Lands of Red and Gold

Hmm, relying on rivers for transport...

As a compensation for the lack of riding animal, they could develop sea boats instead and spread on the coasts, and eventually they will contact the Indonesians with their water buffalos

Interesting thing is, Indonesians were already visiting the Australians in the north, often to acquire sea cucumbers the Australians were hunting, maybe some civilization reaches the Top End resulting in more interesting interactions
 
Hmm, relying on rivers for transport...
Rivers and roads, once states get organised enough to build and maintain a required road network. A decent road network, with human and dog-powered transport, is adequate for maintaining a reasonable trade level, and for supporting internal suppression of results. (Mostly.)

The lack of draft animals also has various consequences for empire-building, though, since it makes projecting power difficult away from the key rivers. This means that in many areas, particularly during the time of a recently-formed period of a state, it's hard for a centralising authority to maintain order, since they find it harder to suppress potential rebels. Which in turn means that on many occasions, formative states will collapse back into chiefdoms and city states, or at least have their area of territorial control shrink, since they can't project power against rebels as easily.

Come to think of it, the effect of lack of draft animals on logistics - and the points below about sea transport - are probably worth developing further into their own "director's commentary" post. I'll work on that, though it will wait for a few more regular chapters before posting it.

As a compensation for the lack of riding animal, they could develop sea boats instead and spread on the coasts, and eventually they will contact the Indonesians with their water buffalos
Sea travel will develop eventually, but won't come quickly. The reasons for this are two-fold.

Firstly, due to an accident of geography, the mouth of the Murray is not navigable from the sea, and the neighbouring regions are short of decent ports. This means that the oldest states on the continent, despite having good riverine boat-building traditions, are extremely slow to learn how to build boats which can operate in the open sea.

Secondly, the seas around Australia are extremely rough. There's no equivalent of the (relatively) placid Mediterranean where people can gradually learn to operate ships; sailing around much of Australia is very difficult. The winds off southern Australia are the Roaring Forties, where winds blow strong and from the west. It's one thing to venture in the local waters for fishing - Aboriginal peoples were doing that in bark-skin canoes for millennia - but long-distance sailing is much more difficult. Where ports are rare (as above), and the winds are rough and almost always from the same direction... it's a brave person who sails very far. They might be able to get east very quickly... but they will find it much harder to come home.

This will be overcome in time, but it's going to be a slow process.

Interesting thing is, Indonesians were already visiting the Australians in the north, often to acquire sea cucumbers the Australians were hunting, maybe some civilization reaches the Top End resulting in more interesting interactions
The timeframes for when Indonesians (the Bugis, IIRC) started visiting northern Australia are disputed in the sources. Some say it started around 1720, some say 1650, a few say as early as 1500.

For the purposes of the timeline, I've had to pick a date, and used the assumption that the Bugis started no earlier than 1640. This means that any contact between Bugis and *Australians won't happen until after *Australians already know about the Maori (since the early 1300s) and Europeans (since 1619,) - both of those were foreshadowed in the prologue.

There are some meta-story reasons why I wanted to limit contact to around that period. Mostly because it meant that it was possible to open up contact during the Age of Exploration, and experimenting with how that might develop with a changed Australia. And also because of general desire to limit butterflies. (I will also expand on these reasons in more detail in the next director's commentary post).

Tiger quolls look adorable. They're like squirrel-ferrets.
Yes, I wish it were legal to keep tame ones as pets. It isn't, for several good reasons, such as wanting to discourage capture of wild quolls. But it's a shame nonetheless.
 
Lands of Red and Gold #8: Of Birds, Bats and Bugs
Lands of Red and Gold #8: Of Birds, Bats and Bugs

When Europeans arrived in Australia, they found a continent without any epidemic diseases to greet them. Eurasian diseases like smallpox, measles, tuberculosis, typhus, chickenpox and a cocktail of other killers devastated the indigenous peoples of Australia, but no epidemic diseases waited in the Great Southern Land for foreign visitors.

In allohistorical Australia, this is not the case.

--

Australia, as a continent, has long been isolated from the rest of the world. Some of the neighbouring islands to the north are part of the same continental landmass, and were connected to each other when sea levels lowered during the ice ages [1], but it has always been a separate landmass to the mainland of Asia. Ocean barriers have protected it, but that isolation has never been complete. Over the millennia, many plants and animals have crossed the seas from the north and established themselves on the Australian mainland; birds, bats, rats, monitor lizards, and humans, among many others. Still, with the separation of salt water, indigenous Australian civilization developed in almost complete isolation from the rest of the world.

Almost.

Direct human contact between Australia and its northern neighbours is rare; some sporadic visits have occurred in the north-west or across the waters of Torres Strait, but their main legacy has been the transportation of the dingo to Australia's shores. Yet some animals do make the crossing, particularly migratory birds. Several plant species are thought to have been established in Australia when carried across by migrating birds.

Sometimes, birds bring less welcome influences with them. Such as their diseases.

Early Australian agricultural peoples kept some birds of their own. The most important of these were the domesticated birds used for meat, ducks and emus. These birds often lived in close contact with humans, especially ducks. Some birds were also kept as pets, such as several varieties of parrots. Where there was such close contact between humans and birds, avian diseases could easily spread.

Avian influenza is a species of virus which has numerous subtypes, like most viruses, but which is primarily adapted to infect birds. Infections of avian influenza are often unnoticed among their main carrier bird species; infected birds often show no symptoms, even when they can infect other birds. Strains of avian influenza can jump between bird species to new hosts, and in the new host species, these strains are often more infectious and much more deadly. Avian influenza is endemic amongst many water birds, and has long been spread to Australia from migratory birds crossing to and from Asia.

Gunnagal farmers along the Murray lived in close contact with domesticated ducks, and also lived near to human-shaped wetlands populated by an abundance of wild water birds. Strains of avian influenza regularly afflicted domesticated ducks, sometimes causing substantial die-offs to farmers' flocks. In time, the domesticated ducks would develop resistance, sometimes becoming asymptomatic carriers themselves, and thus be largely unaffected until a new strain evolved.

In 349 AD, a particularly harsh strain of avian influenza spread from wild swans in Lake Alexandrina at the mouth of the Murray to domesticated ducks raised by nearby farming peoples. As had happened with many previous strains of avian influenza, the disease killed up to a third of the domesticated ducks in the region, and spread up the Murray. In 350 AD it reached Tjibarr, devastating duck populations and farmers' livelihoods. In 351 AD the strain reached Gundabingee, where it also struck farmers' flocks. Most epidemics of avian influenza burned out here; farming communities beyond the Murray were too scattered to allow for easy spread of the virus. But the strain in 351 AD was different; unlike previous epidemics, this one mutated into a form which spread easily between humans.

This strain of influenza was the first epidemic disease which Australia had experienced. Some endemic waterborne diseases were spread by poor hygiene, and a few endemic but rarely fatal diseases were transmitted by mosquitoes. But the influenza epidemic was like nothing which had been seen before on the island continent. Like all flu epidemics, this one spread mostly by airborne transmission, particularly through victims coughing and sneezing. In a population with no previous exposure to epidemic diseases, its symptoms were swift, severe, and often fatal. The first visible sign was usually a blue tint to the lips, combined with a sudden sense of weariness, which led the afflicted Gunnagal to christen the disease "blue-sleep."

Blue-sleep struck quickly; it sometimes took only a matter of hours for newly-infected victims to be too fatigued to move themselves. The most severe symptoms affected the lungs; the virus attacked the lung lining, usually causing haemorrhaging until the victims coughed up blood and died from pneumonia when their lungs filled with fluid. Blue-sleep also affected other parts of the body; it often infected the intestines, which sometimes caused its victims to die from blood and fluid loss. Victims who survived the initial assault of the virus were weakened for days or weeks; secondary pneumonia often spread from opportunistic bacteria, and victims who had no-one to care for them often died of dehydration or even malnutrition.

Blue-sleep spread throughout the farming peoples of south-eastern Australia, killing up to ten percent of the population in the worst-affected areas. It spread to the nearer hunter-gatherer peoples as well, but those communities were more fortunate since the virus affected people so quickly that it often prevented them from travelling to spread it further. Blue-sleep killed about five percent of the agricultural population of the south-east, and a smaller percentage of the hunter-gatherer peoples who lived nearby. The Yuduwungu people of south-western Australia were fortunate to be spared; the desert of the Nullarbor was too thinly-populated to spread the virus.

After its initial ravages, blue-sleep became an endemic disease in south-eastern Australia. It lost the worst aspects of its virulence, and in evolved into a disease whose symptoms were largely similar to strains of flu seen elsewhere in the world, although it retained the distinctive blue tinge to the lips, and the early onset of fatigue. Like all flu viruses, it mutated rapidly, and new strains appeared every few years. Occasional major epidemics occurred when blue-sleep evolved into a form where people had no resistance. Australian peoples would never be truly rid of the blue-sleep virus.

When Europeans contact Australia, they will quickly recognise blue-sleep as a form of influenza. Its symptoms are more severe than ones which they are familiar with, but they will still know what to call the illness. And they will die from it.

--

Creating artificial wetlands is one of the hallmarks of early Australian civilization. Wetlands supply them with value sources of fish and meat and feathers from birds. In the wetlands, people gather plants for food, fibre and dyes, and cultivate some herbs and spices which cannot tolerate drier climes. The wetlands even help to filter the water of the Murray and other major rivers. Human waste and other pollutants which are dumped into the waterways are carried into artificial wetlands downstream, which cleanse the water of many of the contaminants.

Yet artificial wetlands are a mixed blessing. Swamps, ponds and marshes are excellent for harbouring fish and birds, but they also offer an ideal environment for biting insects and a host of waterborne parasites. The waters of Australian wetlands harbour a variety of pathogens such as giardia, cryptosporidium and parasitic worms which often infest human hosts. These parasites are widespread throughout the Murray basin and other areas with artificial wetlands. Fortunately for their human hosts, the illnesses caused by these parasites are debilitating but rarely fatal.

Wetlands also harbour myriads of mosquitoes. Mosquitoes transmit many of the deadliest diseases in human history, particularly malaria, which is thought to have caused more human deaths than any other single cause. Luckily for Australian agricultural peoples, the worst mosquito-borne diseases were either confined to the tropical north, or never became established in Australia [2]. They will also be helped by a side-effect of their wetland management practices. Several species of Australian sundews produce edible tubers which are valued as a food source, and so the Gunnagal cultivate sundews. Since sundews are carnivorous plants which trap flying insects in sticky leaves, this helps to limit the number of mosquitoes in the artificial wetlands.

Nonetheless, there will enough mosquitoes in the wetlands to transmit diseases, and Australia harbours several pathogens which are easily spread by mosquitoes. Ross River fever (also called epidemic polyarthritis) is a virus which produces a variety of flu-like symptoms such as fevers, chills, headaches, fatigue, and sometimes stiff or swollen joints. Most victims recover within a few days, although about ten percent experience a chronic form of the illness which produces ongoing joint pains, depression and fatigue which persists for months or years. It is fortunately a non-fatal infection, but it will become established in the wetlands surrounding Gunnagal cities. While it will not kill visiting Europeans, many of them will be struck down by what they see as a mysterious malady. The Gunnagal will have a long familiarity with the disease, which they will call "old man's curse," from the arthritis-like symptoms which it produces even in the young.

The disease which another history will call Murray Valley encephalitis (MVE) is another virus that is transmitted by mosquitoes. Despite its name, it is historically more common in the tropical north than the Murray basin, but it can become established further south. The wild host of MVE are herons, cormorants and related birds, which are common throughout the Gunnagal wetlands. MVE will become endemic throughout the Murray. Fortunately, most of its victims experience no symptoms more severe than occasional nausea, headaches or vomiting. A small proportion - less than one percent - go on to develop encephalitis (brain inflammation), with symptoms such as drowsiness, fits, weariness, and fatigue. Of those so afflicted, a quarter will die and up to half of the rest will experience permanent effects such as paralysis or brain damage.

Still, of all the gifts which Australian mosquitoes give to humans, the one which will kill the most people is the one which initially was the least dangerous. Barmah Forest virus is related to the Ross River virus, and often has symptoms so similar that it requires a blood test to tell them apart, although Barmah Forest virus is usually less severe. Hosted by a variety of wild birds, it quickly became established in the Gunnagal wetlands, where for centuries it was a minor malady. Like the other mosquito-borne viruses, Barmah Forest virus was originally transmitted mostly between animals, where humans were simply incidental infections. Over time, however, the virus evolved into a strain where humans were amongst its preferred hosts. When it did, the results were deadly.

A virulent strain of Barmah Forest virus appeared along the central Murray basin during the sixth century AD. Victims who were infected by this strain first suffered from chills, then fever and a blistery rash which spread across most of their body. The distinctiveness of the rash, and the realisation that the illness was suffered by people who had been near wetlands, led the Gunnagal to christen the illness "swamp rash." The initial rash would be followed by fatigue and swollen joints. Many victims recovered at that point. A minority entered the toxic stage of the infection, where the lymphatic system was infected, leading to severely swollen lymph nodes over most of the body, extreme pain, and eventual coma and death.

Swamp rash became endemic to the Gunnagal wetlands, although it did not spread far beyond the Murray basin. The virus is well-adapted to infecting humans, although there are also animal reservoirs amongst several kinds of wild water birds, and sometimes domesticated ducks. Birds rarely die from swamp rash, but humans are not so fortunate. When swamp rash first became virulent, the death rate amongst unexposed adults was around ten percent, and up to double that rate for infected children. Centuries of infection from swamp rash has meant that the Gunnagal who live near wetlands have evolved some natural resistance; the death rate amongst infected children is about five percent, and less for adults. For Eurasians, who lack such resistance, the death rate will continue to be around ten percent for adults and worse for children. The higher death rates are not limited to people of Eurasian descent; since swamp rash did not evolve into its virulent form until after the Great Migrations, people who come from other parts of Australia are as badly-affected as Eurasians.

--

While the Australian continent holds relatively few infectious diseases which can be transmitted to humans, there are some potential killers. Of those which do exist, some of the most deadly are carried by bats. Australian bats harbour several endemic diseases which are fatal to humans. As long as Aboriginal peoples remained hunter-gatherers, their population densities were too low for any of these diseases to turn into epidemics. With farming practices transforming the landscape, bat populations were increasingly disturbed, and came into more contact with humans. This sometimes meant that their diseases infected humans, too; viruses such as Australian bat lyssavirus, Hendra virus, and Menangle virus sometimes spread to the human population [3]. With the larger human populations, particularly the larger urban populations, this now meant that bat diseases could turn into epidemic human diseases.

Still, many of these bat-carried diseases are not easily transmissible between humans. Initial exposure was usually either from a bat bite, or farmers accidentally coming into contact with bat urine or other bodily fluids. In many cases, this result in the death of the person infected, but rarely infection of other humans.

The first bat-borne disease to become endemic in allohistorical Australian civilization was Australian bat lyssavirus (ABLV). A close relative of rabies, this virus produces similar symptoms. The infection spreads slowly along the nervous system until it reaches the brain. Once there, symptoms begin with headaches and fever, and progress to severe pain, violent fits and spasms, extreme weakness, and mental instability. Eventually, the victim dies from inability to breathe properly.

A few early Gunnagal farmers died from direct infection of ABLV caused by bat bites. However, the disease only became endemic when domesticated dingos were infected by ABLV. In dingos, ABLV produced similar effects to rabies; aggressive behaviour including biting, which often transmits the virus to other dogs or to humans. Aboriginal peoples did not know that ABLV originally came from bats, but they quickly learned to recognise the behaviour of "mad dingos" that could lead to a fatal bite. The Atjuntja of south-western Australia had a name for the illness, drun-nju, which literally translated as "barking mad." The Dutch who first encountered the disease there would transliterate the Atjuntja name into Drongo disease, the name by which it would be known to the world.

Still, while Drongo disease was almost universally fatal for people infected, it was almost impossible to transmit directly between humans. This meant that it never became a major epidemic disease.

Unfortunately, another Australian bat-borne virus is both often fatal and capable of easy transmission between people.

--

History does not record exactly where the disease that came to be called Marnitja was first transmitted from bats to humans. Written sources do, however, describe the first time it appeared in one of the major urban centres along the Murray. The city of Garrkimang, the former imperial capital, still possessed a fastidious and methodical bureaucracy who recorded all important events that affected the city. No event since the deposition of the last emperor would make a more lasting impression on their city than the arrival of a disease which they called the Waiting Death.

The archives of Garrkimang record that Marnitja first struck the city in 1206. A myriad of clay tablets describe with painful precision the course of the disease. Victims first experienced an initial fever, chills and weariness. These symptoms were reminiscent of the other epidemic disease, blue-sleep, although they lacked the hallmark blue lips of that sickness. However, Marnitja progressed to much more striking symptoms. Victims started to cough and splutter up a pinkish-red, frothy fluid mixed with saliva. Although the archivists in Garrkimang did not know and thus not could record it, the pink fluid was a result of haemorrhaging of the lungs.

The more fortunate victims of Marnitja started to recover from the "pink cough" after a couple of days, although fatigue and milder coughs would continue for another fortnight. The less fortunate victims did not recover, but suffered worsening coughs and increasing weariness. Some of the victims died through difficulty breathing, others from blood and fluid loss caused by excessive coughing. Other victims died of renal failure, or simply slipped into a coma from which they never awoke. Survivors of the pink cough sometimes suffered permanent damage to their lungs, which produced life-long breathing difficulties.

Pink cough, the first stage of Marnitja, was devastating enough in itself, but what followed was worse. Victims who had recovered from the early stages of the pink cough, or rare survivals from the later stages, were not completely free of the disease. Many of the survivors started to suffer from strange new symptoms about two months later: headaches, a fresh bout of fever, confusion, seizures, and eventually delirium. Every victim who showed these new symptoms would die from them; a few succumbed to the fever or killed themselves by mischance from the seizures, while most eventually slipped into a coma from which they never recovered. The excruciating period of uncertainty for survivors of the pink cough, waiting to know whether they would suffer the fatal second stage, led the people of Garrkimang to christen the new disease the Waiting Death (Marnitja).

Marnitja spread far beyond its first outbreak in Garrkimang. The archives of the imperial city and the other major Murray cities do not record precise numbers, but it appears that about a third of the population were infected by the disease. Of those infected, about half died from the first or second stage. Marnitja slowly burned its way across the continent, and in time touched even the hunter-gatherer peoples on the farthest northern shores. The first epidemic killed perhaps fifteen percent of the Australian population. Nor would the disease disappear easily. A small percentage (0.2-0.5%) of those who came into contact with the virus became asymptomatic carriers, who would never suffer the symptoms of Marnitja but who remained infectious throughout their lives. So, like blue-sleep before it, Marnitja became established as an epidemic disease. It struck again every generation or two, although subsequent generations started to develop some resistance to the Waiting Death.

--

Australia thus has two epidemic diseases waiting for any contact with overseas peoples: blue-sleep and Marnitja [4]. These diseases first spread to New Zealand after 1310 when the Maori made first contact. They caused considerable death amongst the Maori, but in time the Maori developed a similar level of resistance to these diseases as the Aboriginal peoples.

By 1618, blue-sleep is endemic across Australasia. Within that region, it mutates every few years, as flu viruses usually do, although these new strains are rarely fatal to people who have survived the previous variants. Blue-sleep sometimes mixes with other strains of influenza from wild birds to create particularly severe epidemics, although even then the mortality rate is usually less than 0.5% of those infected. (Amongst Aboriginal peoples, at least.)

As a disease, blue-sleep has become a variant of influenza with a couple of distinctive symptoms. The blueness of the lips remains a persistent and recognisable symptom, and in lighter-skinned peoples will show up as a bluish tint to the entire face. Blue-sleep has an incubation of 2-3 days before the first symptoms appear, although victims remain infectious for up to two weeks while recovering from the illness. European and Asian visitors will recognise it as a form of influenza, but it is a strain of flu virus to which non-Australian peoples will have no immunity. The death toll when it is spread to the rest of the world will be as bad or worse than the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918; somewhere between 2.5 to 5% of the global population will die when blue-sleep spreads around the world.

While Europeans will have some familiarity with blue-sleep, they will be completely unprepared for Australia's biggest killer, the Waiting Death. Marnitja is a henipavirus related to Hendra virus and Nipah virus, and more distantly to measles and mumps. Its original animal hosts were flying foxes (fruit bats), which became agricultural pests that raided Gunnagal fruit orchards. The virus was not transmitted directly to humans, but first infected dingos which came into contact with bat droppings and bodily fluids left beneath fruit trees. Infected animals spread the virus to other dingos, and eventually to humans, where it became an epidemic disease [5].

Marnitja spreads through airborne transmission or in bodily fluids. The virus has an incubation period of 7-14 days. Infected people are contagious for most of that time, although more so later in the incubation period. The haemorrhagic (pink cough) stage of the disease can last for up to two weeks, although some victims die within two days of the first signs of the pink cough. Infected people are contagious throughout the haemorrhagic stage, although not once the pink cough has subsided. After the haemorrhagic stage, the majority of the survivors are free of the virus (and have lifelong immunity), but a minority will develop a form of encephalitis over the next two or three months, or sometimes a longer period (up to 3 years). If the virus reaches the encephalitic stage, then it is almost (99.5%) universally fatal.

The Marnitja virus is capable of producing deadly pandemics. Even after several centuries of afflicting Aboriginal peoples, who have evolved some resistance, fresh epidemics still kill 3 to 5% of the non-immune population. Elsewhere in the world, virgin-soil epidemics will have considerably higher mortality rates. Depending on their overall level of health (well-fed peoples are more likely to survive), Marnitja will kill anywhere from 10-15% of the population of a given region. Transmission of the disease beyond Australia's shores may take some time; sea travel in the seventeenth century was often slow. Still, sooner or later, the rest of the world will discover the affliction of the Waiting Death...

--

[1] Or, for the pedantic, during the glacial periods of the ice age. Strictly speaking, the world is still in an ice age, just during an interglacial period.

[2] Malaria existed in northern Australia (until recently eradicated). Dengue fever is also present in northern Australia, but does not spread very far south. Yellow fever, the other major mosquito-borne disease, has never become established in Australia.

[3] This is a process which is happening in modern Australia, although several of the bat viruses have only recently been recognised. Australian bats harbour a number of diseases which are capable of infecting and sometimes killing humans. These include: Australian bat lyssavirus, a close relative of rabies which produces similar symptoms; Hendra virus, which can cause respiratory haemorrhaging and fluid build-up in the lungs, and which sometimes infects the brain causing a form of encephalitis; and Menangle virus, which produces severe flu-like symptoms.

[4] One of the side-effects of having epidemic diseases like blue-sleep and Marnitja (and the other less fatal mosquito-borne diseases) is that Aboriginal peoples will have developed generally stronger immune systems. There is evidence that exposure to some infectious diseases during childhood produces a stronger immune system which offers somewhat more protection against all diseases. (See the work of James V. Neel, for instance.) Virgin soil epidemics will still be devastating to Aboriginal peoples, but not quite as deadly as the equivalent epidemics which ravaged the Americas.

[5] Marnitja is an allohistorical virus, but based on an extrapolation of what the real-world Hendra virus might do if it evolves into a form which can be easily transmitted between humans.

--

Thoughts?
 
So now Australia isn't just surrounded by shark infested reefs and home to giant crocodiles and more poisonous animals than you can shake a stick at, but two potentially globally devastating pandemics.

Yet more proof that man was not meant to live there.
 
So now Australia isn't just surrounded by shark infested reefs and home to giant crocodiles and more poisonous animals than you can shake a stick at, but two potentially globally devastating pandemics.

Yet more proof that man was not meant to live there.

A even stranger coincidence, is that most of the shit toxic to people there, are idiotically harmless to animals, even the ones from distant lands, afaik a funnel web biting a dog won't do shit but piss of the dog, and many similar cases

Coincidence, i think not
 
Hmm. I wonder if they will cross to other continents and infect people there, too.
That's more a question of when, not if. Given contact with other continents, it's only a matter of time before the diseases spread. For the big two, at least - Marnitja and blue-sleep. Other diseases are also possible to spread, but not guaranteed.

When it happens, naturally, the results will be less than pleasant.

So now Australia isn't just surrounded by shark infested reefs and home to giant crocodiles and more poisonous animals than you can shake a stick at, but two potentially globally devastating pandemics.

Yet more proof that man was not meant to live there.
Just because a country has ants that can kill people doesn't mean it's unlivable, it just means that humans either need to always wear shoes or evolve thicker soles on their feet.

A even stranger coincidence, is that most of the shit toxic to people there, are idiotically harmless to animals, even the ones from distant lands, afaik a funnel web biting a dog won't do shit but piss of the dog, and many similar cases

Coincidence, i think not
Then again, there's the fact that one reason malaria was never as much of a problem in Australia was because Australian mosquitoes prefer to bite dogs rather than people. :grin:
 
I find this incredibly interesting, especially the part on the collapse of the Murray civilization, since I'm a sucker for those mysteries. Although, I did notice that there would probably be a way to tell if the wildfires were caused by drought conditions or by a lack of management would be looking to see if the rate of fires increased or the intensity of individual fires has increased. In California, the rate of fires has more or less remained stable after fire suppression practices, but the intensity of individual wildfires has drastically increased due to persistent drought conditions and higher temperatures. You may find the same trend when it comes to the rangeland's fires.
 
The wildfires are a very useful thing in Australia. It's surface is extremely old, which can be seen from any terrain map, all the mountains are pretty smooth and such. This means that the continent is geologically "dead" as natural orogenic processes are inactive, so the land can't be renewed. The (fertile) topsoil was washed off by the rains back when Australia wasn't in a desert-inducing location, but there wasn't enough time to let the nutrients reaccumulate via natural decomposition as Australia got moved to it's current position, so the soil is infertile and the wildfires are useful as the killed plants are reabsorbed. Sad
 
I find this incredibly interesting, especially the part on the collapse of the Murray civilization, since I'm a sucker for those mysteries. Although, I did notice that there would probably be a way to tell if the wildfires were caused by drought conditions or by a lack of management would be looking to see if the rate of fires increased or the intensity of individual fires has increased. In California, the rate of fires has more or less remained stable after fire suppression practices, but the intensity of individual wildfires has drastically increased due to persistent drought conditions and higher temperatures. You may find the same trend when it comes to the rangeland's fires.
The bugger about trying to figure that out about Australian bushfires is that more intense bushfires (aka wildfires) can be produced either by intense drought or by a period of higher rain reverting to normal weather. The drought means that everything burns because it's dry; the higher rain fosters growth which then tries out once normal weather returns. (Even "normal" weather in Australia can include extended dry periods). Periods of higher rain occur at reasonably frequent intervals, so it's harder to judge whether droughts have grown stronger or it's just the usual variations in weather.

The wildfires are a very useful thing in Australia. It's surface is extremely old, which can be seen from any terrain map, all the mountains are pretty smooth and such. This means that the continent is geologically "dead" as natural orogenic processes are inactive, so the land can't be renewed. The (fertile) topsoil was washed off by the rains back when Australia wasn't in a desert-inducing location, but there wasn't enough time to let the nutrients reaccumulate via natural decomposition as Australia got moved to it's current position, so the soil is infertile and the wildfires are useful as the killed plants are reabsorbed. Sad
The last major mountain-building phase in mainland Oz was around 300 million years ago, so there really hasn't been much since, other than the odd bit of hot-spot vulcanism here and there.

There is some soil formation during the height of the ice ages, oddly enough, since then the climate gets wet enough that there is net growth in topsoil in a lot of areas. Whenever the climate reverts to an interglacial (such as now), then it's back to the interior soil being slowly eroded, with the only meaningful topsoil formation (still slow) on the eastern seaboard.
 
Lands of Red and Gold #9: The First Speakers
Lands of Red and Gold #9: The First Speakers

The time of the Collapse was one of great panic and greater upheaval. Harvests failed, droughts persisted for years and stretched into decades, bushfires grew more frequent and spanned ever greater areas of the continent, and the arts of civilization seemed to be failing. In this time of chaos, people sought refuge in whatever consolation they could find.

In 842 BC, Robinvale, one of the old Wisdom Cities, was a place ripe for new ideas. Uprising and subsequent collapse had destroyed the great city of Murray Bridge, further downriver. In turn, this had ruined the arsenical bronze trade which supplied most of Robinvale's wealth. The seemingly endless drought had destroyed much of its agricultural hinterland. More than half of its former territory had already been abandoned, wattles and yams left to run wild while wetlands silted up and returned to semi-desert. Nomadic hunter-gatherers reoccupied the former farmlands, while the surviving farmers gathered in Robinvale itself, growing increasingly unruly.

Wunirugal son of Butjinong was one such farmer among thousands who arrived in Robinvale in that year. The exact location of his old farm is not known; at least two dozen sites would later be claimed to be the site of his birthplace. He is reliably known to have been a member of the Azure kitjigal, and he claimed the wedge-tailed eagle as his personal totem. Beyond that, nothing definite is known about his life before he arrived in Robinvale in the summer of 842 BC, although a thousand tales have since sprung up to explain how he spent his early years.

Just as with his early life, what Wunirugal accomplished in Robinvale in that year has been recorded in many contradictory versions. Certainly, Wunirugal was among the more vocal of the farmers complaining about the lack of food, to the point where the city militia took official notice of him. Some say that he spoke so eloquently that the militia agreed to escort him before the Council to plead his case. Some say that Wunirugal outran the militia and entered the Council hall on his own. Some say that he was struck immobile by a vision and was carried bodily into the Council hall for investigation. One account claims that the Council came out to meet him in the main square of Robinvale, but that version is usually discounted.

No two versions of Wunirugal's meeting with the Robinvale Council agree on what he said, or even on the names of the members of the Council. There is surprising unanimity about the Council's decision: Wunirugal was deemed a danger to public order, ordered to be expelled from Robinvale immediately, and not to return for a year and a day, on pain of death. Wunirugal left, but he was not silent along the way. Again, the accounts of his words vary, but all sources agree that he persuaded at least three hundred people to come with him into exile.

Wunirugal led his new followers far from Robinvale. Accounts of their journey include some fantastic events. The most nearly-universal of those events is an account of how soon after he left the city, Wunirugal received another vision. While having this vision, he was struck by lightning which came from clouds which produced no rain, yet he survived with no ill effects. Scholars will long argue whether this widely-reported event is factual. It might be; some lightning strikes from thunderclouds where rain is falling but evaporates before it reaches the ground, and some people do survive lightning strikes. Certainly, the reports of what Wunirugal did after the lightning strike are in surprising agreement. He is said to have fallen to his knees and said: "Help me, help me. Tell me what I should do, O lightning blue?"

Whatever the merits of this account, it is clear from the many tales of Wunirugal that he had visions, or what other people believed to be visions. He drew on these for guidance, and led his followers up the Murrumbidgee. This river is one of the major tributaries of the Murray, but it had been a relative backwater since most of the trade flowed up and down the main river. Wunirugal led his followers past a long series of natural wetlands, and reached an area of lush, fertile soils which flourished even in the drought. He declared that this would be the perfect place to build a town. According to most (but not all) accounts, he said, "Here, the earth will always grow. Here, we can build a city which will have no rival."

He called the new city Garrkimang.

--

Garrkimang [Narrandera, New South Wales] grew to become one of the four great cities of the Classical Gunnagal. Like their contemporaries, the people of Garrkimang could trace their ancestry back to their Formative forefathers. However, Garrkimang developed along a different path from its neighbours. In language, it was much more distinct than any of the other Classical cities. The migrants who founded Garrkimang were a combination of refugees from the former Murray Bridge and the most westerly areas of former Robinvale territory. This meant that their speech had diverged much further; while there were clear underlying similarities with other Gunnagalic languages, learning the speech of Garrkimang was considerably more difficult for foreigners than that of any other Classical city.

In culture and religion, Garrkimang was also unlike any other Classical city. The inhabitants called themselves the Biral, a name which means roughly "chosen ones." They traced this back to the migration under Wunirugal, believing that they had been chosen to be granted their new land as a sacred trust. Their religion had a similar foundation to the older Gunnagal beliefs; they still shared the same general view of the Evertime and of the spirit-beings who inhabit eternity, although they gave different names and attributes to many of those beings. Yet the old beliefs had been overlaid by a new religious structure, that of the First Speakers and their representatives who interpreted the world.

The heirs of Wunirugal ruled Garrkimang as absolute monarchs. The old cities had been ruled by oligarchic councils, but there had never been such an institution in Garrkimang. The rulers claimed the title of First Speaker, and based their rule on religious authority. They asserted that they were entitled to rule because they possessed the talent of interpreting the wisdom of eternity. They proclaimed their rule through a series of law codes first promulgated in Garrkimang itself, and which were spread throughout every city and town which came under their rule. They also adopted a set of protocols in terms of conduct, dress, and ceremonies to support the view of the First Speaker as the greatest moral authority. This was most obviously shown in the privilege which gave the First Speaker his title: in any meeting or ceremony, the First Speaker always was the first person to speak. Anyone who dared to speak to the First Speaker unless directly addressed first would be fortunate if they were simply exiled; death was a common punishment for such a social faux pas.

The First Speakers were not always direct heirs of Wunirugal; the succession was open to all males in the royal family. It was even possible, although difficult, for those not of direct royal descent to be accepted into the House of the Eagle; adoption was an accepted method for particularly eminent people to join the royal family and become eligible for the throne. The succession was often decided by the will of the First Speaker, who would designate an heir from amongst his relatives. On some occasions, the royal princes would meet to acclaim an heir when the succession was unclear. Public disputes over the succession were rare, and civil wars over succession would be unknown until the declining days of the monarchy. Incompetent rulers could, however, be removed. If the royal family thought that a First Speaker was very bad at listening to the wisdom of eternity, then that First Speaker would be quietly offered an opportunity to commune with eternity more directly, and another member of the royal family would take the throne.

Despite some internecine intrigues in the House of the Eagle, Garrkimang's monarchs were always much more secure on their thrones than the rulers of any other Classical city. The royal family had the bastion of religious authority to support their rule. More than that, the old kitjigal system had broken down during the time of the Great Migrations. With so many people displaced, two of the eight kitjigal were lost entirely, and the rest were abandoned as social institutions. In the other Classical cities, the kitjigal evolved into armed factions which preserved their own privileges, including the right to form social militia. Monarchs in Tjibarr, Weenaratta and Gundabingee always feared uprisings amongst the factions, but Garrkimang did not have this threat.

Some aspects of the kitjigal were still preserved in Garrkimang, but in much-changed form. From its founding, Garrkimang's armies were traditionally divided into six warrior societies, each of which had their own initiation rites, values, informal social hierarchies, and special duties. These societies were named the Kangaroos, the Corellas, the Ravens, the Kookaburras, the Echidnas, and the Possums. Each of these societies derived their names and some of their values and practices from the old colours and social codes of the kitjigal [1]. Garrkimang also had six trading associations, each of which emerged from the old kitjigal colours. These formed into a system of recognised partnership and profit-sharing, and were in effect early corporations which had collective ownership of farming land, mines, trading caravans, and other ventures, who shared the profits and risks amongst all members of their society. The trading societies were powerful voices within Garrkimang and its dominions, but since all military and religious power was reserved for the monarchy, the trading societies never acquired the same political power which the factions did elsewhere.

--

Garrkimang occupied what was probably the best agricultural site of any Classical city. It had the convenience of large areas of productive land upriver suitable for the Gunnagalic system of dryland agriculture, and a series of natural lagoons and other wetlands downriver which were easily expanded into the managed artificial wetlands which the Gunnagal so favoured. The wetlands downriver of Garrkimang were productive enough that the First Speakers encouraged the diversion of some water to irrigate a few chosen crops, unlike the usual Gunnagal farming system which relied on rainfall. This irrigation was mostly for their favoured drug, kunduri, but also for the cultivation of a few fruits and other high-status foods [2].

With productive lands as the foundation of their power, the First Speakers turned Garrkimang into the capital of a large kingdom which controlled three significant rivers, the Murrumbidgee, the Lachlan, and the Macquarie. They controlled almost all of these rivers, except for the farthest downstream areas of the Murrumbidgee and the Lachlan, which were under the control of the kingdom of Tjibarr. By edict of the First Speaker, in 256 AD the kingdom became known as Gulibaga, the Dominion of the Three Rivers.

While Gulibaga was a powerful kingdom, for most of the Classical era it was only one nation amongst four. The three Murray kingdoms of Tjibarr, Weenaratta, and Gundabingee all flourished during this era. The four nations each had a vested interest in ensuring that none of their rivals grew too powerful, which was reflected in a fluid system of alliances that prevented one kingdom from completely defeating any of the other four.

The alliance system broke down in the Late Classical period, thanks to the social disruptions of the first blue-sleep epidemics in the mid-fourth century AD, and a more than usually faction-ridden aftermath in the kingdom of Tjibarr. This let the First Speakers extend their control to the River Darling, a major tributary of the Murray, and the key transport route for tin from the northern mines. Gulibaga kept its control over the tin trade from this time, despite efforts to dislodge its forces. While tin was still traded further downriver to the other Classical kingdoms, Gulibaga received the largest share, and from then on they had better access to bronze than their rivals.

It was an advantage they would put to good use.

--

In the vanished era of the Classical Gunnagal's ancestors, war was as much a series of raids for honour as it was a contest between nations. The era of the Collapse changed that; wars were now fought for national gains. Still, while Classical military tactics were more organised than those of their ancestors, they were not particularly advanced. The archetypal Classical warrior carried a wooden shield and a bronze-tipped spear, sometimes also with a short sword. Armour was rare, save perhaps an emu leather helmet. Captains might have more bronze armour, but the common Classical soldier was only lightly-protected. Battle tactics and training were not particularly advanced; being a soldier was a part-time occupation for most people, and while the Classical Gunnagal knew how to form a line of battle, their coordination and discipline were both limited.

With a near-monopoly on bronze, Gulibaga's warriors changed the old pattern. The kingdom had the wealth and the resources to equip their leading warriors with better armour, typically a bronze helmet and greaves, and hardened leather breastplates. They could afford to maintain the first large professional standing army, elite units who trained and deployed together. They standardised and extended their tactics with a number of military innovations. Professional Gulibagan warriors carried pikes and rounded shields, transforming them into Australia's first heavy infantry, who could break almost any enemy line of battle. In battle, the core infantry were supported by lightly-armed skirmishers who used bows with stone or bone-tipped arrows, and who helped to disrupt enemy formations.

By the mid fifth century AD, Gulibaga's military organisation was clearly superior to anything developed by its Classical rivals. The combination of better arms, armour and tactics would prove almost irresistible.

--

With its superior military organisation and resources, Gulibaga transformed itself from a kingdom into an empire. In the name of the First Speakers, its armies waged war on its classical rivals, particularly its most powerful opponent, the kingdom of Tjibarr. In a series of campaigns from 467 AD to 482 AD, Gulibagan armies conquered most of Tjibarr's territory, although the city walls withstood siege after siege. In 486-488 AD, a long siege finally broke through the walls of Australia's most ancient city.

In previous wars between Classical kingdoms, similar victories had seen defeated monarchs being reduced to effective vassals, with "advisors" from the victorious kingdoms dictating policy. Such advisors were usually thrown out within a few years, with the support of one of the other four kingdoms. With the defeat of Tjibarr in 488, however, the First Speakers did something unprecedented: they deposed the old monarchs and created a new province with an appointed governor. This action is usually taken to be the start of the Imperial era in the history of the Murray basin. Some authorities use a later date of 556 AD, when Gulibagan armies subdued the forces of Gundabingee, the last surviving Gunnagal kingdom. After this victory, the First Speaker renamed his nation to Watjubaga, the Dominion of the Five Rivers [3]. This would be the name by which it would be remembered.

With the resources of the Five Rivers at its command, Watjubaga expanded into Australia's first and largest indigenous empire. Its core territory remained the old Gunnagal lands along the Murray and Murrumbidgee, but its armies carried its rule to most of the agricultural regions of south-eastern Australia. In the north, one of its major early accomplishments was the gradual expansion along the Darling until they conquered the New England highlands directly, taking over the sources of tin and gems. To the south, they faced some determined resistance from the Junditmara peoples, who had their own developing kingdoms and a hierarchical social code based on duty to one's elders, conformity, and rewarding loyalty. Still, the might of professional discipline and imperial bronze saw the Junditmara kingdoms defeated one by one.

--

At its height around 850 AD, Watjubaga claimed suzerainty over territory which stretched from the Darling Downs in the north to Bass Strait in the south, and to the deserts and the Spencer Gulf in the west. These northern and western borders represented what amounted to its natural frontiers. In the north, the Darling Downs were inhabited by a set of feuding Gunnagalic peoples who dwelt in small villages and raided each other for emus and honour. Their northern limits were bounded by the growth of the red yam, which does not grow properly in the tropics. The Empire imposed its authority on these peoples, although the distance and the fractious nature of its subjects meant that its authority was perforce rather loose.

Likewise, the western and southern borders of the Empire were largely bound by desert and the seas. Watjubaga controlled all of the thinly-inhabited lands west of the Darling River, and the more fertile lands further south around the Murray Mouth, the Spencer Gulf, and along Bass Strait. They largely ignored the Eyre Peninsula, a small, lightly-settled agricultural land beyond the Spencer Gulf, since they deemed it too poor and too difficult to control without decent sailing technology. Direct imperial control did not always end with the desert; imperial forces maintained a few inland colonies to access some key resources such as the silver, zinc and lead of Broken Hill, and a few salt and gypsum harvesting colonies on some of the dry inland lakes.

In the inland regions of Australia, imperial influence was minimal, although they did have some contact with the desert peoples. Ancient trade routes stretched across much of the outback; ancient traders had travelled hundreds of kilometres across some desert routes when trading for flints and ochre. With the establishment of imperial outposts along the desert fringes, some of these trade routes were expanded. In a few locations with particularly high-value resources, the local hunter-gatherers found that they could mine a few key goods and trade these for food and metal tools from the agricultural peoples along the coast.

The most important of these routes became known as the Dog Road, which started at the imperial outpost of Port Augusta and ran over five hundred kilometres northwest to Coober Pedy. Here, the local Ngarjarli people mined opals from one of the richest sources in the world. The climate was far too dry to support a large population, or even a permanent population, but like most hunter-gatherer societies, the Ngarjali had a lot of under-used labour.

Thanks to the imperial interest in opals, the Ngarjali found a reason to mine those gems and establish a semi-permanent settlement at Coober Pedy, where some of their people slowly mined opals throughout the year. Once a year, in June when the heat was least severe, the annual trading caravan set out from Port Augusta. People and dogs pulled travois loaded with trade goods: clay vessels full of wattle-seeds, smoked meats, dried fruits, and ganyu (yam wine); metal tools; textiles such as clothing, baskets and bags; and kunduri (chewing tobacco). When they reached Coober Pedy, they held a great celebration and trading fair with the Ngarjali, and exchanged opals for their trade goods. This reliable food storage allowed the Ngarjali to occupy the same area for a large part of the year, although water shortages meant that they sometimes needed to move elsewhere.

--

While Watjubaga had clearly-defined natural borders in the north, west and south, its eastern frontier was more ambiguous. In most regions, imperial authority ran as far as the Great Dividing Range; the combination of rugged terrain, lack of beasts of burden, and distance from the imperial heartland meant that conquering the backward peoples of the eastern seaboard was usually not deemed to be worth the effort. In central Victoria, however, imperial armies had marched east from Junditmara lands and gained control of the lands around Port Philip Bay and West Gippsland. In the headwaters of the Murrumbidgee, the Monaro plateau was occupied by sullen imperial subjects who sometimes paid tribute and often rebelled. Further north, the rich farmlands of the Hunter Valley were inhabited by city-states who were reluctant imperial tributaries; this was the only region where imperial influence extended to the Tasman Sea. Apart from the Hunter, the eastern seaboard of Australia was independent of imperial control.

As an empire, Watjubaga thus claimed immense territory, but in many cases its level of control was limited. The empire maintained its predominance through its military strength, and more specifically through a core of well-equipped veteran soldiers who were the battlefield heavyweights of their day. In a land without cavalry, the imperial heavy infantry could be relied on to shatter any opposing army in any battle on open ground. Still, rebels often found ways to neutralise these tactics, particularly when fighting on irregular ground or resorting to raids and retreating to rugged terrain where the heavily-armoured imperial infantry had difficulty pursuing them.

Moreover, imperial manpower was limited. Watjubaga drew its soldiers exclusively from the ethnic Biral, who mostly dwelt in the ancient territories around Garrkimang, formed a significant minority in the rest of the Five Rivers, and elsewhere were either a small ruling elite or inhabited a few colonies established both as garrisons and trading posts. Joining the Biral was difficult for anyone of a foreign ethnicity; marrying in sometimes happened, but otherwise the only way to join was to persuade a Biral family to formally adopt someone, which was rare. These limitations on imperial manpower became an increasing strain with the large territories where Watjubaga tried to maintain its rule. The large distances and slow transportation technology meant that when away from one of the major rivers, even the local Biral elite often partially assimilated into the local culture, and the long lines of communication meant that local garrisons in distant territories were perpetually vulnerable to revolt.

--

At its height, Watjubaga ruled over vast territories, but it did not create much of a sense of unity amongst its subjects. With the Biral forming an elite ruling class, the subject peoples were not particularly inclined to adopt Biral language or culture. Some people learned Biral as a second language, since it was the language of government, but it did not become the primary language of any but the Biral themselves.

Still, while relatively few people could speak or write the Biral language, an increasing number of people in the Empire were literate. Later archaeologists would be aware of this by the wealth of written information preserved in clay tablets. Written accounts preserved considerable details about life within the empire, recorded in government records, legal documents and other archives, but also through an abundance of private documents such as letters, trade records, and religious texts. Within most regions of the Empire, government administrators could simply place tablets announcing new proclamations or other news in town squares, and be confident that they would be read, understood, and the information conveyed to everyone in the city.

The nature of imperial rule varied considerably amongst the imperial regions. Watjubaga's core territories were the heavily-populated areas along the Murray and Murrumbidgee, and the almost as heavily-populated area around the Murray Mouth and along the Spencer Gulf. Here, imperial administrators exercised considerable control over everyday life, using a system of labour drafts which required every inhabitant to perform a certain number of days service for the government every year. This labour was required outside of the core harvest times, and was used to construct and repair public and religious buildings, maintain artificial wetlands, and sometimes to grow high-value crops such as corkwood (the key ingredient of kunduri), which were subject to imperial monopoly.

Outside of the core territories, the labour draft system was much less prevalent. The imperial government tried to enforce it amongst the Junditmara in the south, with only limited success; this was one reason for the repeated revolts in that region. In the more thinly-inhabited regions along most of the Upper Darling, power was usually delegated to local chieftains instead. In the New England tablelands, the Empire ran the mines using a system of labour drafts, but otherwise imperial control there was limited. In most other regions, the Empire did not even attempt to directly rule the territories, but simply collected tribute from local leaders.

In terms of religion, Watjubaga likewise exercised only limited control over the views of its subjects. The imperial view of religion was syncretic; like all of the Gunnagalic religions shaped during the Great Migrations, it had assimilated some indigenous beliefs from the hunter-gatherers displaced during the population movements. The underlying structure of their religion remained similar to their ancestors; they viewed the present world as only one aspect of the Evertime, the eternity which controlled everything and was everything.

Within this framework, the actions of individual heroes, sacred places, and of spiritual beings were all adopted in a cheerful mishmash of beliefs. The Empire had no qualms about recognising other religious traditions as simply being aspects of the same underlying truth. Their only concern was for the religious role of the First Speakers, who had always maintained the claim that they were best suited to interpret the wisdom of eternity. Obedience to imperial authority was treated as accepting this religious duty; civil disobedience or outright rebellion were both treated as blasphemy. Beyond that, what individuals or peoples believed was of no concern to the imperial administration.

--

The Imperial era spanned several centuries, and it brought immense wealth to the royal city of Garrkimang. Extensive use of labour drafts usually meant that much of this wealth was invested into public architecture. The First Speakers and other noble classes amongst the Biral had a fondness for large, ornate buildings. At the height of imperial rule in 850 AD, Garrkimang had five separate palaces reserved for the royal family, and three dozen smaller palaces used by other noble families. They also built several large temples and many smaller shrines dedicated to various spiritual beings or former First Speakers. The royal city also held several large amphitheatres used for sporting and religious events.

Imperial engineering techniques were not particularly advanced by Old World standards, although they had developed considerably from their Classical ancestors. Imperial engineers built very effectively using a wide variety of stones. They had not discovered the arch, and lacked both the wheel and beasts of burden to help with moving building material around, but they had waterborne transport and lots of determination. Imperial construction techniques tended toward large, solid stone buildings, with the walls supported by buttresses at key points. They could build some very large columns, but they mostly used them for freestanding monuments or as aesthetic elements of building design, rather than as the main structural support. In the most elaborate imperial buildings, the solid buttressed walls were overhung with large eaves, and the eaves themselves were supported with elaborately-carved columns.

Imperial aesthetics placed great value on elaborate displays in architecture. This meant that imperial buildings were covered both within and without by a great many decorative elements: intricate ornamental stonework, sculptures, glazed tiles, murals, and above all bright, bright colours. Some valued stones were transported large distances because their appearance was preferred; the marble quarries at Bathurst and Orange were far from Garrkimang, but that was of little concern to the imperial engineers who ordered large quantities of marble to decorate the exterior of the palaces and temples. Colour was an integral part of most decorations, from some coloured stones, or glazed tiles, or from a variety of paints. While the individual stylistic elements were wholly alien to European building traditions, the overall impression of imperial architectural styles would be reminiscent of the Baroque period. In technicolour.

--

In technology, the advent of the Imperial era did not mark any dramatic improvement over the preceding Classical era. While the First Speakers were not hostile to new learning, the focus of imperial efforts was on administration, aesthetic improvements, and organisation, rather than any particular sense of innovation. Outside of engineering, architecture, and military technology, there were no fields where the First Speakers would be particularly interested in supporting experimentation or the application of new ideas.

Still, the spread of literacy allowed more communication of ideas, as did the growth of trade under the imperial peace. This contributed to some technological advances during the Imperial era. Metallurgy became considerably more advanced during this period, particularly in the development of many copper-based alloys. The exploration of the Broken Hill ore fields led to the isolation of zinc ores, and these were used to create brass. With imperial aesthetics being what they were, most brass and many alloys of copper with precious metals were used for decorative rather than functional purposes, although brass also came to be used in various musical instruments such as horns and bells. Imperial smiths knew of iron, both from ancient experience of meteoric iron, and as a waste product from their extraction of zinc ores [4]. However, their smelting techniques did not produce sufficient heat to melt iron ore, and so they did not make any significant use of the metal.

The spread of literacy allowed the beginnings of the development of a medical profession in the Empire. Doctors in the Imperial era began to make systematic studies of symptoms of sickness and injuries. Clay tablets found by later archaeologists included some handbooks of illnesses, of their diagnosis, prognosis and recommended treatments. Many of these recommended treatments did not actually work very well, since internal illnesses such as fevers, epilepsy and parasites were believed to be spiritual phenomena which required treatments by priests. Still, the early Imperial doctors had some capacity to assist in the treatment of physical injuries, using some basic surgical techniques, bandages, and a variety of lotions and herbal treatments derived from several plants to assist with treatment. They also had a basic knowledge of dentistry, using drills to deal with cavities, using forceps and other specialised tools to extract teeth, and using brass wires to stabilise broken jaws.

Imperial scholars had some knowledge of mathematics and astronomy, although their methods were often basic. They used some rudimentary trigonometry and related methods to assist with calculating engineering requirements, but they had little interest in algebra or other more advanced mathematical techniques. They kept astronomical records on matters which interested them, but they ignored some other aspects. They were aware of the movement of the planets, although they believed that both Venus and Mercury were each two separate bodies, not having made the connection between their appearances in the morning and evening. They kept enough of a watch over the constellations to recognise novas and supernovas. They kept particularly detailed records of comets, which they believed to be a visible representation of the reincarnation of a 'great soul' who would make their mark in the material world in the near future. Being born during the appearance of a comet was a highly auspicious omen, to the point where heirs to the imperial throne would sometimes be chosen based on that fact alone. They kept some occasional records of eclipses, although not systematically, and did not make any practical application of those records. Imperial scholars had no real conception of the shape of the earth; they still assumed that it was flat.

--

Militarily, Watjubaga reached its largest borders in 822 AD. One of their most celebrated generals, Weemiraga, had earlier subjugated the peoples around Port Philip Bay and West Gippsland, and incorporated them into the Empire. In 821-822, he made his great "March to the Sea," leading an army across the Liverpool Range into the Hunter Valley, and then to the Tasman Sea. He imposed tributary status on the city-states in this region. This accomplishment would be recorded in sculptures, murals, and legends, and it saw Weemiraga adopted into the royal family and become First Speaker from 838-853.

At this moment, it appeared that Watjubaga was in a period of ascendancy, but in fact these accomplishments were virtually the last military expansion which the Empire would achieve. Logistical difficulties meant that the Empire would find it difficult to expand further, and the imperial regime soon faced internal problems. After the death of Weemiraga, the succession was contested between three princes, leading to the worst civil war which the Empire had yet seen. The civil war ended in 858, but other underlying trends were further weakening imperial rule.

Imperial rule had relied on two pillars of the state: a solid core of veteran heavy infantry equipped with bronze weapons and armour from the continent's main supply of the metal, who could defeat any major uprising, and a system of garrison-colonies in the far-flung regions of the Empire to maintain a local presence there and ensure the main army would be rarely needed. As the ninth century progressed, both of these pillars were being weakened. The colonisation of Tasmania in the early ninth century provided a rich new source of tin and bronze which was outside the imperial monopoly, disrupting the trade networks and government revenue, and allowing peoples in the southern regions of Australia to gain access to better arms and armour. Subject peoples were also becoming increasingly familiar with imperial military tactics, and through the legacy of several revolts developed ways to imitate or counter these military tactics. Combined with the increased bronze supply, this meant that rebellious peoples could now field soldiers to match the imperial heavy infantry, and the Watjubaga military advantage waned.

The other main pillar of the state was also being undermined by a slower but more significant process of cultural assimilation. The Biral governors and upper classes formed a small minority in most of the outlying regions, and imperial governors came to look more to local interests than the dictates of a distant First Speaker in Garrkimang. Governors assumed more and more de facto independence, and successive First Speakers found it increasingly necessary to settle for payments of tribute and vague acknowledgement of imperial suzerainty, rather than maintaining any effective control.

The weakening of the imperial military advantage was manifested by two successive military disasters. In the 860s, imperial forces were sent to subjugate the Gippsland Lakes region in south-eastern Victoria. This was inhabited by the Kurnawal, a fiercely independent-minded people whose relatives had been one of the two main groups to cross Bass Strait and settle in Tasmania. Thanks to that colonisation, the mainland Kurnawal had access to good bronze weapons, and they largely fought off the imperial forces. The imperial commander conducted several raids and collected enough plunder to bring back to the First Speaker as a sign of victory, but the manifest truth was that the conquest had failed.

Worse was to follow in 886, when a new campaign was intended to launch a new March to the Sea and conquer the Bungudjimay around Coffs Harbour. This time the imperial armies were defeated utterly, unable even to claim plunder. This marked the resurgence of the Bungudjimay as an independent people, and within the next few decades they would begin raids into imperial territory around the New England tablelands.

The defeat in Coffs Harbour marked a devastating blow to imperial prestige. Another disputed succession followed in the 890s. While this did not turn into a major civil war as had happened four decades earlier, it encouraged already-rebellious subject peoples. The Hunter Valley had always been a reluctant tributary, and actual payments of tribute had been largely non-existent since the 870s. In 899, the city-states of the Hunter ceased acknowledging even the pretence of imperial overlordship, and the weakened Empire was in no condition to restore its authority.

While the ruling classes in Garrkimang found it easy to disregard the loss of the Hunter tributaries, thinking of it as only a minor matter, a much more serious rebellion followed. The Junditmara peoples had long resented foreign rule, requiring substantial imperial garrisons. A revolt over labour drafts in 905 provided a trigger for unrest, and in the next year it turned into a general Junditmara revolt. The imperial troops were massacred or driven out of Junditmara-inhabited territory, and in 907 the army sent to reconquer them was outnumbered and defeated. The Junditmara peoples established their own loose confederation to replace imperial rule. They would take what they had learned of imperial technology, literacy, astronomy and other knowledge, and apply it to their own ends. The loss of the Junditmara lands also made imperial rule over the rest of southern Victoria untenable, and they lost everything south of the Great Dividing Range within a few years of the Junditmara establishing independence.

With crumbling imperial authority in the south, the First Speakers turned to one last territorial expansion. The Eyre Peninsula, beyond the Spencer Gulf, had long been disregarded by the Empire. The peninsula was a small region of fertile land separated by a desert barrier from the nearest imperial city at Port Augusta. The land was useful for agriculture, and had some very occasional trading links with the Yuduwungu across the western deserts, but had otherwise not much to recommend it, and the separation of deserts and water made a military campaign difficult. Keen to restore some military prestige, the imperial government cared little for such details, and despatched forces who marched overland from Port Augusta. The Peninsula peoples withdrew behind city walls, and although these were besieged and captured one by one, the long and bloody warfare did not justify the conquest. While the Eyre Peninsula was proclaimed as conquered in 926, the loss of imperial manpower would hurt far more than the minor gain in resources.

After the conquest of the Eyre Peninsula, the remaining imperial structures started to rot from the periphery inward. In the north, the local governors assumed effective independence, although the fiction of imperial control continued for two more decades. The decisive break came in 945. The governors of the five provinces which made up the region of New England had long been more sympathetic to their subjects than the distant proclamations of the First Speakers. The governors announced their secession from the Empire in a joint declaration in 945, bringing the local Biral garrison-colonies with them, and raising additional local forces for defence. Imperial forces were sent to reassert control of the source of tin (and many gems), and were defeated in a series of battles in 946-948. This event, more than anything else, marked the collapse of the Empire. Apart from some brief attempts to reconquer a rebellious Eyre Peninsula in the 970s, this marked the last time that the Empire would try to project military power outside of the heartland of the Five Rivers.

Imperial rule over the core of the Murray basin – the Five Rivers – persisted for much longer than the more distant territories, but with the same condition of gradual decline of imperial power. The Biral remained a resented ruling class along the Murray proper, and revolts became increasingly common. The First Speakers resorted to increasingly desperate measures to quell some revolts, including the wholesale razing of Weenaratta in 1043, but in the end, none of these measures were successful. The lands around the Murray Mouth were lost in the 1020s, Tjibarr rebelled in 1057 and started to encroach further into imperial territory, and Gutjanal [Albury-Wodonga] asserted its independence in 1071, taking most of the dominions of the old kingdom of Gundabingee with it. By 1080, the Empire consisted of little more than Garrkimang and its immediate hinterland; its borders had shrunk even further than the borders of the Classical kingdom. Internal revolt removed the last of the First Speakers in 1124, leaving Garrkimang a decaying city filled with monuments to past imperial glories.

--

[1] The Kangaroos came from Gray, the Corellas from White, the Ravens from Black, the Kookaburras from Blue, the Echidnas from Azure, and the Possums from Red. The old colours of Gold and Green were lost during the migrations.

[2] In modern Australia, this region has been transformed into the Murrumbidgee Irrigation Area. This uses a system of weirs, canals and holding ponds to irrigate the area, and which is in turn fed by larger dams further upriver. This has made the area very productive agriculturally. In allohistorical Australia, Garrkimang engineers have developed their own complex system of dams and weirs to trap floodwaters and feed them into wetlands which are used, as elsewhere, for fishing and hunting.

[3] The Five Rivers are the Murray, the Murrumbidgee, the Lachlan, the Macquarie, and the Darling, all of which are part of the Murray-Darling basin. The earlier Three Rivers did not include the Murray and Darling Rivers, but the nation was renamed when it extended control over those two major rivers.

[4] The process which the Imperial smiths have used to develop brass is distinct from that used elsewhere in the world. Early brasses elsewhere were produced from calamine, which is an ore which contains zinc carbonate and zinc silicates, and which were melted with copper to produce brass. In *Australia, the Imperial smiths have explored the massive Broken Hill ore deposits, initially for extraction of lead and native silver, both of which are abundant there. Mining in this deposit will also mean that they discover sphalerite, an ore of zinc sulfide which has also has impurities of iron. This can be melted to produce brass in the same way that calamine was elsewhere, but it also means that iron will frequently be encountered as an impurity in the waste products.

--

Thoughts?
 
Fascinating stuff!

What's Australia/the Watjubaga's contact with New Zealand, the Maori, and the rest of Polynesia like? Is the snippet in the intro the first contact between the groups, or was there prior contact?
 
It could depend. I think the area around it would likely to be settled well even afterwards because it's good agricultural land, but like many famous cities of antiquity the site itself might be abandoned.
 
What's Australia/the Watjubaga's contact with New Zealand, the Maori, and the rest of Polynesia like? Is the snippet in the intro the first contact between the groups, or was there prior contact?
At the time of the Empire, there's no contact between *Australian farming peoples and anyone outside of the continent. New Zealand isn't even settled at the time of the Empire; the best estimate for its colonisation is AD 1280, long after the Empire had fallen.

The two snippets shown in the prologue were the first times when Maori and Europeans respectively had contact with *Australian farming peoples. (Europeans had reached Australia earlier, but those visits did not result in contact.)

Will Garrkimang be re-settled again, I wonder?

It could depend. I think the area around it would likely to be settled well even afterwards because it's good agricultural land, but like many famous cities of antiquity the site itself might be abandoned.
Garrkimang is never quite abandoned, though it has shrunk to a shadow of its former population. The farming area around it is still inhabited even in the aftermath of the revolt, but the centre of government moved on to *Wagga Wagga. Merchants and so on abandoned the city. It does gradually regain some population, but even by the time of European contact (1619) it is still a secondary city within the new kingdom.

Wow, this is a long one! I don't think I can get through it in one go! :grin:
I've got bad news because this is only the beginning part of something much longer, so hurry up and get reading :p
Is this the wrong time to mention that the published part of Lands of Red and Gold is about 480,000 words?

There is a reason I'm spacing out the chapters, though, to give people time to digest them. I don't want it to turn into too much of a race to try to keep up with things.
 
At the time of the Empire, there's no contact between *Australian farming peoples and anyone outside of the continent. New Zealand isn't even settled at the time of the Empire; the best estimate for its colonisation is AD 1280, long after the Empire had fallen.

Huh, I had thought it was earlier, around 1000 AD or so. More you know.

Garrkimang is never quite abandoned, though it has shrunk to a shadow of its former population. The farming area around it is still inhabited even in the aftermath of the revolt, but the centre of government moved on to *Wagga Wagga. Merchants and so on abandoned the city. It does gradually regain some population, but even by the time of European contact (1619) it is still a secondary city within the new kingdom.

Yeah, I figured as much. Shrunk to a husk of its former glory, as the economic networks shift. Probably got a proud group of citizens left, but then Rome was proud too even when it was a smaller city that some other Italian centers.
 
Yeah, I figured as much. Shrunk to a husk of its former glory, as the economic networks shift. Probably got a proud group of citizens left, but then Rome was proud too even when it was a smaller city that some other Italian centers.
Very few but very proud citizens, full of themselves and of tales of glory. With some spectacular surviving architecture, gradually decaying and in most cases impossible to repair. (Hard to get the marble from so far away, for example.)
 
This is a fascinating thread, the story segments are incredibly real, lived and relatably human, while the world building is detailed and incredibly well thought out, kudos!
 
This is a fascinating thread, the story segments are incredibly real, lived and relatably human, while the world building is detailed and incredibly well thought out, kudos!
Gracias. There's a lot of this thread still to come. I'm just trying to pace it out because I tend to write very long updates, so don't want to make it too much too fast.
 
Lands of Red and Gold #10: Times of Bronze
Lands of Red and Gold #10: Times of Bronze

Continuity note: this instalment follows on directly from the first section of the opening instalment (#0: First Contact) of the Prologue.

--

February - March 1310
The Illawarra, New South Wales, Australia

Kawiti of the Tangata had explored far and wide around Te Ika a Maui [North Island, New Zealand], and once to the even larger island to the south. His father, who had taught him the arts of navigation, had sailed even further, being one of the pioneers who had guided the fleets of canoes bringing the Tangata from the ancestral homeland of Hawaiki. He had heard many tales, oft fanciful and extravagant. Yet Kawiti had never seen or heard of men like these.

Eight of them, no two men alike except that they all carried spears tipped with some strange yellowish-brown substance. When he first saw them, he thought that they all had skins black as night. Now he saw that that was a combination of shadows and artifice. Once they stood out of the shadows, he could see that these strange men were not fully black of skin; the small patches of skin visible beneath their cloaks and armours were darker than his own, but not midnight-black. Some sort of dye must have been used to darken the more visible parts of their skin. To aid in hunting, or through some strange custom? No way to know, not yet.

The leader of the dark men asked him another question in their incomprehensible language, pointing at them, then their boat, then to the water both north and south. After a moment, Kawiti realised that the man was asking where they had come from. He told his comrades to stay quiet – no point having everyone answering the question. He pointed to him and his comrades, then the boat, then he pointed east, and made repeated pushing gestures to show that they had come from far to the east.

That provoked a mixed response from the dark men. A couple laughed, as if not believing. Others spoke in raised voices, their expressions showing disbelief. The leader – if leader he truly was – snapped a command, and the arguments died back to murmurs. He asked a single-word question: "Guda?"

Having no idea what the word meant, Kawiti settled for gesturing to include himself and his comrades again, then pushing many times to the east, to show how far away it was.

The dark men argued amongst themselves for a few moments more, until they settled down. Their leader seemed to convince the others as much through volume as anything else. He then turned back to Kawiti, and gestured at himself and his comrades. "Raduru," he said. "Iya Raduru."

Kawiti nodded, and gestured to himself and his fellows. "Tangata. We are Tangata."

The leader of the Raduru gestured to himself. "Gumaring. Uya Gumaring."

Kawiti gave his own name.

The dark men – the Raduru – all smiled after that. Gumaring gave what sounded like more orders, from the crisp tone, and the Raduru passed over some gifts. They handed over two water skins and some kind of orange, translucent substance which felt slightly soft against his fingers. Almost like kauri gum, but different. Gumaring mimed eating the gum.

"Here's hoping that offering us food makes us guests," his cousin Nene said.

"And here's hoping that this isn't like kauri gum," Kawiti said. Dried kauri gum could be dug from the earth, and was very useful for its gleam and appearance, but no-one ever ate it.

He chewed on a small portion of the gum, and found that it was sweet. Very sweet. He washed it down with a mouthful of water. An unusual taste, but a pleasant one. His fellows did the same.

"We should return the favour," Kawiti said. Except that all they had for food was cold, smoked moa meat and raw kumara [sweet potato]. Explorers were used to such fare, but he did not know if he wanted to offer it to strangers. Did the Raduru see offering any food as a greeting, or would they prefer only something sweet or fine-tasting? No way to know, so would if offend them more to offer no food in response, or to offer food they did not like?

Gumaring solved the matter for him. He quietly regathered the now much-emptier water skins. He gave some lengthy explanation which made no sense whatsoever – maybe wondering if they could learn a few words here and there – and then returned to using gestures. He conveyed the idea that he wanted the Tangata to come with his men to the north, and copied Kawiti's earlier gesture to indicate that it would be a long way to travel.

Using a variety of gestures and signals of his own, Kawiti managed to get through the idea that he and his comrades would travel in that direction, but by water. He would not leave the canoe behind and have no way to reach home without making another, especially with no surety that they could make new sails.

Gumaring appeared happy enough with this, and then had another voluble discussion with the other Raduru. As before, he seemed to settle it as much by volume as by persuasion. After that, Gumaring kept pointing to himself, then to the boat, indicating that he wanted to travel with them, leaving the other men to journey by land. Kawiti was more than happy for that; having Gumaring along would avoid any problems with wherever these people lived at the other end. Still, he asked the other Tangata, preferring to make sure that they were happy rather than have friction on the trip.

"Fine. Just be glad they all didn't want to come," Nene said. The others gave their agreement, too.

All of the Raduru came back to the canoe. They seemed utterly fascinated by it, as if they had never seen a boat like it before. "What would they think of a big waka?" Kawiti asked.

The other Tangata laughed. This small exploration canoe could carry a few men a long way, but it was nothing like the much larger waka which had carried their fathers from Hawaiki, and which were used nowadays to take settlers further south along Te Ika a Maui. A waka could carry eighty men across the seas to a new home.

Even this one? Kawiti wondered, for a moment, but dismissed the thought. He was here to explore, not to raid. The Big Man back home would decide whether to settle or to trade or to ignore this new land altogether. Still, from what he had seen of these Raduru and their shields and strange spears, it would not be easy to push them aside, if they wanted no newcomers. Te Ika a Maui had been empty, and thus easily settled. This land... Wait and see, he reminded himself.

Once off the shore, the wind favoured them. It blew from the land, which made it easy enough for Kawiti to take the canoe north by sail power alone. The canoe could be paddled if they absolutely needed to, but he would rather not go to that effort. Who could say how much further north the Raduru dwelt?

Gumaring proved to be a pleasant enough sailing companion. He did not become disturbed or aggressive, and spent most of his time going back and forth with Nene and Kawiti about the meanings of a few words in each other's languages. Kawiti was most intrigued by found the strange yellow-brown substance which these Raduru used. Gumaring had a shield made out of it, which gleamed, and a serviceable knife, and a spearhead, which were much duller. The substance seemed to be as hard as most stones, and looked to be perfect for making all sorts of tools.

After a few attempts, Gumaring indicated that his people called the substance dunu. After even more effort, Kawiti managed to get across a question about where the substance came from. By virtue of lots of gestures, mimes, and lengthy if incomprehensible explanations, Gumaring explained that dunu was made from two substances melted together. One was apparently dug from the earth, and the other came from somewhere to the south. A very long way away, from the way in which Gumaring kept making pushing gestures.

Just how big is this island? Kawiti wondered. He knew no way to get that question across, but he was extremely intrigued. The two moa-filled islands which the Tangata had found for themselves were far larger than any other islands known about anywhere, according to what he his father and every other navigator had said. How could this western island be even bigger?

They sailed north for a while, enough for the sun to sink noticeably lower over the western land. They passed several beaches, then neared a rather large headland which jutted out into the sea. At Gumaring's indication, he steered the canoe wide of the headland. When they passed, he saw that a building had been built near the highest point on the headland. Even from the distance, he could see that the whole building had been made out of some light yellow stone. As their canoe passed, smoke started to pour from the building. A watchtower and a signal fire, he supposed. Gumaring tried to explain more about it, but Kawiti and Nene could not figure out his meaning.

Once around the headland, he saw a couple of other small canoes in the water, being rapidly paddled toward the shore. Made from some kind of bark sewn together, from what he could see of them, not dug out from a tree trunk like any proper canoe should be. He vaguely wondered why these Raduru needed to do that, when they had so many trees to shape into dugouts, and why they did not use outriggers to stabilise their canoes on the seas. Maybe they knew no better; it would explain why they had been so fascinated by the first glimpse of the Tangata canoe. If those bark-skin canoes were as flimsy as they looked, he would not take one out of sight of land, and given a choice, he wouldn't even take them onto the water.

Thoughts of canoes were driven from his mind as they neared a small sheltered harbour. The people in the other canoes landed them and carried them up the beach, but other people were waiting to meet them. A lot of people. A couple of hundred men lined the shore, waiting for them. It was hard to be sure at a distance, but it looked as if they all had spears and shields. Beyond the beach rose walls of the same creamy-yellow stone which had been used to make the watchtower.

Gumaring leaped off the canoe as soon as it touched sand underneath the waves, even before it was fully ashore. He started shouting at the other Raduru while he ran toward them. Kawiti ignored them for the moment, and made sure that the canoe was brought ashore properly. He needed to ensure that it was above the high-water mark. That much he could do. Keeping the canoe safe from the Raduru would be another matter, but they seemed friendly enough so far.

More raised voices carried across from where Gumaring spoke to his fellows, but they sounded more excited than angry. By the time Kawiti and the other Tangata had secured the canoe above the high-water mark, the crowd of warriors had separated somewhat. Gumaring gestured for them to follow him. "Bigan," he kept repeating, over and over. Presumably that meant something like "come," but who could say for sure?

Gumaring led them toward the walled town, or whatever it was. A few of the Raduru followed behind, while others dispersed. As they drew near, Kawiti's gaze focused mostly on the creamy-yellow walls. It looked something like the sandstone he had seen in a few places in Te Ika a Maui, but not quite the same colour. Whatever it was made of, though, the wall was high. Higher than a man could reach. These Raduru must expect raids from their neighbours, then, especially if they had gone to the trouble of building a watchtower.

"What are those birds?" Nene asked, pointing off to the left. Not far from the walls, a large space of land had been enclosed by a fence and ditch. Inside it crowded a large number of birds. Big, flightless birds, reminiscent of moa, although no moa had a black-feathered head with patches of naked blue skin, like those bird heads which poked over the fence to watch the people outside.

"Not moa," one of the other Tangata said. "Ever tried to keep moa fenced in?"

Kawiti chuckled, as did the others. A few hunters had tried to herd moa into enclosures to keep them around to be killed during harder times. It never worked. If a moa took fright, it would run in panic. If there was nowhere to run except into a fence, then the moa would run into the fence, either killing itself or breaking down the fence. Sometimes both.

"Don't look as big as moas," Nene said. "Not the decent ones, anyway."

Kawiti shrugged. The biggest moas sometimes weighed more than two men, well worth the hunting, even with the ever-increasing distances needed to travel to find and kill them. These birds looked smaller, but would still make for a fine feast.

Gumaring led them inside the stone walls of the Raduru town. Inside, buildings of stone and wood crowded near to each other, except for one road which ran through the town. Some kind of dark grey stones had been laid into the ground to form a solid surface on the street. That was a marvellous idea – stones would not turn to mud whenever it rained.

"How many people live here?" Nene asked, as they walked along the winding street. Building after building lay on either side, with narrower unpaved streets running off. "Hundreds? Tens of hundreds?"

Kawiti nodded. The entire extended family networks of their iwi [clan] numbered less than ten hundreds of people. This crowded town had to hold at least that many people. How numerous were the Raduru? The more he thought on it, the more he doubted that the Big Man would ever order the settlement of this western island. Not anywhere that the Raduru claimed, anyway.

About a dozen of the Raduru warriors still followed them into the town; the rest had returned to whatever they were doing before the Tangata arrived. Gumaring led the way to a large stone building at the top of a small hill. The building was surrounded by an open area paved with more stones, and separated from the rest of the town by a low wall about knee-height.

A man waited inside the paved area. A brief glance confirmed him as someone of high status, with elaborate, colourful clothes and some accoutrements made from the same dunu which the other Raduru used for spearheads and some shields. This was clearly the Big Man of the Raduru. He did not bear any shield or other weapons, save for a gleaming dunu dagger at his belt. He wore a cloak wrapped around him, dyed in alternating lines of green and light blue, and fastened by a clasp of a material which looked like dunu, but which had a yellower, brighter sheen. He had a bracelet on each arm made from the same metal, and several other decorations of dunu. His headdress was an elaborate work formed in three overlapping circles, one projecting from either side of his head, and the third just above it. Brightly coloured feathers had been attached to the headdress, an iridescent arrangement of greens, blues, oranges and yellows.

Gumaring dropped down to one knee before the Big Man, and lowered his head level with his neck. He motioned for the Tangata to do the same. Kawiti did so, and the others followed his lead.

When they rose, the Big Man exchanged a few words with Gumaring, but did not try to speak to the Tangata directly. Kawiti did not know whether that was because the Big Man was smarter than Gumaring – who kept trying to speak with them in a language which they did not understand – or whether the Big Man thought he was too important to speak to them directly. No way to know, yet, but Kawiti wanted to find out as much as he could about these Raduru, including what their Big Man thought. Returning to Te Ika a Maui now would mean only a few brief tales, which would not do much to increase his status. Being the first to bring back a detailed account of some of the Raduru learning would be much more useful.

The Big Man turned and walked to the wall of the main building. A fire burned here, with a woman tending to it. A small rounded vessel made of another strange substance hung above the fire, with steam wafting occasionally from the lid. Kawiti was not sure exactly the rounded vessel was made from; it looked almost like clay, but harder and drier, and decorated with patterns of black lines and spirals. They waited while the woman ladled some of the boiling water into six cups made from the same kind of substance as the boiling vessel. The woman sprinkled some sort of bright green powdered substance onto the top of each cup – they looked like crushed leaves – then stirred it in with a smaller ladle.

The Big Man took each of the cups and handed them to the Tangata one by one. He said something which sounded formalised and slow, although the words were as unintelligible as everything else. The scent wafting up from the cup smelled pleasantly sweet, but with a hint of something more tart underneath. At the Big Man's gesture, he took a slow sip from the cup; the water was hot, but not undrinkable. The flavour was oddly pleasant; the drink had more than a hint of tartness, stronger than he had had expected from the smell, but still drinkable [1]. He finished the drink, and the others did the same. At a guess – and he hated to guess – this was how the Big Man welcomed guests. Which was good; being accepted as a guest should give some protection from trouble.

After that, Gumaring showed them to a building near the Big Man's house, and indicated that they could live here. They spent the next few hours discussing the implications of all that they had seen here. There was much to wonder about, since so much of what they had seen was new and alien. No-one was sure which of these new things was the most important, but they were all sure that what they had seen here could be very useful back in Te Ika a Maui.

That evening, they were invited to a feast. About a hundred people were there eating, about half of them women. That was unlike the Tangata, where the women would only eat once the men were finished. He said, "No-one touch a woman here unless she touches you first. Don't let your gaze linger on any woman for too long, either." Among the Tangata, nothing could be more guaranteed to start a fight than over women, and he suspected that the same held true here.

Throughout the feast, he paid little attention to the people, but more to the food. The centrepiece was a couple of large roasted birds, which from their size had to be like the ones they had seen on the way in. They were certainly worth the eating, although he thought that he preferred moa. Besides the meat, there were a variety of vegetables to eat, spiced with a variety of flavours which he enjoyed without being able to put a name to them. He recognised one of the plants as a kind of yam, something like those which the Tangata had brought to Te Ika a Maui, but of a strange red colour. They grew much larger than anything which could be grown on that island, too. That interested him more than anything else which he had seen so far. Sweet potato, yams, taro and other crops did not grow well on Te Ika a Maui, at least compared to what his father had said about how large they grew back on Hawaiki [2]. And a man could not live on moa alone. Would these red yams and other foods be better-suited to growing back east?

The Tangata's discussions after the feast that night were slower, since it was harder to think on a very full stomach, but they all agreed that they wanted to stay for longer. There were plenty of questions which Kawiti wanted to ask, once he learned the words to use. Starting with how big this land really was.

The Tangata were allowed to stay for several weeks. The Raduru seemed to have endless hospitality for guests. Kawiti was able to find out much more about the Raduru. He found out early on that they had neighbours to the south that they were at intermittent war with, which seemed to consist of a series of raids every few months, but nothing more. He learned of the many plants they grew, of red yams, of wealth-trees which produced edible seeds and gum and had many other uses, of flax and nettles which they used for weaving and linen and ropes. He learned of the emus and ducks which they raised tame, like dogs, so that they could have them to eat without needing to go hunting. He learned how they shaped and baked clay into pottery – such a useful thing! He learned of the metal dunu, the working metal of so many uses, and the sun and moon metals which they used for ornamental purposes. These Raduru were fond of decorating everything, it seemed. Their Big Man and his wives dressed the most ornately, but everyone had at least one set of brightly-decorated clothes.

Kawiti even had the chance to join them on a couple of hunts. They used rangelands to the south to hunt for a strange hopping animal which they called kangaroo [3]. These kangaroos were hard to find, but the meat had a stronger, more welcome flavour than emu, which was why they still hunted for it. The Raduru he went with laughed at him sometimes when he hunted; Gumaring explained that they thought he was clumsy. The laughter stung at first, but he soon learned how effortlessly the Raduru could move without being seen. Even knowing exactly where they were, he still sometimes could not see them. Moa were much easier to hunt than kangaroos; as often as not a man could walk right up to them. These kangaroos were another prospect altogether, and a man had to learn to camouflage himself well to come near enough to strike them with arrow or spear.

It took several weeks before he or the other Tangata could communicate with the Raduru about anything past the basics. Gestures could only go so far, but they did learn a few words here and there, enough to let him attempt some longer conversations. At one of the evening feasts, after a successful hunt which saw the Big Man give Gumaring the prize cut from the kangaroo he had killed, Kawiti asked the question he had wanted to ask for so long. "How big this land?'

Gumaring said, "Half the world."

Just when I thought that we understood each other, Kawiti thought, but he persisted. "How long to walk to other side of land?"

"Land go on forever," Gumaring said. "Half world land, in west, other half world water, in east. Little water on land, river and swamp and lagoon, just as little land on water, like island you come from. But most on each half of world. No end to land if go west; it go on forever, like time."

Odd. All lands were islands, in the end. Water surrounded everything, just as in the end of time it would cover everything, but that meant that this must be a very large island. Bigger even that Te Ika a Maui, by everything Kawiti had seen and heard.

He tried a question which might get a clearer answer. "Who else live on this land?"

A couple of nearby people overheard that question, and it provoked another of the arguments of which the Raduru were so fond. Eventually Gumaring won the argument by volume, as he usually did. "People some-like us live north and south. Putanjura live north, snakes of Nyumigal live south. Some times with them both we talk, some times we fight."

"And to the west?" Kawiti asked.

"No easy to cross big up," Gumaring said. A moment later, Kawiti realised he meant the cliffs which lined the interior along this coast, rising up high and leaving only rugged terrain beyond. "High empty country, where few hill-men live, but not else much. Not know who live past that, not for sure. Wanderer-trader-liars go, come back, say what they want make them look brave or see what tales fools believe."

More argument followed, and this time one of the other speakers won, calling someone else over. Kawiti could never pronounce this man's name properly; the closest he could get was Junibara, but that was not quite right.

Junibara said, "Past big up, hills rise high-high. Paths go through for those-know-guide, but long time take. Go far, land flat and dry. River-men live there, in big, big towns. One called... Garr-ki-mung. Hundreds of hundreds live there. River-men no have sea, so make own lakes for fish. Have much-much dunu and drink water-that-burns-and-bravens. Each River-Man think he best in world, always speak and not let other man finish talking. Big Man there and his servants store words in clay so always know what-happen-where-when. Dry there, always dry, except where river flows."

Kawiti kept his face still. This land was very, very big, then, and full of people. Rahiri, the Big Man of the Tangata back home, would be very interested in all of this. Kawiti was not sure what Rahiri would want to do once he had heard it. For himself, he thought that coming back here again and again might be the best use for the navigation skills which his father had made him learn, no matter how much he had hated it at the time.

--

[1] These are leaves from the lemon-scented tea tree (Leptospermum petersonii), which in historical Australia were used by early colonial settlers to make a substitute for tea. The flavour is reminiscent of lemon, although not quite as tart.

[2] Despite what has sometimes been written about them, the Maori did grow a variety of Polynesian crops in New Zealand, not just sweet potato. However, these plants often did not grow very well, and even those which grew the best – yams and taro – were mostly restricted to north-facing gardens in the northern part of the North Island. Even sweet potato did not grow in much of the South Island.

[3] Of course, the Raduru words for kangaroo (and emu, and quite a few other things) are different to their historical equivalents, but they have been translated for convenience.

--

Thoughts?
 
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