 2nd. If I’m pleased with her (I usually am), I carry her into the woods and we love until dawn. She softens Kern into Pan and brings Spring and the rains. When unpleased, I tear her to pieces in rage and eat her flesh. Then the seasons will be harsh, Spring will come late and the rains little or not at all. There are other festivals and rites throughout the year but those two are the most important. However, I can be invoked at other times and then I appear in whatever aspect I am summoned in. Of course, there’d better be a bloody good reason for it or there’ll be trouble; Kern never goes away completely and believe me, even Adonis can be pretty nasty at need. There are things I must or must not do; I can’t carry metals, for example. Finally, I roam the woods and pastures, protecting them and waylaying anyone daft enough to enter without the proper precautions or just any wench that takes my fancy. It’s hard work but someone’s got to do it!”

Solange: Do your cousins on your father’s side (that is, us!) fit anywhere into this pantheon you’re part of?”

“Pater is occasionally revered for being…well, my father and the consort of Artemis. We know of you, of course, this close to Arden. But it’s hard for the people to really believe in you when none of you respond to ritual.”

Vere looks slightly nervous: “Lord… um, that is, Cousin, you are, or appear to be in some way, a great God of this Shadow Arcadia. Does your absence from it not cause it distress?”

“Yes, it will be suffering, much as it did when I was wounded, all too recently. And this time it will be worse, too, for with Dione’s death, the laughter will have gone from the Land. Before, at least people could laugh to relieve the misery. Now will be a dark time indeed. I did not intend to be gone so long and I fear what I will find on my return but Mater ordered vengeance and it’s wise to obey her. Whatever may have happened in my absence, I’m confident Mater will ensure the Land survives. My greatest long-term concern is how to replace Dione.”

Reid: “Aside from the wenches, what other aspects of a tavern appeal to you?”

“Hah! I love taverns! The eating, the drinking (though the wine’s piss-poor compared to what I’m used to), singing, dancing, story-telling…even the occasional fight. It’s not just the women; it’s the sheer amount of life that goes on in and around a tavern - it’s the heart of a community.”

Folly: “When you go to the taverns, do the other patrons recognise you as a fertility deity, or do you interact with them as if you’re just another mortal?”

“Well, I don’t walk in and book a room as a God, usually I use one of my many cognomens. Sometimes a follower ruins the surprise but they usually get the idea when I play my instrument (I’m talking music you dirty-minded devil), dance, sing and lead the revels. I can drain a barrel of their dishwater beer and still bed a bevvy of women. Sometimes the local swains and husbands will resent this and tavern brawls are frequent but that’s all part of the fun. I move on once I’ve exhausted the drink and the women or we’ve trashed the pub too badly but strangely few landlords object to a return visit for the business they do always pays handsomely for the damage with plenty to spare. When they hear my music and feel the drunkeness, lust, sadness fill their souls, then they know a God is in their midst.”

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