Maps: The Cider Isle (Tasmania)
Lands of Red and Gold
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I thought that was a fascinating piece on Tasmania, the Song was brilliant and intriguing and fantastical but feels very real and I love the historical debates surrounding it. The way you spread so much of the history out while still keeping it feeling connected and detailed was very impressive.
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I really liked this update and the more detailed focus on one, unique area of Aurarian history. When I read the phrase "The Song of the Princess" I was immediately reminded of the Illiad and the Trojan War - seems like the two conflicts were quite similar, what with the "theft" of a wife, the uniting of several city-states into a single military force commanded by legendary heroes, and the long siege and ultimate destruction of one of the area's largest and most powerful cities. Were these allusions deliberate, or accidental on your part @Jared?
Also that is an excellent map - is there any chance of you attributing them to their original creators?
Also that is an excellent map - is there any chance of you attributing them to their original creators?
Good catch, thanks. I've fixed it now.
Certainly a possibility, though not definitely. Tasmania is more than twice the size of Belgium, and Belgium has kept two distinct cultures for a long time thanks to linguistic separation. (Or indeed three, depending on whether the German community is considered as separate or part of either Wallonia or German culture).
The Palawa are probably the most vulnerable of the three since they are by far the smallest.
Merci. This was a fun one to write.
The allusions to the Trojan War was entirely deliberate. In many respects, the Tjunini are kind of Homeric Greeks. The Kurnawal are also vaguely Icelandic/Norwegian Norse, though the parallels aren't as strong. In both cases these are only partial allusions, though; the cultures aren't exact analogues.
The Tasmanian map was created by an AH.com contributor who went by the username of Ampersand at the time, now goes by Falklandia. Not a resident of Tasmania as far as I know.
Lands of Red and Gold #14: Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Cash
Lands of Red and Gold #14: Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Cash
History calls it Kangaroo Island. A small island, not even four and a half thousand square kilometres, but teeming with wildlife. Some claim it to be one of the last unspoilt refuges on earth. Kangaroos, koalas, wombats, goannas, echidnas, platypus and other Australian wildlife flourish here, without introduced predators. In truth, it is far from pristine. The native emu of this island has been hunted to extinction, and many of the indigenous animals were in fact introduced by European colonists.
Allohistory calls it simply the Island. A place not of unspoilt scenery, but the crowded home of the wealthiest people in Australasia. In 1618, on the eve of Dutch contact, the Island is home to sixty thousand people. Dependent on commerce both for their food and their wealth, they have turned their small island home into the nexus of the greatest trade routes in the continent.
--
Like the much larger Tasmania, the Island once held a remnant population who were separated from the mainland by rising waves at the end of the last ice age. Unlike Tasmania, the Island's native population vanished sometime in prehistory, abandoning their homes and fleeing to the mainland millennia ago. For a time, the Island was left to the kangaroos and wombats, while the mainlanders referred to it as the Land of the Dead [1].
The Island was resettled about 750 BC, during the Great Migrations. One group of refugees from the abandoned city of Murray Bridge moved down the Fleurieu Peninsula and sailed across to the Island. Early Gunnagalic peoples were not good shipbuilders, but the narrow strait between the Island and the mainland was easily crossed [2].
The settlers of the Island called themselves the Nangu. They spoke a Gunnagalic language, one which was quite linguistically conservative. With the relative isolation of their island, Nangu speakers were unaffected by many of the changes which spread across the mainland languages. They adopted writing from the mainland during imperial times, and their early written records reveal that their language has changed relatively little since that time. Later linguists would find the Nangu language invaluable in their efforts to reconstruct Proto-Gunnagalic.
Living on the Island, the Nangu were for many centuries an isolated, underpopulated backwater. They received some ideas from the mainland, but the spread was often slow. They learned the arts of bronze-working, although the metal was a rare trade good for centuries. They adopted the new mainland farming techniques of crop rotation, and raised domesticated emus to replace the native Island emus which had been hunted to extinction during the early days of settlement [3].
Still, in many ways, the history of the mainland passed by without affecting the Island. During the Imperial era, the Nangu were a subject people who vaguely acknowledged the imperial hegemony and occasionally paid tribute. Yet the First Speakers never sent any invading armies across the water. During the early tenth century, the Nangu simply stopped paying tribute to the Empire. No-one in distant Garrkimang seems to have cared. Certainly no army was sent in reconquest, even though this was the time when the Empire had its last burst of military expansion and conquered the Eyre Peninsula. After the collapse of the Empire, the Nangu continued on largely untouched. Warfare and political intrigue on the mainland was of little concern to the Islanders, since the bickering nations lacked the ability or interest to invade the Island.
Of course, the Nangu were never completely isolated. Dependent on fishing for much of their food, they developed good shipbuilding techniques by the standards of early Gunnagalic peoples. During the eleventh century, a few brave Islander captains started to sail directly to Tasmania, which they called Tjul Najima, the Island of Bronze. The voyage was risky, especially the return leg, where they sometimes had to wait for weeks or months for a change in the prevailing winds. Still, the rewards for successful captains were substantial. Bronze on Tjul Najima was cheap enough to trade for Islander dyes and spices, then return home to sell the metal for excellent profits. Previously the Nangu had received bronze only through a chain of mainland intermediaries; now they had much cheaper direct trade.
Islander ships expanded the bronze trade over the next few centuries. Some more venturesome captains slowly broadened their trade network over the next couple of centuries. Sporadic visits to the Eyre Peninsula were expanded into regular trading trips to Pankala [Port Lincoln], to trade bronze and gum cider for opals, salt, and agricultural produce. Other captains started to call at Jugara [Victor Harbor], a small town on the most convenient natural harbour next to the Murray Mouth. From here, they traded for goods which had been moved overland from ports on the Murray itself.
The early Islander trade network was relatively limited, since their ships could move only small volumes of goods, and that at considerable risk. Yet it was enough to bring many new things to the Island, including new technologies and knowledge in medicine, masonry, and many other fields.
Of these new ideas, perhaps the most significant was the adoption of a new religion. Plirism, the religion of the Sevenfold Path, had not yet had much success on the mainland. In Tjibarr its followers were mostly spurned; among the decaying feudalism of the Junditmara and their Empire of the Lake, its followers were treated as infidels.
On the Island, though, the disciples of the Good Man found a receptive audience. The first Plirite temple was founded at Crescent Bay [Kingscote] in 1204. From here, Plirite priests sought to convert all of the Islanders. They met with substantial success over the next few decades. By 1240, about half of the Islanders carried out the rituals of the Sevenfold Path. There were considerable religious tensions between Plirite converts and the older Nangu beliefs (which were derived from the early Gunnagalic religions).
At this time, the Island had no single monarch or established aristocratic class. Instead, the population were divided into twenty-four bloodlines, which were derived from the old kitjigal system. Bloodlines functioned much as extended clans, where the members were expected to defend each other in case of disputes. Belonging to a particular bloodline was not a matter of strict descent; men could seek adoption into a new bloodline if they wished. However, while birth did not always matter, loyalty did; early Islander history is rife with tales of feuds and vendettas between bloodlines which carried on for generations.
To bring order to the Island, the Nangu had established an institution of a yearly assembly by the elders (chiefs) of each of the bloodlines. This assembly met to decide on the law, resolve disputes between bloodlines, and dispense other judicial functions. In 1240, the assembled elders voted to convert the whole of the Island to the Plirite faith. More or less willingly, the remaining adherents of the old beliefs adopted the new rituals. More temples were built, and the Nangu became committed to their new faith. In time, they would seek to spread it beyond the Island.
--
Australia's isolation from the rest of the world ended in 1310, when the first Maori [4] exploration canoe landed in Raduru lands [Illawarra, NSW]. After this initial contact, the Maori started to make trading visits north and south. In time, after chasing after rumours of bronze, they reached Tjul Najima. Here they established what would become one of their major trade routes, exchanging their greenstone [jade], kauri amber, and textiles and cordage made from New Zealand flax for the local tin and gum cider.
With Nangu trading captains also regularly visiting Tjul Najima for bronze and gum cider, contact soon followed between Maori and Nangu. Unlike many other Australian peoples, the Islanders had a keen interest in better ships for their own needs, both trading and fishing. With the example of Maori ships, and with a few Maori who were persuaded to live on the Island and share their knowledge of shipbuilding and navigation techniques, the Nangu became the best seafarers in Australia.
History does not record the precise date of Maori-Nangu contact, but by 1380, Islander records describe the construction of twin-hulled boats. Inspired by Maori examples, these were dual-masted vessels whose twin hulls gave them great stability and speed. These boats also had lateen sails (woven from native flax) which were extremely manoeuvrable. Thanks to the Maori, the Nangu learned the art of tacking into the wind; the best Islander captains and crews could sail their ships within 60 degrees of the wind. This meant that their ships were capable of sailing even into the strong winds of the Roaring Forties.
The old Nangu ships had used a shallow enough draft that they could be pulled up onto a beach if one was available, or use a port and wait for a favourable wind. With their new ships, the direction of the wind became less of a concern, although their ships could still be pulled ashore in rough weather if the captain chose to do so.
The basic design of the Nangu ships would be similar for the next few centuries, although they made some refinements. Some Islander captains started to use larger sailing vessels which could not be pulled onto any beach, but which needed to operate from a port. By the late sixteenth century, a few of these ships were steered using a rudder rather than the traditional steering oar. However, even at the time of European contact, most smaller Nangu ships were still operated with a steering oar. There had been some refinements, but the general design would still have looked familiar to any Maori of the early fourteenth century.
With their new ships, and with their keen eye for anything which might turn a profit, the Islanders expanded their incipient trading network into a major enterprise. Nangu ships could carry sizeable cargoes, and their captains regularly sought new markets. One of their major roles was as middlemen who carried tin, gum cider and gold from Tjul Najima to destinations across mainland Australia. This included the Yadji across the Strait, the Mutjing in the Eyre Peninsula, and Tjibarr and the other Murray kingdoms, via Jugara and a road to the Bitter Lake [Lake Alexandrina].
In time, Nangu captains sailed around the barrier of the treeless desert, and made contact with the expanding Atjuntja dominions. This soon became a flourishing part of their trade network, and allowed the exchange of many ideas, crops and technologies between the east and the west of Australia. The Atjuntja acquired a much greater variety of eastern crops, and the mixed blessing of Gunnagalic medicine. Via the Islanders, the Yadji and the Murray kingdoms learned the Atjuntja technologies for working with iron.
--
In 1618, the Island is the most densely-populated nation in Australasia. Sixty thousand people live crowded but happy lives on the Island. Trade and shipping is their lifeblood; not even the most intensive cultivation of Australian crops could support such a population. The Nangu do grow some food on the Island, and have large fishing fleets which venture across much of the Southern Ocean. Even with this, they rely on bulk shipping of wattle seeds and yams from the Mutjing city-states to feed their people. The Island is not completely stripped of trees, but timber is valuable enough for other purposes (mostly building) that most new Islander ships are now built further afield, either on the Eyre Peninsula or in timber camps on Tjul Najima.
Theirs is a society in the midst of urbanisation. There are still substantial small holdings in some of the rural areas, and the bloodlines remain socially divided, but the importation of food has meant that more and more people are now clustering in cities. Between them, the two largest cities, Crescent Bay and Deadwatch [Penneshaw] have about twenty-five thousand inhabitants.
The Island's government is still divided between the twenty-one surviving bloodlines, each of which preserves its claim to certain lands and trading rights. Competition between the bloodlines is one of the major drivers in their trading network. Each captain belongs to one bloodline or another, and they try to outdo each other in obtaining the greatest profits. The annual meeting of the Council of Elders maintains some order and does its best to resolve disputes amongst the bloodlines. Still, for all that the Nangu have converted to the supposedly peaceful faith of the Good Man, feuds and vendettas are common amongst the bloodlines.
In their lifestyle, the Islanders have abundant metal for tools, weapons and jewellery, all of it imported. Iron tools are used for most purposes on the Island itself, but since iron rusts quickly in salt air, they use bronze on their ships or close to the coast. In their early days on the Island, they lived in houses built of wood and earth, but with access to iron tools, most of their buildings are constructed from the local granite. Still, the Nangu are a people more given to personal ornamentation than to constructing many large buildings; most of the sizable edifices on the Island are the temples and sanctuaries of Plirite priests. Those temples are richly adorned with gold, silver and bronze donated by pious trader captains.
Shipping and trade underlie everything which the Islanders do, in one way or another. Their trade network is the most extensive in Australasia. In direct trade, their ships carry goods from one side of the continent to the other, and through their de facto colony of Jugara, they have links to the ancient trade routes of the Murray basin.
To the west, the Islanders regularly visit the Atjuntja dominions. Their visits are accepted by the Kings of Kings, who have established a trading quarter for them to use in the White City. The Islanders do not usually sail much further than the White City itself; the Atjuntja do not encourage visitors to round Cape Leeuwin [5]. A few Islander ships have visited the Indian Ocean from time to time, but their regular trading fleets go only to the White City, Warneang [Denmark] and a small port built south of Red Eye [Ravensthorpe].
To the east, Islander traders regularly visit ports in the Yadji lands and on Tjul Najima. Occasionally, they venture much further. Some bold Islander captains have been known to trade as far north-east as the Nyumigal and Raduru of southern New South Wales, and there have been occasional diplomatic contacts with the Patjimunra in the Hunter Valley. A few have explored even further. Yet such visits remain rare; there are limits to how far Islander ships can sail, and much of the trade here is in local or Maori hands. Within these limits, the Islanders are the dominant maritime power.
The Islanders are mostly an economic power, but they are also adherents of Plirism, which encourages conversion of other peoples. The reception of this faith has varied remarkably amongst the various peoples who have come into contact with the Islanders. The Atjuntja sternly discourage proselytisation, to the point of executing any would-be converts. The Yadji are also intolerant of other faiths, and persecute any of their subjects who convert to Plirism. Tjibarr had long since made its own accommodation with the disciples of the Good Man, and the Islanders have had little influence there.
However, among the Mutjing city-states and parts of Tjul Najima, Plirite priests have found a much more receptive audience. The Mutjing have converted almost completely to the new faith. So have many of the inhabitants of Tjul Najima, although with more reservations. Even those Tjunini and Kurnawal who have adopted Plirism retain most of their old attitudes, especially toward nationalism. The Palawa are prepared to listen to the Islanders who speak of the Good Man and his teachings, but their conversion has mostly been syncretic, where they adopt the Good Man's teachings alongside their old beliefs. In recent times, the Islanders have established a few missions on the eastern coast of the continent, where some peoples have accepted the new faith.
The majority of the Nangu still live on the Island itself, but they do have some settlements and colonies elsewhere. Some of these are under foreign rule, such as the Islander quarter in the White City, or in some of the Yadji ports. Others are independent colonies, such as the timber camps and trading outposts in Macquarie Harbour [in Tasmania].
The Islanders also have an isolated mainland settlement whose name translates rather exactly as Isolation [Eucla]. This is in the middle of the treeless desert [Nullarbor]. Here farming is marginal, but fishing is good, and the settlement can sustain itself. Isolation is mostly used as a stopover point for ships on the western trade; they sometimes visit if they are running low on supplies or fleeing bad weather.
For all that Islander ships voyage far and wide across the continent, their most important trading destination is quite close to their home island. This is the Islander settlement of Jugara [Victor Harbor]. A few people lived there since ancient times, but the Islanders turned it into a major settlement. Jugara is the closest good harbour to the Murray Mouth, and it has become an essential link in trade with the interior. The Murray itself is not navigable from the sea, but from Jugara the Islanders built a road to Bunara [Goolwa], a port on the Bitter Lake, where goods could be carried by people or by dog-pulled travois. From here, riverboats could move trade goods throughout the Murray basin [6]. This connected the old trade routes along the Murray and Darling rivers with the maritime trade networks of the Islanders, and led to a burgeoning growth in trade.
With the linking of the interior and maritime trading networks, Jugara grew into a bustling port, with a great variety of peoples visiting here. While the Islanders have always sought to maintain a monopoly on maritime shipping, they have never been averse to carrying other people on their ships. So Jugara has grown into a great entrepot where many peoples mingle; a place of vice and wealth. Here the Nangu are the largest ethnicity, and their "port captain" is the effective ruler of the city, but they are not alone. In Jugara live haughty Yadji, boisterous Nangu, hot-headed Gunnagal [7], drunken Tjunini and Kurnawal from the Cider Isle, stoic Atjuntja from the far west, wary Mutjing, and even the occasional Maori from distant Aotearoa.
Jugara has been an effective Islander colony since the fifteenth century, although its location makes it politically precarious. The lands between the Murray Mouth and Port Augusta have long been a contested region between the Yadji Empire and the kingdom of Tjibarr. However, while wars have raged and borders shifted, by unspoken convention, neither nation's armies would plunder Jugara, Bunara or the road between them. The benefits of the trade were too valuable. Conquerors would impose taxes, duties and levies, but they never sought to close off trade entirely. This suits the Islanders, who are usually neutral in disputes between Yadji and Tjibarr. The tension between the two nations has another valuable advantage for the Islanders, since it means that the closest mainland ports to the Island are not available as a base for invasion.
So, in 1618, the Islanders are wealthy and flourishing. Military invasion from the mainland is not a serious risk, unless the Yadji can inflict the decisive defeat on Tjibarr which they have been seeking for so long. The only threat to the Islanders' way of life comes from much further afield. With Islander captains always voyaging so far in search of profits, there are always a few Islanders in the west. So when the Raw Ones come out of the far west beyond the seas, Islanders will be among the first to hear of them...
--
[1] Kangaroo Island was inhabited until some time between 3000 – 200 BC. It is unclear from the archaeological record whether the inhabitants died out or abandoned the island for the mainland. Given the uncertainty over the dates, it's also not clear whether the island would still be inhabited by the time Gunnagalic peoples moved there. Even if it was inhabited, though, the relatively few hunter-gatherer inhabitants would have been overwhelmed by the demographic tide from the mainland.
[2] Investigator Strait, which separates Kangaroo Island from the mainland, is narrow enough that there have been reports of people who successfully swam across it.
[3] Kangaroo Island held a dwarf species of emu, variously called the Kangaroo Island emu or dwarf emu (Dromaius baudinianus) which was hunted to extinction by European whalers and sealers who used the island as a base of operations. In allohistorical Australia, it will similarly be easy prey for the early migrating Nangu.
[4] Some of the individual Maori tribes called themselves Tangata, which means "people." As happened historically, Maori developed as a word which collectively referred to all of the Maori tribes, to distinguish them from outsiders (i.e. *Australians).
[5] The Atjuntja economic system relies on moving goods and tribute along internal routes. Allowing the Islanders to take over their internal trade would undermine their existing system, so the Atjuntja only permit the Islanders access to a few trade ports which can be used to traffic goods between the east and western parts of the continent.
[6] Victor Harbor (which is the correct spelling, oddly enough) was used similarly in historical Australia; one of Australia's early railways connected it to Goolwa to move goods without needing to navigate the Murray Mouth.
[7] In 1618, the term Gunnagal is used to refer to the dominant ethnicity within the kingdom of Tjibarr; a few of these people also live in parts of the other Murray kingdoms. Later ethnographers and historians will use the term to refer to the ancestral Gunnagalic-speaking peoples.
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Thoughts?
History calls it Kangaroo Island. A small island, not even four and a half thousand square kilometres, but teeming with wildlife. Some claim it to be one of the last unspoilt refuges on earth. Kangaroos, koalas, wombats, goannas, echidnas, platypus and other Australian wildlife flourish here, without introduced predators. In truth, it is far from pristine. The native emu of this island has been hunted to extinction, and many of the indigenous animals were in fact introduced by European colonists.
Allohistory calls it simply the Island. A place not of unspoilt scenery, but the crowded home of the wealthiest people in Australasia. In 1618, on the eve of Dutch contact, the Island is home to sixty thousand people. Dependent on commerce both for their food and their wealth, they have turned their small island home into the nexus of the greatest trade routes in the continent.
--
Like the much larger Tasmania, the Island once held a remnant population who were separated from the mainland by rising waves at the end of the last ice age. Unlike Tasmania, the Island's native population vanished sometime in prehistory, abandoning their homes and fleeing to the mainland millennia ago. For a time, the Island was left to the kangaroos and wombats, while the mainlanders referred to it as the Land of the Dead [1].
The Island was resettled about 750 BC, during the Great Migrations. One group of refugees from the abandoned city of Murray Bridge moved down the Fleurieu Peninsula and sailed across to the Island. Early Gunnagalic peoples were not good shipbuilders, but the narrow strait between the Island and the mainland was easily crossed [2].
The settlers of the Island called themselves the Nangu. They spoke a Gunnagalic language, one which was quite linguistically conservative. With the relative isolation of their island, Nangu speakers were unaffected by many of the changes which spread across the mainland languages. They adopted writing from the mainland during imperial times, and their early written records reveal that their language has changed relatively little since that time. Later linguists would find the Nangu language invaluable in their efforts to reconstruct Proto-Gunnagalic.
Living on the Island, the Nangu were for many centuries an isolated, underpopulated backwater. They received some ideas from the mainland, but the spread was often slow. They learned the arts of bronze-working, although the metal was a rare trade good for centuries. They adopted the new mainland farming techniques of crop rotation, and raised domesticated emus to replace the native Island emus which had been hunted to extinction during the early days of settlement [3].
Still, in many ways, the history of the mainland passed by without affecting the Island. During the Imperial era, the Nangu were a subject people who vaguely acknowledged the imperial hegemony and occasionally paid tribute. Yet the First Speakers never sent any invading armies across the water. During the early tenth century, the Nangu simply stopped paying tribute to the Empire. No-one in distant Garrkimang seems to have cared. Certainly no army was sent in reconquest, even though this was the time when the Empire had its last burst of military expansion and conquered the Eyre Peninsula. After the collapse of the Empire, the Nangu continued on largely untouched. Warfare and political intrigue on the mainland was of little concern to the Islanders, since the bickering nations lacked the ability or interest to invade the Island.
Of course, the Nangu were never completely isolated. Dependent on fishing for much of their food, they developed good shipbuilding techniques by the standards of early Gunnagalic peoples. During the eleventh century, a few brave Islander captains started to sail directly to Tasmania, which they called Tjul Najima, the Island of Bronze. The voyage was risky, especially the return leg, where they sometimes had to wait for weeks or months for a change in the prevailing winds. Still, the rewards for successful captains were substantial. Bronze on Tjul Najima was cheap enough to trade for Islander dyes and spices, then return home to sell the metal for excellent profits. Previously the Nangu had received bronze only through a chain of mainland intermediaries; now they had much cheaper direct trade.
Islander ships expanded the bronze trade over the next few centuries. Some more venturesome captains slowly broadened their trade network over the next couple of centuries. Sporadic visits to the Eyre Peninsula were expanded into regular trading trips to Pankala [Port Lincoln], to trade bronze and gum cider for opals, salt, and agricultural produce. Other captains started to call at Jugara [Victor Harbor], a small town on the most convenient natural harbour next to the Murray Mouth. From here, they traded for goods which had been moved overland from ports on the Murray itself.
The early Islander trade network was relatively limited, since their ships could move only small volumes of goods, and that at considerable risk. Yet it was enough to bring many new things to the Island, including new technologies and knowledge in medicine, masonry, and many other fields.
Of these new ideas, perhaps the most significant was the adoption of a new religion. Plirism, the religion of the Sevenfold Path, had not yet had much success on the mainland. In Tjibarr its followers were mostly spurned; among the decaying feudalism of the Junditmara and their Empire of the Lake, its followers were treated as infidels.
On the Island, though, the disciples of the Good Man found a receptive audience. The first Plirite temple was founded at Crescent Bay [Kingscote] in 1204. From here, Plirite priests sought to convert all of the Islanders. They met with substantial success over the next few decades. By 1240, about half of the Islanders carried out the rituals of the Sevenfold Path. There were considerable religious tensions between Plirite converts and the older Nangu beliefs (which were derived from the early Gunnagalic religions).
At this time, the Island had no single monarch or established aristocratic class. Instead, the population were divided into twenty-four bloodlines, which were derived from the old kitjigal system. Bloodlines functioned much as extended clans, where the members were expected to defend each other in case of disputes. Belonging to a particular bloodline was not a matter of strict descent; men could seek adoption into a new bloodline if they wished. However, while birth did not always matter, loyalty did; early Islander history is rife with tales of feuds and vendettas between bloodlines which carried on for generations.
To bring order to the Island, the Nangu had established an institution of a yearly assembly by the elders (chiefs) of each of the bloodlines. This assembly met to decide on the law, resolve disputes between bloodlines, and dispense other judicial functions. In 1240, the assembled elders voted to convert the whole of the Island to the Plirite faith. More or less willingly, the remaining adherents of the old beliefs adopted the new rituals. More temples were built, and the Nangu became committed to their new faith. In time, they would seek to spread it beyond the Island.
--
Australia's isolation from the rest of the world ended in 1310, when the first Maori [4] exploration canoe landed in Raduru lands [Illawarra, NSW]. After this initial contact, the Maori started to make trading visits north and south. In time, after chasing after rumours of bronze, they reached Tjul Najima. Here they established what would become one of their major trade routes, exchanging their greenstone [jade], kauri amber, and textiles and cordage made from New Zealand flax for the local tin and gum cider.
With Nangu trading captains also regularly visiting Tjul Najima for bronze and gum cider, contact soon followed between Maori and Nangu. Unlike many other Australian peoples, the Islanders had a keen interest in better ships for their own needs, both trading and fishing. With the example of Maori ships, and with a few Maori who were persuaded to live on the Island and share their knowledge of shipbuilding and navigation techniques, the Nangu became the best seafarers in Australia.
History does not record the precise date of Maori-Nangu contact, but by 1380, Islander records describe the construction of twin-hulled boats. Inspired by Maori examples, these were dual-masted vessels whose twin hulls gave them great stability and speed. These boats also had lateen sails (woven from native flax) which were extremely manoeuvrable. Thanks to the Maori, the Nangu learned the art of tacking into the wind; the best Islander captains and crews could sail their ships within 60 degrees of the wind. This meant that their ships were capable of sailing even into the strong winds of the Roaring Forties.
The old Nangu ships had used a shallow enough draft that they could be pulled up onto a beach if one was available, or use a port and wait for a favourable wind. With their new ships, the direction of the wind became less of a concern, although their ships could still be pulled ashore in rough weather if the captain chose to do so.
The basic design of the Nangu ships would be similar for the next few centuries, although they made some refinements. Some Islander captains started to use larger sailing vessels which could not be pulled onto any beach, but which needed to operate from a port. By the late sixteenth century, a few of these ships were steered using a rudder rather than the traditional steering oar. However, even at the time of European contact, most smaller Nangu ships were still operated with a steering oar. There had been some refinements, but the general design would still have looked familiar to any Maori of the early fourteenth century.
With their new ships, and with their keen eye for anything which might turn a profit, the Islanders expanded their incipient trading network into a major enterprise. Nangu ships could carry sizeable cargoes, and their captains regularly sought new markets. One of their major roles was as middlemen who carried tin, gum cider and gold from Tjul Najima to destinations across mainland Australia. This included the Yadji across the Strait, the Mutjing in the Eyre Peninsula, and Tjibarr and the other Murray kingdoms, via Jugara and a road to the Bitter Lake [Lake Alexandrina].
In time, Nangu captains sailed around the barrier of the treeless desert, and made contact with the expanding Atjuntja dominions. This soon became a flourishing part of their trade network, and allowed the exchange of many ideas, crops and technologies between the east and the west of Australia. The Atjuntja acquired a much greater variety of eastern crops, and the mixed blessing of Gunnagalic medicine. Via the Islanders, the Yadji and the Murray kingdoms learned the Atjuntja technologies for working with iron.
--
In 1618, the Island is the most densely-populated nation in Australasia. Sixty thousand people live crowded but happy lives on the Island. Trade and shipping is their lifeblood; not even the most intensive cultivation of Australian crops could support such a population. The Nangu do grow some food on the Island, and have large fishing fleets which venture across much of the Southern Ocean. Even with this, they rely on bulk shipping of wattle seeds and yams from the Mutjing city-states to feed their people. The Island is not completely stripped of trees, but timber is valuable enough for other purposes (mostly building) that most new Islander ships are now built further afield, either on the Eyre Peninsula or in timber camps on Tjul Najima.
Theirs is a society in the midst of urbanisation. There are still substantial small holdings in some of the rural areas, and the bloodlines remain socially divided, but the importation of food has meant that more and more people are now clustering in cities. Between them, the two largest cities, Crescent Bay and Deadwatch [Penneshaw] have about twenty-five thousand inhabitants.
The Island's government is still divided between the twenty-one surviving bloodlines, each of which preserves its claim to certain lands and trading rights. Competition between the bloodlines is one of the major drivers in their trading network. Each captain belongs to one bloodline or another, and they try to outdo each other in obtaining the greatest profits. The annual meeting of the Council of Elders maintains some order and does its best to resolve disputes amongst the bloodlines. Still, for all that the Nangu have converted to the supposedly peaceful faith of the Good Man, feuds and vendettas are common amongst the bloodlines.
In their lifestyle, the Islanders have abundant metal for tools, weapons and jewellery, all of it imported. Iron tools are used for most purposes on the Island itself, but since iron rusts quickly in salt air, they use bronze on their ships or close to the coast. In their early days on the Island, they lived in houses built of wood and earth, but with access to iron tools, most of their buildings are constructed from the local granite. Still, the Nangu are a people more given to personal ornamentation than to constructing many large buildings; most of the sizable edifices on the Island are the temples and sanctuaries of Plirite priests. Those temples are richly adorned with gold, silver and bronze donated by pious trader captains.
Shipping and trade underlie everything which the Islanders do, in one way or another. Their trade network is the most extensive in Australasia. In direct trade, their ships carry goods from one side of the continent to the other, and through their de facto colony of Jugara, they have links to the ancient trade routes of the Murray basin.
To the west, the Islanders regularly visit the Atjuntja dominions. Their visits are accepted by the Kings of Kings, who have established a trading quarter for them to use in the White City. The Islanders do not usually sail much further than the White City itself; the Atjuntja do not encourage visitors to round Cape Leeuwin [5]. A few Islander ships have visited the Indian Ocean from time to time, but their regular trading fleets go only to the White City, Warneang [Denmark] and a small port built south of Red Eye [Ravensthorpe].
To the east, Islander traders regularly visit ports in the Yadji lands and on Tjul Najima. Occasionally, they venture much further. Some bold Islander captains have been known to trade as far north-east as the Nyumigal and Raduru of southern New South Wales, and there have been occasional diplomatic contacts with the Patjimunra in the Hunter Valley. A few have explored even further. Yet such visits remain rare; there are limits to how far Islander ships can sail, and much of the trade here is in local or Maori hands. Within these limits, the Islanders are the dominant maritime power.
The Islanders are mostly an economic power, but they are also adherents of Plirism, which encourages conversion of other peoples. The reception of this faith has varied remarkably amongst the various peoples who have come into contact with the Islanders. The Atjuntja sternly discourage proselytisation, to the point of executing any would-be converts. The Yadji are also intolerant of other faiths, and persecute any of their subjects who convert to Plirism. Tjibarr had long since made its own accommodation with the disciples of the Good Man, and the Islanders have had little influence there.
However, among the Mutjing city-states and parts of Tjul Najima, Plirite priests have found a much more receptive audience. The Mutjing have converted almost completely to the new faith. So have many of the inhabitants of Tjul Najima, although with more reservations. Even those Tjunini and Kurnawal who have adopted Plirism retain most of their old attitudes, especially toward nationalism. The Palawa are prepared to listen to the Islanders who speak of the Good Man and his teachings, but their conversion has mostly been syncretic, where they adopt the Good Man's teachings alongside their old beliefs. In recent times, the Islanders have established a few missions on the eastern coast of the continent, where some peoples have accepted the new faith.
The majority of the Nangu still live on the Island itself, but they do have some settlements and colonies elsewhere. Some of these are under foreign rule, such as the Islander quarter in the White City, or in some of the Yadji ports. Others are independent colonies, such as the timber camps and trading outposts in Macquarie Harbour [in Tasmania].
The Islanders also have an isolated mainland settlement whose name translates rather exactly as Isolation [Eucla]. This is in the middle of the treeless desert [Nullarbor]. Here farming is marginal, but fishing is good, and the settlement can sustain itself. Isolation is mostly used as a stopover point for ships on the western trade; they sometimes visit if they are running low on supplies or fleeing bad weather.
For all that Islander ships voyage far and wide across the continent, their most important trading destination is quite close to their home island. This is the Islander settlement of Jugara [Victor Harbor]. A few people lived there since ancient times, but the Islanders turned it into a major settlement. Jugara is the closest good harbour to the Murray Mouth, and it has become an essential link in trade with the interior. The Murray itself is not navigable from the sea, but from Jugara the Islanders built a road to Bunara [Goolwa], a port on the Bitter Lake, where goods could be carried by people or by dog-pulled travois. From here, riverboats could move trade goods throughout the Murray basin [6]. This connected the old trade routes along the Murray and Darling rivers with the maritime trade networks of the Islanders, and led to a burgeoning growth in trade.
With the linking of the interior and maritime trading networks, Jugara grew into a bustling port, with a great variety of peoples visiting here. While the Islanders have always sought to maintain a monopoly on maritime shipping, they have never been averse to carrying other people on their ships. So Jugara has grown into a great entrepot where many peoples mingle; a place of vice and wealth. Here the Nangu are the largest ethnicity, and their "port captain" is the effective ruler of the city, but they are not alone. In Jugara live haughty Yadji, boisterous Nangu, hot-headed Gunnagal [7], drunken Tjunini and Kurnawal from the Cider Isle, stoic Atjuntja from the far west, wary Mutjing, and even the occasional Maori from distant Aotearoa.
Jugara has been an effective Islander colony since the fifteenth century, although its location makes it politically precarious. The lands between the Murray Mouth and Port Augusta have long been a contested region between the Yadji Empire and the kingdom of Tjibarr. However, while wars have raged and borders shifted, by unspoken convention, neither nation's armies would plunder Jugara, Bunara or the road between them. The benefits of the trade were too valuable. Conquerors would impose taxes, duties and levies, but they never sought to close off trade entirely. This suits the Islanders, who are usually neutral in disputes between Yadji and Tjibarr. The tension between the two nations has another valuable advantage for the Islanders, since it means that the closest mainland ports to the Island are not available as a base for invasion.
So, in 1618, the Islanders are wealthy and flourishing. Military invasion from the mainland is not a serious risk, unless the Yadji can inflict the decisive defeat on Tjibarr which they have been seeking for so long. The only threat to the Islanders' way of life comes from much further afield. With Islander captains always voyaging so far in search of profits, there are always a few Islanders in the west. So when the Raw Ones come out of the far west beyond the seas, Islanders will be among the first to hear of them...
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[1] Kangaroo Island was inhabited until some time between 3000 – 200 BC. It is unclear from the archaeological record whether the inhabitants died out or abandoned the island for the mainland. Given the uncertainty over the dates, it's also not clear whether the island would still be inhabited by the time Gunnagalic peoples moved there. Even if it was inhabited, though, the relatively few hunter-gatherer inhabitants would have been overwhelmed by the demographic tide from the mainland.
[2] Investigator Strait, which separates Kangaroo Island from the mainland, is narrow enough that there have been reports of people who successfully swam across it.
[3] Kangaroo Island held a dwarf species of emu, variously called the Kangaroo Island emu or dwarf emu (Dromaius baudinianus) which was hunted to extinction by European whalers and sealers who used the island as a base of operations. In allohistorical Australia, it will similarly be easy prey for the early migrating Nangu.
[4] Some of the individual Maori tribes called themselves Tangata, which means "people." As happened historically, Maori developed as a word which collectively referred to all of the Maori tribes, to distinguish them from outsiders (i.e. *Australians).
[5] The Atjuntja economic system relies on moving goods and tribute along internal routes. Allowing the Islanders to take over their internal trade would undermine their existing system, so the Atjuntja only permit the Islanders access to a few trade ports which can be used to traffic goods between the east and western parts of the continent.
[6] Victor Harbor (which is the correct spelling, oddly enough) was used similarly in historical Australia; one of Australia's early railways connected it to Goolwa to move goods without needing to navigate the Murray Mouth.
[7] In 1618, the term Gunnagal is used to refer to the dominant ethnicity within the kingdom of Tjibarr; a few of these people also live in parts of the other Murray kingdoms. Later ethnographers and historians will use the term to refer to the ancestral Gunnagalic-speaking peoples.
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Thoughts?
Maps: Nangu Trade Networks
Really interesting and cool stuff! I love the thought put into the trade and immigration patterns, of the land being abandoned and returned to and the implications with the 'Raw Ones' are extremely interesting.
Also I loved the concept behind the blood line divides, very clever and well thought out, both in general and in the specifics and cultural influences it has, the adoption angle is neat and the conflicting faiths are a very natural idea.
Also I loved the concept behind the blood line divides, very clever and well thought out, both in general and in the specifics and cultural influences it has, the adoption angle is neat and the conflicting faiths are a very natural idea.
EBR
Self-Requested Ban
- Location
- Khazaria
Seconded.
Glad you like it. The Islanders/Nangu and their successors will play a significant part in how this timeline develops from here.
Or perhaps the Dutch just conclude that Australia is just the largest of the East Indies.
Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
Not really the time or place for this discussion, guys.
I'd say welcome aboard, but it looks like you've been here for considerably longer than me.
Wanik
Naa taa ndii-ó
- Location
- Anówara
I'd say welcome aboard, but it looks like you've been here for considerably longer than me.
I come and go from the geek sphere on the interwebz. Been busy since I moved back to Canada.
Lands of Red and Gold #15: The Lords Of The Lake
Lands of Red and Gold #15: The Lords Of The Lake
This post provides more information about the history of the Junditmara, the oldest sedentary people in allohistorical Australia, and describes the beginning of the rise of the Yadji, who by 1618 would rule the most populous nation in all of Australasia.
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Junditmara: an ancient people in an ancient land. Their forefathers were among the earliest people in the world to adopt a sedentary lifestyle, based on elaborate aquaculture and eel-farming. They have maintained a continuous cultural tradition since that time; the region around Tae Rak [Lake Condah] has been continuously occupied by Junditmara peoples for eight thousand years.
Long before the ancestors of the Gunnagal started to farm red yams along the Nyalananga [River Murray], the Junditmara were building in stone and mobilising workforces of thousands to maintain their stone weirs and dams. Their aquaculture was in fact the original inspiration for the early Gunnagalic farmers, who took their techniques and adapted them to the drier conditions but much greater water volume of the Nyalananga.
While an ancient people, the Junditmara were few in number when compared to the farming civilization which emerged along the Nyalananga. Until they had access to crops, the sedentary Junditmara population never rose much above ten thousand, divided into four chiefdoms clustered around Tae Rak. In comparison, the Gunnagalic-speaking peoples had a population of almost a million people by 1000 BC, occupied most of the Nyalananga, and had six major cities and many smaller towns.
The early Gunnagal civilization collapsed after 1000 BC, and the resulting migrations brought domesticated crops and animals to the Junditmara peoples. The Junditmara absorbed a few of the Gunnagalic immigrants and took up their farming ways. This allowed the Junditmara chiefdoms to expand their territory and started a substantial increase in their population. Unlike most non-Gunnagalic-speaking peoples, the Junditmara maintained their identity, language and religion despite the Gunnagalic tide.
In some ways, the Junditmara became innovators. They were the first people to domesticate the tiger quoll, which they used to control rodent pests and in some cases as a fireside companion. They were also the first people to make widespread use of muntries, a native fruit which the Junditmara learned to grow using trellises to increase the yield [1]. They adopted the emu as a domesticated bird before it reached the surviving Gunnagal cities along the Nyalananga.
Still, for all of their increase in population, the Junditmara of the first millennium BC remained a relative backwater. They were divided into a varying number of chiefdoms (usually five) who fought amongst themselves, and preserved enough of their own sense of identity that they withstood pressure from neighbouring peoples. They were connected into the broader trade networks around the rest of the continent; most commonly, they traded dried muntries and other fruits, smoked eel meat, and some timber, for tin and copper which they shaped into bronze.
The large-scale population movements of the Great Migrations were largely ended by 100 AD, at least in southern Victoria. (Population movements elsewhere lasted about a century longer). At the end of the migration period, the Junditmara occupied a region roughly bounded in the west by Portland and Coleraine, in the north by the Grampians, and then by a rough line running south-east to Camperdown and then further south to the Otways.
Within these borders, the Junditmara were divided into several competing chiefdoms. The borders and even existence of these kingdoms was fluid, with new dynasties emerging regularly, and older ones being defeated and absorbed. The most important population centres during this period were Gurndjit [Portland], which sheltered the best port for fishing, Jurundit [Koroit], whose rich volcanic soils supported the best farming in their region, Tuhonong [Hamilton], whose proximity to their ancestral lake Tae Rak made it their most important spiritual centre, and Nguwurru [Cobden], the largest population centre in the eastern part of Junditmara territory.
The competing chiefdoms fought regular wars for control of territory and the major population centres. However, the Junditmara chiefdoms did not have any clear rules for succession; any male descendant or close blood relative could claim the title of chief. This led to regular fratricidal wars amongst the Junditmara, and which prevented the emergence of any long-lasting kingdoms.
Outside their borders, the Junditmara were surrounded by Gunnagalic-speaking peoples on every side. The most important of these were the Tjunini who lived around the Otways to the south-east, the Giratji who lived to the east, the Yadilli and Tiwarang to the west, and the Yotjuwal to the north. While borders were fluid, there was a gradual long-term trend for the Junditmara to slowly expand their borders; their aquaculture allowed them to support slightly higher populations than their neighbouring peoples [2].
During the period from 200-400 AD, the population of all of southern Victoria was substantially increased by the diffusion of new agricultural techniques from the Classical Gunnagal cities to the north, such as crop rotation and companion planting. The growing population saw the emergence of the first political entities amongst the Junditmara which were large and stable enough to be called kingdoms. It also meant that their trade and other contacts with the Classical Gunnagal became much more significant. The first indisputable historical account of the Junditmara emerges during this period. While the Junditmara did not yet have writing, records in Tjibarr dated to 265 AD speak of a trader who visited "Tjuonong" and who brought back golden jewellery and finely-woven textiles.
These records make it clear that even at this early stage, the Junditmara were familiar with the two products for which their descendants would be famed around the world. Finely-woven textiles were an integral part of Junditmara society for centuries. Even in their pre-farming days, possum-skin coats had been used both as a sign of status and protection from the cold. With the spread of flax and linen, Junditmara weavers developed a variety of elaborate techniques. They used an incredible range of dyes, from copper and other metals, from wattle leaves and roots, from tree sap, from a variety of other plants, from ochre, and from shellfish. They used these to dyes to create intricately-patterned textiles – blankets, garments, coiled baskets, bags, slings – which were markers of status, and also used in a variety of religious ceremonies.
Gold-smithing was another venerable Junditmara practice which would became known around the world. The early Junditmara did not have much access to gold, apart from one field in the Grampians on the edge of their territory. However, not far to their east, in the lands of the Giratji, were some of the richest gold-fields in Australia. Later archaeological investigations in the region of Ballarat would find the first traces of gold mining here in the first century AD, and gold would be traded from the Giratji both east and west.
The Junditmara esteemed gold far more than the Giratji, and adopted it for both decorative and religious purposes. Junditmara chiefs wore gold masks on important occasions, and other wealthy people used it for jewellery and other ornamentation. In Junditmara temples, gold was the essential metal for a variety of ritual objects, particularly for any lamps or fire-holders.
In time, the Junditmara would combine these two specialities, leading to one of the names which they would be known to outsiders: the weavers of gold. Gold and silver threads were woven into the capes and other garments for the priests and chiefs, or carefully-positioned small plates of silver and gold were added to the woven products. Sometimes these capes were further decorated with brightly-coloured bird feathers, such as those of lorikeets, cockatoos, or other parrots, or the iridescent, lustrous sheen of mother-of-pearl from abalone shells. The variety and splendour of these textiles made considerable impressions on visitors to Junditmara territory, and their descendants were still practicing these arts in 1618.
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The Junditmara chiefdoms developed on a largely independent path for many centuries. While they had acquired farming, domesticated animals and other arts of civilization from the Gunnagal, they had applied their own interests and specialisations to these technologies. The twin barriers of language and religion meant that they always differentiated themselves from their Gunnagalic neighbours, even when they had contact with them.
The rise of the Empire cut short the Junditmara's separate development. The chiefdoms had started to develop into more stable kingdoms, but this did not help them to stave off the advance of Watjubaga's armies. In a series of campaigns which lasted from 718-764 AD, the Junditmara kingdoms were conquered by the Empire.
The Junditmara never made willing imperial subjects. At times they were quiet, but even those instances were merely sullen peaces. In their religious views and their social codes, the Junditmara were an alien people by Gunnagalic standards, and especially when compared to the views of the Biral who ruled the Empire.
The Junditmara had a hierarchical social system based on duty to one's elders, conformity, and the rewarding of loyalty. Imperial rule did not fit into this system, particularly the system of labour drafts where people would be required to work on tasks assigned to suit imperial preferences. Junditmara expected to work to help their own family and local community; they cared nothing for working for others, and viewed labour drafts as forced betrayal of their families. The result was simmering tension, numerous revolts, and the eventual overthrow of imperial rule in 907 AD.
While the Junditmara resented the imperial conquerors, that did not prevent them from acquiring a variety of knowledge from their Biral rulers. Writing spread with the imperial conquest; while the Biral used mostly their own language in administration, the Junditmara took the Gunnagalic script and adapted it to their own language. The Junditmara also inherited the imperial knowledge in fields such as metallurgy, medicine, astronomy, and the Gunnagalic calendar.
After the restoration of their independence, the Junditmara took this knowledge and applied it to their own ends. There were many aspects of Gunnagalic culture which were either explicitly rejected or never adopted, such as their ball sports, their religious views, and the social system of the factions. With the return of their own sovereignty, the Junditmara once again started to develop on their own path...
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The revolts which overthrew the Empire were based on a conscious sense of ethnic nationalism. The Junditmara saw themselves as a sovereign people and sought to remove unwanted foreign overlords. This sense of common purpose meant that what they created what was meant to be a new nation for all the Junditmara-speaking peoples. At Tuhunong, the city near Tae Rak, they appointed the rebellion's leading general to become the Lord of the Lake. This was meant to be an empire; the role was inspired by the imperial rank of the First Speakers of Watjubaga. The Lord of the Lake's role was meant to be to lead all of the Junditmara.
In theory, anyway.
Although notionally an empire, the Junditmara had in fact formed a confederation. The old competing chiefdoms had not been restored, but there were still many local aristocrats who had built substantial local reputations. Moreover, one of the legacies of imperial rule was that the Junditmara had a considerable distrust of too much central authority. This meant that while there was now an Emperor, the local chiefs were disinclined to listen to what he said.
Instead, what emerged after Watjubaga's overthrow was not an empire, but a community of local rulers who first ruled in the name of the Emperor, and after a couple of generations, in their own names. As a people, the Junditmara had always maintained a strong sense of hierarchy, of kinship, and of membership in a local community. They found little comfort in having a distant Emperor, and gave their loyalty to the emerging social class of local rulers.
These new leaders were called otjima, a name which translates literally as "golden men." They became the ruling nobility of the Junditmara, each with their own hereditary authority to control a particular region, collect tribute in the form of goods or labour, and defend its inhabitants from all enemies. For centuries, all Junditmara acknowledged the theoretical authority of the Emperor, while in practice their loyalty went no further than their local otjima. Even the otjima rarely met the Emperor, and except for an occasional instance where the Emperor was asked to mediate between feuding otjima, they gave the Emperor no heed either. One of the early otjima was reported to have said, "I promise to obey the Emperor in all things, provided he promises not to order me to do anything."
To defend their lands and enforce their will, the otjima made use of another emerging social class: the first professional military class within Junditmara society. During the pre-Watjubaga days, the Junditmara had not had much in the way of professional soldiers. Their chiefs had a few household guards, but otherwise their armies were mostly local levies and militia who took up arms at need.
The old ways changed with the new military technology and organised which Watjubaga brought. Now, to be effective in battle, soldiers needed bronze armour, a bronze sword, and usually a bronze spearhead. Bronze was available, thanks to imports from the Cider Isle, but it was expensive. Only a few people could afford such quantities of metal on their own. Moreover, the new military tactics required considerable training. Soldiering needed to become a permanent profession, not just for ordinary people who were called up at need.
In these circumstances, it did not take long for a hereditary military class to emerge in Junditmara society. They were called the briyuna, a word which originally meant "hunter" but which took on a new meaning in the time of the Empire of the Lake. A briyuna was born into the life of a warrior, and trained for their craft since childhood. Briyuna learned how to use a wide variety of weapons – swords, daggers, maces, axes, spears, bows, javelins, slings – and even techniques of unarmed combat. They had strict standards of physical discipline to ensure that they had the strength and fitness to wear armour for extended periods while marching and then fighting.
As a people, the Junditmara had rigid social codes and expectations, and nowhere would these be more clearly-articulated than for the briyuna. The briyuna were expected to live according to a warrior's code which emphasised courage, loyalty to one's comrades, and unquestioning obedience to one's lord (otjima). They were expected to maintain their skill in arms, and to demonstrate it both in peacetime (through duels and displays of prowess) and on the battlefield. Cowardice was the ultimate failing, and a briyuna who was condemned for cowardice or fleeing the battlefield would be spurned by lord and family. Briyuna were taught not to fear death; indeed, in keeping with Junditmara beliefs, no-one was better prepared to die than one who had died while armed.
Briyuna were expected to be honourable men in both peace and war. While there was no obligation to accept an opponent's surrender or to fight an opponent on even terms, it was considered a great breach of honour to harm a prisoner once their surrender had been accepted. Likewise, in peacetime briyuna were expected to keep to their sworn word, never lie about matters of honour, and to uphold both their personal reputation and that of their otjima. They were expected not to inflict violence on civilians except if deliberately insulted or in self-defence; to do so in other circumstances was a grave breach of honour.
Still, the code of the briyuna did not protect everyone. The principle of not harming civilians applied only to ethnic Junditmara; people of other faiths or language were not protected. Moreover, the code only protected civilians' lives, not their property. In warfare, briyuna were permitted to plunder and take whatever portable wealth they could with them, as trophies and rewards for war. If civilians tried to resist such plundering, then they were no longer protected by the briyuna code.
In their personal lives, briyuna were expected to maintain an attitude of temperance and moderation in all things. They were certainly permitted to enjoy pleasures, including the traditional yam wine, women and song (not necessarily in that order), but they were not to let their pleasures control them. A briyuna who drank to excess would be considered both personally disgraced for losing control of himself, and also as having failed in his duty to his lord since he would not be able to fight properly while drunk. Likewise, a briyuna who sought comfort in a woman's arms was acting appropriately, while one who put concern for a woman above his duties would be considered to have shamed his name.
While the life of a briyuna was in theory one of continual preparation for warfare, in practice they spent much more time at peace than at war. Briyuna were always expected to be literate, and indeed to have a thorough knowledge of the literary and historical classics of Junditmara society. As such, they often indulged a variety of other pursuits besides purely studying warfare. Many briyuna acted as administrators for their lords, since they were considered the most trustworthy of servants. They were also often involved in a variety of cultural pursuits; several briyuna became noted singers, poets, and artists.
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The formal rule of the Lords of the Lake lasted for nearly four centuries, from 909 AD to 1289 AD. For virtually all of that time, the Junditmara lived under the theoretical authority of these emperors, but the actual authority of their local otjima. At times, this meant that as a people, the Junditmara expanded their territory, as would-be otjima pushed into new territory. This meant that the remaining Tjunini around the Otways were absorbed by Junditmara expansion. A similar process saw most of the Tiwarang people pushed out of south-western Victoria as emerging otjima claimed new lands of their own.
However, the decentralisation of imperial authority also led to increasingly bloody struggles amongst the otjima. There were no formal divisions in rank amongst the otjima; in theory each of them had the same status, and answered only to the Emperor. The closest thing to a formal division of rank was that each year the Emperor would name Twenty Counsellors who were meant to advise him for the following year. This normally included the wealthiest and most prestigious otjima, but not always; some Emperors named lesser otjima to the Twenty for a year as an effective bribe to persuade them to accept imperial mediation in their disputes with their neighbours.
In informal status and control of territory, though, the otjima were never equal, and they regularly fought to gain territory or prestige. It became an axiom amongst the Junditmara that "a briyuna is loyal to his otjima, and an otjima is loyal only to himself." Sometimes they formed alliances, but as the centuries progressed, the divisions amongst them became more violently and treacherously expressed. By 1200 AD, it was popularly said that each hilltop had its own otjima, which in some areas was not an exaggeration.
The infighting and political fragmentation contributed to the gradual decline of the Empire of the Lake, but the deterioration was accelerated when the first Marnitja epidemic swept through the Junditmara realm in 1208-09. The first blow of the Waiting Death fell heavily on the Junditmara; nearly twenty percent of their population succumbed to the ravages of the pink cough or the feverish delirium which followed [3]. In its first wave, the virus did not discriminate between fit or weak, young or old, healthy or unhealthy; all were equally vulnerable to the Waiting Death.
The effects of this epidemic were devastating to the Junditmara social order. Many of the more prominent ruling otjima died, along with a significant proportion of their experienced briyuna. This led to an increase in internecine warfare, as would-be successors fought amongst themselves, or surviving otjima sought to take advantage of inexperienced heirs by invading the territory of their dead rivals. With so many experienced briyuna dead, these battles were often bloodier and more badly-coordinated than would have been the case under their veteran predecessors. The fractious warfare undermined the already limited credibility of the rule of the Lord of the Lake.
The death toll of the Waiting Death and the subsequent warfare had profound social effects on the Junditmara. Their surviving art and literature of this time shows the emergence of apocalyptic themes, and depicts the first beginnings of a shift away from the martial code of the briyuna. The older form of literature was represented in songs, poems and heroic tales which had some similarities to the romances of medieval Europe. In these tales, briyuna were invariably depicted as the epitome of honour, devotion, and self-confidence. In the tales which emerged after the arrival of Marnitja, there are new depictions of briyuna as more human and realistic, with human failings and mistakes.
Likewise, the apocalyptic themes of the time resulted in new shifts in Junditmara religion. Unlike their Gunnagalic neighbours, the Junditmara had always viewed the world and time as something with a beginning and an end, not an endless cycle of eternity. With the great dying of the early thirteenth century, their old beliefs were reshaped into a more apocalyptic theology. New religious visionaries appeared, who proclaimed that the times they were living in were the last days of the world, before the time when the Neverborn would break free from His home in the womb of the earth and call His chosen warriors to fight in the last great battle against the Lord of the Night.
Amidst the chaos of these times, one otjima family rose to prominence, one whose name would become synonymous with the most populous empire on the continent. The Yadji were one of many otjima families who had arisen amongst the Junditmara. The first surviving record of the Yadji is from 1067, when a man named Narryani Yadji led a band of briyuna to conquer a small town named Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria] and had himself proclaimed as an otjima.
Of itself, Kurinmara held little to distinguish itself from so many other small towns and settlements under the nominal rule of the Lord of the Lake. It had decent rainfall, by the standards of the Junditmara, and adequate although hardly spectacular soils. It was toward the eastern frontier of Junditmara territory, but nowhere which offered any strategic significance or even defensibility. A small lake just to the south was about the only feature of interest; to the water-loving Junditmara, this lake could be expanded into a series of swamps and open water which would supply regular meals of fish and waterbirds to the table of the ruling otjima.
Still, while the Yadji were for so long just one otjima family among many, they were reasonably successful ones. Their rulers were on the whole more capable than most of their rivals, which allowed them to conquer a reasonable stretch of territory by 1150. In this year, surviving records from Tuhunong first include a Yadji otjima among the Twenty Counsellors. This was an indication of their success, and for the next century, there would be a Yadji named to the Twenty each year.
When the first great Marnitja epidemic swept through Kurinmara in 1209, the Yadji suffered along with everyone else. Their ruling otjima died in a viral-induced delirium, and his heir, Ouyamunna Yadji, contracted the pink cough two days after he inherited the family title. However, while he waited to know whether he would live or die, he had substantial motivation to create a legacy for himself. Ouyamunna is reported to have said, "Soon I will have forgotten the world, but the world will not soon forget me."
In the months while he waited for death, Ouyamunna found a way to create his legacy. He changed the rules of warfare as they had existed among the Junditmara for three centuries. Warfare was meant to be the role of well-trained and armoured briyuna who fought for their lord. Ouyamunna decided to recruit a new class of warrior from the men who had survived the pink cough, and who were waiting to know their fate. He is said to have told these men, "Soon you will leave the world, but the manner of your leaving it is up to you."
The warriors who Ouyamunna recruited were mostly not briyuna, and they had limited training in using swords or wearing armour. In any case, the Yadji family did not have enough wealth to equip so many new warriors with bronze armour and swords. For weapons, he gave them axes and maces, since they were easier to find and most of the men had used such things as tools. For armour, he gave them nothing, but Ouyamunna would turn the lack of armour into an advantage. He did not have or want men who fought coolly and well-armoured. He wanted men who would be consumed with the fury of battle, and who cared naught whether they lived or died, because they already expected to die soon.
Ouyamunna got what he wanted.
The new warriors he created wore no armour, just clothes of woven flax died crimson to mark the death they already expected. Before they entered battle, these men worked themselves into a trance-like state through a combination of chanting, ritualised dancing, and consumption of native tobacco [4] and certain mushrooms which were known to deaden pain. When they entered the battle, these warriors were consumed in a violent frenzy, howling with fury, rushing headlong at the enemy regardless of the odds, and striking blows with what appeared to be superhuman strength. In their frenzy, they shrugged off wounds, and often became so indiscriminate in their killing that they would not distinguish between friend and enemy. They fought with incredible energy until the battlefield was cleared of any foes, and then as often as not, they collapsed in exhaustion and would not recover for days.
Ouyamunna did not, in fact, survive the Waiting Death. Whether by chance or through natural resistance, he held off the onset of the death fever much longer than most. It took nearly a year before he showed the first symptoms, but in time the delirium consumed him as it had consumed so many before him. He fought off the fevered delirium better than most; it took three and a half months from the onset of the fever until he breathed his last. In that time, though, the death warriors he had created made a legacy for him. They swept battlefield after battlefield clean of foes – and sometimes each other, too. In fourteen months, Ouyamunna defeated and conquered thirteen other otjima, and more than tripled the size of Yadji territory in the process.
The rise of the Yadji had begun.
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[1] Muntries (Kunzea pomifera) are one of several native fruits common to southern Victoria which are suitable for domestication. They are used as an occasional "bushfood" today, with some commercial harvest, and have also occasionally been grown overseas. (They were first recorded as cultivated in England in 1889).
[2] While the Gunnagalic ancestors of the neighbouring peoples had practiced aquaculture, these practices were lost during the migrations.
[3] This death toll is a higher percentage of the population than Marnitja will have on most other peoples (such as Eurasians), for two reasons. Marnitja here is just emerging as an epidemic disease, and is still quite virulent. It will evolve to be somewhat less deadly over the next couple of centuries. The other reason is that since at this point the *Australian peoples have such limited exposure to epidemic diseases, their immune systems are still quite weak, and this exacerbates the death toll. Repeated exposure to Marnitja over the next few generations will not only produce some natural resistance to the disease, it will also mean that their adaptive immune systems are somewhat stronger against all diseases.
[4] The native tobacco mentioned here is grown from several native Australian plants in the Nicotiana genus (principally N. benthamiana) which are related to domesticated tobacco from the Americas (N. tabacum and N. rustica). These plants were used by various historical Aboriginal peoples as stimulants. They are not the same as the main kunduri drug cultivated in allohistorical Australia; that is grown from a native corkwood species (Duboisia hopwoodii) which is only distantly related to domesticated tobacco. The Australian Nicotiana species do contain nicotine, but have a much harsher taste and milder effect than corkwood kunduri, and so are not used as a major trade item. They were locally available, though, which is why they were used for creating the first death warriors.
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Thoughts?
This post provides more information about the history of the Junditmara, the oldest sedentary people in allohistorical Australia, and describes the beginning of the rise of the Yadji, who by 1618 would rule the most populous nation in all of Australasia.
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Junditmara: an ancient people in an ancient land. Their forefathers were among the earliest people in the world to adopt a sedentary lifestyle, based on elaborate aquaculture and eel-farming. They have maintained a continuous cultural tradition since that time; the region around Tae Rak [Lake Condah] has been continuously occupied by Junditmara peoples for eight thousand years.
Long before the ancestors of the Gunnagal started to farm red yams along the Nyalananga [River Murray], the Junditmara were building in stone and mobilising workforces of thousands to maintain their stone weirs and dams. Their aquaculture was in fact the original inspiration for the early Gunnagalic farmers, who took their techniques and adapted them to the drier conditions but much greater water volume of the Nyalananga.
While an ancient people, the Junditmara were few in number when compared to the farming civilization which emerged along the Nyalananga. Until they had access to crops, the sedentary Junditmara population never rose much above ten thousand, divided into four chiefdoms clustered around Tae Rak. In comparison, the Gunnagalic-speaking peoples had a population of almost a million people by 1000 BC, occupied most of the Nyalananga, and had six major cities and many smaller towns.
The early Gunnagal civilization collapsed after 1000 BC, and the resulting migrations brought domesticated crops and animals to the Junditmara peoples. The Junditmara absorbed a few of the Gunnagalic immigrants and took up their farming ways. This allowed the Junditmara chiefdoms to expand their territory and started a substantial increase in their population. Unlike most non-Gunnagalic-speaking peoples, the Junditmara maintained their identity, language and religion despite the Gunnagalic tide.
In some ways, the Junditmara became innovators. They were the first people to domesticate the tiger quoll, which they used to control rodent pests and in some cases as a fireside companion. They were also the first people to make widespread use of muntries, a native fruit which the Junditmara learned to grow using trellises to increase the yield [1]. They adopted the emu as a domesticated bird before it reached the surviving Gunnagal cities along the Nyalananga.
Still, for all of their increase in population, the Junditmara of the first millennium BC remained a relative backwater. They were divided into a varying number of chiefdoms (usually five) who fought amongst themselves, and preserved enough of their own sense of identity that they withstood pressure from neighbouring peoples. They were connected into the broader trade networks around the rest of the continent; most commonly, they traded dried muntries and other fruits, smoked eel meat, and some timber, for tin and copper which they shaped into bronze.
The large-scale population movements of the Great Migrations were largely ended by 100 AD, at least in southern Victoria. (Population movements elsewhere lasted about a century longer). At the end of the migration period, the Junditmara occupied a region roughly bounded in the west by Portland and Coleraine, in the north by the Grampians, and then by a rough line running south-east to Camperdown and then further south to the Otways.
Within these borders, the Junditmara were divided into several competing chiefdoms. The borders and even existence of these kingdoms was fluid, with new dynasties emerging regularly, and older ones being defeated and absorbed. The most important population centres during this period were Gurndjit [Portland], which sheltered the best port for fishing, Jurundit [Koroit], whose rich volcanic soils supported the best farming in their region, Tuhonong [Hamilton], whose proximity to their ancestral lake Tae Rak made it their most important spiritual centre, and Nguwurru [Cobden], the largest population centre in the eastern part of Junditmara territory.
The competing chiefdoms fought regular wars for control of territory and the major population centres. However, the Junditmara chiefdoms did not have any clear rules for succession; any male descendant or close blood relative could claim the title of chief. This led to regular fratricidal wars amongst the Junditmara, and which prevented the emergence of any long-lasting kingdoms.
Outside their borders, the Junditmara were surrounded by Gunnagalic-speaking peoples on every side. The most important of these were the Tjunini who lived around the Otways to the south-east, the Giratji who lived to the east, the Yadilli and Tiwarang to the west, and the Yotjuwal to the north. While borders were fluid, there was a gradual long-term trend for the Junditmara to slowly expand their borders; their aquaculture allowed them to support slightly higher populations than their neighbouring peoples [2].
During the period from 200-400 AD, the population of all of southern Victoria was substantially increased by the diffusion of new agricultural techniques from the Classical Gunnagal cities to the north, such as crop rotation and companion planting. The growing population saw the emergence of the first political entities amongst the Junditmara which were large and stable enough to be called kingdoms. It also meant that their trade and other contacts with the Classical Gunnagal became much more significant. The first indisputable historical account of the Junditmara emerges during this period. While the Junditmara did not yet have writing, records in Tjibarr dated to 265 AD speak of a trader who visited "Tjuonong" and who brought back golden jewellery and finely-woven textiles.
These records make it clear that even at this early stage, the Junditmara were familiar with the two products for which their descendants would be famed around the world. Finely-woven textiles were an integral part of Junditmara society for centuries. Even in their pre-farming days, possum-skin coats had been used both as a sign of status and protection from the cold. With the spread of flax and linen, Junditmara weavers developed a variety of elaborate techniques. They used an incredible range of dyes, from copper and other metals, from wattle leaves and roots, from tree sap, from a variety of other plants, from ochre, and from shellfish. They used these to dyes to create intricately-patterned textiles – blankets, garments, coiled baskets, bags, slings – which were markers of status, and also used in a variety of religious ceremonies.
Gold-smithing was another venerable Junditmara practice which would became known around the world. The early Junditmara did not have much access to gold, apart from one field in the Grampians on the edge of their territory. However, not far to their east, in the lands of the Giratji, were some of the richest gold-fields in Australia. Later archaeological investigations in the region of Ballarat would find the first traces of gold mining here in the first century AD, and gold would be traded from the Giratji both east and west.
The Junditmara esteemed gold far more than the Giratji, and adopted it for both decorative and religious purposes. Junditmara chiefs wore gold masks on important occasions, and other wealthy people used it for jewellery and other ornamentation. In Junditmara temples, gold was the essential metal for a variety of ritual objects, particularly for any lamps or fire-holders.
In time, the Junditmara would combine these two specialities, leading to one of the names which they would be known to outsiders: the weavers of gold. Gold and silver threads were woven into the capes and other garments for the priests and chiefs, or carefully-positioned small plates of silver and gold were added to the woven products. Sometimes these capes were further decorated with brightly-coloured bird feathers, such as those of lorikeets, cockatoos, or other parrots, or the iridescent, lustrous sheen of mother-of-pearl from abalone shells. The variety and splendour of these textiles made considerable impressions on visitors to Junditmara territory, and their descendants were still practicing these arts in 1618.
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The Junditmara chiefdoms developed on a largely independent path for many centuries. While they had acquired farming, domesticated animals and other arts of civilization from the Gunnagal, they had applied their own interests and specialisations to these technologies. The twin barriers of language and religion meant that they always differentiated themselves from their Gunnagalic neighbours, even when they had contact with them.
The rise of the Empire cut short the Junditmara's separate development. The chiefdoms had started to develop into more stable kingdoms, but this did not help them to stave off the advance of Watjubaga's armies. In a series of campaigns which lasted from 718-764 AD, the Junditmara kingdoms were conquered by the Empire.
The Junditmara never made willing imperial subjects. At times they were quiet, but even those instances were merely sullen peaces. In their religious views and their social codes, the Junditmara were an alien people by Gunnagalic standards, and especially when compared to the views of the Biral who ruled the Empire.
The Junditmara had a hierarchical social system based on duty to one's elders, conformity, and the rewarding of loyalty. Imperial rule did not fit into this system, particularly the system of labour drafts where people would be required to work on tasks assigned to suit imperial preferences. Junditmara expected to work to help their own family and local community; they cared nothing for working for others, and viewed labour drafts as forced betrayal of their families. The result was simmering tension, numerous revolts, and the eventual overthrow of imperial rule in 907 AD.
While the Junditmara resented the imperial conquerors, that did not prevent them from acquiring a variety of knowledge from their Biral rulers. Writing spread with the imperial conquest; while the Biral used mostly their own language in administration, the Junditmara took the Gunnagalic script and adapted it to their own language. The Junditmara also inherited the imperial knowledge in fields such as metallurgy, medicine, astronomy, and the Gunnagalic calendar.
After the restoration of their independence, the Junditmara took this knowledge and applied it to their own ends. There were many aspects of Gunnagalic culture which were either explicitly rejected or never adopted, such as their ball sports, their religious views, and the social system of the factions. With the return of their own sovereignty, the Junditmara once again started to develop on their own path...
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The revolts which overthrew the Empire were based on a conscious sense of ethnic nationalism. The Junditmara saw themselves as a sovereign people and sought to remove unwanted foreign overlords. This sense of common purpose meant that what they created what was meant to be a new nation for all the Junditmara-speaking peoples. At Tuhunong, the city near Tae Rak, they appointed the rebellion's leading general to become the Lord of the Lake. This was meant to be an empire; the role was inspired by the imperial rank of the First Speakers of Watjubaga. The Lord of the Lake's role was meant to be to lead all of the Junditmara.
In theory, anyway.
Although notionally an empire, the Junditmara had in fact formed a confederation. The old competing chiefdoms had not been restored, but there were still many local aristocrats who had built substantial local reputations. Moreover, one of the legacies of imperial rule was that the Junditmara had a considerable distrust of too much central authority. This meant that while there was now an Emperor, the local chiefs were disinclined to listen to what he said.
Instead, what emerged after Watjubaga's overthrow was not an empire, but a community of local rulers who first ruled in the name of the Emperor, and after a couple of generations, in their own names. As a people, the Junditmara had always maintained a strong sense of hierarchy, of kinship, and of membership in a local community. They found little comfort in having a distant Emperor, and gave their loyalty to the emerging social class of local rulers.
These new leaders were called otjima, a name which translates literally as "golden men." They became the ruling nobility of the Junditmara, each with their own hereditary authority to control a particular region, collect tribute in the form of goods or labour, and defend its inhabitants from all enemies. For centuries, all Junditmara acknowledged the theoretical authority of the Emperor, while in practice their loyalty went no further than their local otjima. Even the otjima rarely met the Emperor, and except for an occasional instance where the Emperor was asked to mediate between feuding otjima, they gave the Emperor no heed either. One of the early otjima was reported to have said, "I promise to obey the Emperor in all things, provided he promises not to order me to do anything."
To defend their lands and enforce their will, the otjima made use of another emerging social class: the first professional military class within Junditmara society. During the pre-Watjubaga days, the Junditmara had not had much in the way of professional soldiers. Their chiefs had a few household guards, but otherwise their armies were mostly local levies and militia who took up arms at need.
The old ways changed with the new military technology and organised which Watjubaga brought. Now, to be effective in battle, soldiers needed bronze armour, a bronze sword, and usually a bronze spearhead. Bronze was available, thanks to imports from the Cider Isle, but it was expensive. Only a few people could afford such quantities of metal on their own. Moreover, the new military tactics required considerable training. Soldiering needed to become a permanent profession, not just for ordinary people who were called up at need.
In these circumstances, it did not take long for a hereditary military class to emerge in Junditmara society. They were called the briyuna, a word which originally meant "hunter" but which took on a new meaning in the time of the Empire of the Lake. A briyuna was born into the life of a warrior, and trained for their craft since childhood. Briyuna learned how to use a wide variety of weapons – swords, daggers, maces, axes, spears, bows, javelins, slings – and even techniques of unarmed combat. They had strict standards of physical discipline to ensure that they had the strength and fitness to wear armour for extended periods while marching and then fighting.
As a people, the Junditmara had rigid social codes and expectations, and nowhere would these be more clearly-articulated than for the briyuna. The briyuna were expected to live according to a warrior's code which emphasised courage, loyalty to one's comrades, and unquestioning obedience to one's lord (otjima). They were expected to maintain their skill in arms, and to demonstrate it both in peacetime (through duels and displays of prowess) and on the battlefield. Cowardice was the ultimate failing, and a briyuna who was condemned for cowardice or fleeing the battlefield would be spurned by lord and family. Briyuna were taught not to fear death; indeed, in keeping with Junditmara beliefs, no-one was better prepared to die than one who had died while armed.
Briyuna were expected to be honourable men in both peace and war. While there was no obligation to accept an opponent's surrender or to fight an opponent on even terms, it was considered a great breach of honour to harm a prisoner once their surrender had been accepted. Likewise, in peacetime briyuna were expected to keep to their sworn word, never lie about matters of honour, and to uphold both their personal reputation and that of their otjima. They were expected not to inflict violence on civilians except if deliberately insulted or in self-defence; to do so in other circumstances was a grave breach of honour.
Still, the code of the briyuna did not protect everyone. The principle of not harming civilians applied only to ethnic Junditmara; people of other faiths or language were not protected. Moreover, the code only protected civilians' lives, not their property. In warfare, briyuna were permitted to plunder and take whatever portable wealth they could with them, as trophies and rewards for war. If civilians tried to resist such plundering, then they were no longer protected by the briyuna code.
In their personal lives, briyuna were expected to maintain an attitude of temperance and moderation in all things. They were certainly permitted to enjoy pleasures, including the traditional yam wine, women and song (not necessarily in that order), but they were not to let their pleasures control them. A briyuna who drank to excess would be considered both personally disgraced for losing control of himself, and also as having failed in his duty to his lord since he would not be able to fight properly while drunk. Likewise, a briyuna who sought comfort in a woman's arms was acting appropriately, while one who put concern for a woman above his duties would be considered to have shamed his name.
While the life of a briyuna was in theory one of continual preparation for warfare, in practice they spent much more time at peace than at war. Briyuna were always expected to be literate, and indeed to have a thorough knowledge of the literary and historical classics of Junditmara society. As such, they often indulged a variety of other pursuits besides purely studying warfare. Many briyuna acted as administrators for their lords, since they were considered the most trustworthy of servants. They were also often involved in a variety of cultural pursuits; several briyuna became noted singers, poets, and artists.
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The formal rule of the Lords of the Lake lasted for nearly four centuries, from 909 AD to 1289 AD. For virtually all of that time, the Junditmara lived under the theoretical authority of these emperors, but the actual authority of their local otjima. At times, this meant that as a people, the Junditmara expanded their territory, as would-be otjima pushed into new territory. This meant that the remaining Tjunini around the Otways were absorbed by Junditmara expansion. A similar process saw most of the Tiwarang people pushed out of south-western Victoria as emerging otjima claimed new lands of their own.
However, the decentralisation of imperial authority also led to increasingly bloody struggles amongst the otjima. There were no formal divisions in rank amongst the otjima; in theory each of them had the same status, and answered only to the Emperor. The closest thing to a formal division of rank was that each year the Emperor would name Twenty Counsellors who were meant to advise him for the following year. This normally included the wealthiest and most prestigious otjima, but not always; some Emperors named lesser otjima to the Twenty for a year as an effective bribe to persuade them to accept imperial mediation in their disputes with their neighbours.
In informal status and control of territory, though, the otjima were never equal, and they regularly fought to gain territory or prestige. It became an axiom amongst the Junditmara that "a briyuna is loyal to his otjima, and an otjima is loyal only to himself." Sometimes they formed alliances, but as the centuries progressed, the divisions amongst them became more violently and treacherously expressed. By 1200 AD, it was popularly said that each hilltop had its own otjima, which in some areas was not an exaggeration.
The infighting and political fragmentation contributed to the gradual decline of the Empire of the Lake, but the deterioration was accelerated when the first Marnitja epidemic swept through the Junditmara realm in 1208-09. The first blow of the Waiting Death fell heavily on the Junditmara; nearly twenty percent of their population succumbed to the ravages of the pink cough or the feverish delirium which followed [3]. In its first wave, the virus did not discriminate between fit or weak, young or old, healthy or unhealthy; all were equally vulnerable to the Waiting Death.
The effects of this epidemic were devastating to the Junditmara social order. Many of the more prominent ruling otjima died, along with a significant proportion of their experienced briyuna. This led to an increase in internecine warfare, as would-be successors fought amongst themselves, or surviving otjima sought to take advantage of inexperienced heirs by invading the territory of their dead rivals. With so many experienced briyuna dead, these battles were often bloodier and more badly-coordinated than would have been the case under their veteran predecessors. The fractious warfare undermined the already limited credibility of the rule of the Lord of the Lake.
The death toll of the Waiting Death and the subsequent warfare had profound social effects on the Junditmara. Their surviving art and literature of this time shows the emergence of apocalyptic themes, and depicts the first beginnings of a shift away from the martial code of the briyuna. The older form of literature was represented in songs, poems and heroic tales which had some similarities to the romances of medieval Europe. In these tales, briyuna were invariably depicted as the epitome of honour, devotion, and self-confidence. In the tales which emerged after the arrival of Marnitja, there are new depictions of briyuna as more human and realistic, with human failings and mistakes.
Likewise, the apocalyptic themes of the time resulted in new shifts in Junditmara religion. Unlike their Gunnagalic neighbours, the Junditmara had always viewed the world and time as something with a beginning and an end, not an endless cycle of eternity. With the great dying of the early thirteenth century, their old beliefs were reshaped into a more apocalyptic theology. New religious visionaries appeared, who proclaimed that the times they were living in were the last days of the world, before the time when the Neverborn would break free from His home in the womb of the earth and call His chosen warriors to fight in the last great battle against the Lord of the Night.
Amidst the chaos of these times, one otjima family rose to prominence, one whose name would become synonymous with the most populous empire on the continent. The Yadji were one of many otjima families who had arisen amongst the Junditmara. The first surviving record of the Yadji is from 1067, when a man named Narryani Yadji led a band of briyuna to conquer a small town named Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria] and had himself proclaimed as an otjima.
Of itself, Kurinmara held little to distinguish itself from so many other small towns and settlements under the nominal rule of the Lord of the Lake. It had decent rainfall, by the standards of the Junditmara, and adequate although hardly spectacular soils. It was toward the eastern frontier of Junditmara territory, but nowhere which offered any strategic significance or even defensibility. A small lake just to the south was about the only feature of interest; to the water-loving Junditmara, this lake could be expanded into a series of swamps and open water which would supply regular meals of fish and waterbirds to the table of the ruling otjima.
Still, while the Yadji were for so long just one otjima family among many, they were reasonably successful ones. Their rulers were on the whole more capable than most of their rivals, which allowed them to conquer a reasonable stretch of territory by 1150. In this year, surviving records from Tuhunong first include a Yadji otjima among the Twenty Counsellors. This was an indication of their success, and for the next century, there would be a Yadji named to the Twenty each year.
When the first great Marnitja epidemic swept through Kurinmara in 1209, the Yadji suffered along with everyone else. Their ruling otjima died in a viral-induced delirium, and his heir, Ouyamunna Yadji, contracted the pink cough two days after he inherited the family title. However, while he waited to know whether he would live or die, he had substantial motivation to create a legacy for himself. Ouyamunna is reported to have said, "Soon I will have forgotten the world, but the world will not soon forget me."
In the months while he waited for death, Ouyamunna found a way to create his legacy. He changed the rules of warfare as they had existed among the Junditmara for three centuries. Warfare was meant to be the role of well-trained and armoured briyuna who fought for their lord. Ouyamunna decided to recruit a new class of warrior from the men who had survived the pink cough, and who were waiting to know their fate. He is said to have told these men, "Soon you will leave the world, but the manner of your leaving it is up to you."
The warriors who Ouyamunna recruited were mostly not briyuna, and they had limited training in using swords or wearing armour. In any case, the Yadji family did not have enough wealth to equip so many new warriors with bronze armour and swords. For weapons, he gave them axes and maces, since they were easier to find and most of the men had used such things as tools. For armour, he gave them nothing, but Ouyamunna would turn the lack of armour into an advantage. He did not have or want men who fought coolly and well-armoured. He wanted men who would be consumed with the fury of battle, and who cared naught whether they lived or died, because they already expected to die soon.
Ouyamunna got what he wanted.
The new warriors he created wore no armour, just clothes of woven flax died crimson to mark the death they already expected. Before they entered battle, these men worked themselves into a trance-like state through a combination of chanting, ritualised dancing, and consumption of native tobacco [4] and certain mushrooms which were known to deaden pain. When they entered the battle, these warriors were consumed in a violent frenzy, howling with fury, rushing headlong at the enemy regardless of the odds, and striking blows with what appeared to be superhuman strength. In their frenzy, they shrugged off wounds, and often became so indiscriminate in their killing that they would not distinguish between friend and enemy. They fought with incredible energy until the battlefield was cleared of any foes, and then as often as not, they collapsed in exhaustion and would not recover for days.
Ouyamunna did not, in fact, survive the Waiting Death. Whether by chance or through natural resistance, he held off the onset of the death fever much longer than most. It took nearly a year before he showed the first symptoms, but in time the delirium consumed him as it had consumed so many before him. He fought off the fevered delirium better than most; it took three and a half months from the onset of the fever until he breathed his last. In that time, though, the death warriors he had created made a legacy for him. They swept battlefield after battlefield clean of foes – and sometimes each other, too. In fourteen months, Ouyamunna defeated and conquered thirteen other otjima, and more than tripled the size of Yadji territory in the process.
The rise of the Yadji had begun.
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[1] Muntries (Kunzea pomifera) are one of several native fruits common to southern Victoria which are suitable for domestication. They are used as an occasional "bushfood" today, with some commercial harvest, and have also occasionally been grown overseas. (They were first recorded as cultivated in England in 1889).
[2] While the Gunnagalic ancestors of the neighbouring peoples had practiced aquaculture, these practices were lost during the migrations.
[3] This death toll is a higher percentage of the population than Marnitja will have on most other peoples (such as Eurasians), for two reasons. Marnitja here is just emerging as an epidemic disease, and is still quite virulent. It will evolve to be somewhat less deadly over the next couple of centuries. The other reason is that since at this point the *Australian peoples have such limited exposure to epidemic diseases, their immune systems are still quite weak, and this exacerbates the death toll. Repeated exposure to Marnitja over the next few generations will not only produce some natural resistance to the disease, it will also mean that their adaptive immune systems are somewhat stronger against all diseases.
[4] The native tobacco mentioned here is grown from several native Australian plants in the Nicotiana genus (principally N. benthamiana) which are related to domesticated tobacco from the Americas (N. tabacum and N. rustica). These plants were used by various historical Aboriginal peoples as stimulants. They are not the same as the main kunduri drug cultivated in allohistorical Australia; that is grown from a native corkwood species (Duboisia hopwoodii) which is only distantly related to domesticated tobacco. The Australian Nicotiana species do contain nicotine, but have a much harsher taste and milder effect than corkwood kunduri, and so are not used as a major trade item. They were locally available, though, which is why they were used for creating the first death warriors.
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Thoughts?
Lands of Red and Gold #16: Regents of the Neverborn
Lands of Red and Gold #16: Regents of the Neverborn
The Yadji, their neighbours call them. In 1618, the Yadji Empire is the most populous nation in all of Australasia; two and a half million people live under its rule. Its dominions include a variety of peoples; the empire is named not after its inhabitants, but for the family name of its ruling dynasty. However, the core ethnicity of the Yadji Empire is the oldest sedentary people in Australasia, the Junditmara, and it was among them that the empire began its growth.
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The Yadji Empire emerged out of the disintegration of its feudal predecessor, the Empire of the Lake. The old Lords of the Lake had exercised only nominal authority for centuries, and the head of the Yadji family was one of the otjima [ruling feudal lords] who controlled one of many realms. While most of the otjima realms were becoming ever more fragmented, the Yadji were one of three otjima families who became significantly more powerful during the twelfth century.
The Empire of the Lake, already in decline, was devastated by the arrival of Australia's worst native epidemic disease, Marnitja. The first epidemic swept through imperial territory in 1208-10, killing approximately one person in five, and the disease returned in a fresh epidemic a generation later (1238-40). The death toll from these epidemics produced major social and religious upheaval, including setting off a long period of internecine warfare amongst the surviving otjima.
The Yadji were the most successful otjima family to take advantage of this period of warfare. Under Ouyamunna Yadji, who died during the later stages of the first epidemic, and then his brother Wanminong, they launched an aggressive program of military expansion. Ouyamunna created a new caste of warriors who had survived the first stage of Marnitja, and who were waiting uncertainly to know whether they would survive the second stage. In battle, these warriors worked themselves into a frenzied rage, and helped Ouyamunna win a series of battles and subdue his immediate neighbours.
Most of the death warriors died from the fevered delirium or in battle. Some survived the intensive period of battles in the first year, and it gradually became apparent that they would not be consumed by the Waiting Death. Many of the survivors abandoned the death warrior cult at this stage. A few remained in the cult, motivated by the immediate prestige of being raised to a military caste where they had previously been excluded, and by the prospect of a glorious death in battle ensuring that they had a good afterlife.
The surviving death warriors created a new social institution, and they recruited new members from men who were dispossessed or displaced by the internecine warfare of the period. The few men who joined the new elite cult of death warriors shaved their hair and stained most of their faces with white dye, carefully applied to give the impression of a skull staring back at anyone they faced. Under Wanminong (1210-1227) and his son Yutapina (1227-1255), the death warriors were used as shock troops, normally held in reserve during the first stages of a battle, and then used to turn the tide or break the enemy line at a crucial moment. They were never very numerous, but their presence was felt on many a battlefield as the Yadji expanded their rule.
The Yadji were the most successful otjima family who expanded during this period, but they were not alone. Two other families, the Euyanee and the Lyawai, had been increasing in prominence before the Marnitja epidemic, and they also gained territory during its bloody aftermath. The Yadji gained control of much of eastern and south-eastern Junditmara territory, the Euyanee consolidated their power in the south-west, and the Lyawai controlled much of the north.
Between them, the three families controlled about a third of Junditmara territory by 1220. After this, while the internecine warfare continued, their expansion was largely halted, due to a shortage of warriors, and the difficulty of controlling so many new subjects. Many of the smaller otjima families continued fighting amongst themselves for longer, although over time many of them banded together to oppose the great three families, or entered into tacit alliances with one side or another.
The second Marnitja epidemic swept through the Junditmara lands in 1230-40, and was almost as deadly as the first, killing about sixteen percent of the non-immune population. The overall death toll was lower than the first epidemic, since many of the older generation were immune, and because the total Junditmara population had still not recovered. Still, the social disruption was immense, and the Lord of the Lake [Emperor] took the unprecedented step of publicly asking for the otjima to show restraint and calm against their fellow Junditmara.
He was ignored, of course.
All three of the great families made fresh bids for expansion during this time, as did some ambitious lesser otjima. Unlike the previous generation of warfare, though, this new round of internecine fighting saw relatively few otjima families conquered. The lesser otjima were much more inclined to side with each other and resist the advances of the Euyanee and the Lyawai. In this endeavour, they found support from the Yadji. For Yutapina Yadji did not seek to conquer his fellow otjima. When he did fight wars against Junditmara, they were defensive wars to protect his neighbours from the Euyanee and the Lyawai, or their supporters.
Instead, under Yutapina, the Yadji turned their attention outward, pushing into non-Junditmara lands. They conquered the surviving remnants of the Tjunini along the shore of the Narrow Sea [Bass Strait], and began to expand amongst the Giratji to the east. Here, they had far more success than anyone else had expected; perhaps even Yutapina himself, although history does not record that. The Giratji had internal struggles of their own, due to similar problems with Marnitja. The combination of death warriors and disciplined regular troops proved to be irresistible. Their greatest accomplishment was in 1251, when they captured the gold mines around Nurrot [Ballarat].
By Yutapina's death in 1255, the Yadji had more than tripled the size of their territory, although that included much of the thinly-populated Wurrung Mountains [Otway Ranges]. While they had no meaningful census records, certainly close to half their population were non-Junditmara. By comparison, their two main rival otjima families had gained only limited territory. The Euyanee made an attempt to emulate the Yadji's external conquests amongst the Tiwarang to the south-west of Junditmara territory, but they had only marginal success. The Yadji were now clearly the most successful otjima family.
With their new conquests, the Yadji were no longer a purely Junditmara society. They had to make new accommodations in terms of religion and social organisation, since their old institutions would no longer serve them. They started to rework the fabric of their society into a new form which drew from the old Junditmara social codes, but which had many new features.
Even under Yutapina, they had already started to change the old religious systems. Aided by the many apocalyptic beliefs which were emerging at the time, the Yadji created a new religious system which adapted the old beliefs into a form which suited their rule. Yutapina and his heirs created a new priesthood, with temples at the centre of every community, and who preached of the new faith where the ruling Yadji was the Regent of the Neverborn, and everyone else his subjects.
The Yadji also started to create a strict social hierarchy which was even more rigid than the old Junditmara social codes. Yutapina is reported to have said, "My lands have a place for everyone, and everyone is in their place." In time, the Yadji rulers would decide that the old briyuna warrior caste did not fit into this scheme, since they were loyal to their local otjima and usually not to the ruling Yadji. They would eventually disband the briyuna.
With the new religion and social system they were creating, the Yadji did not fit into the old feudal system of the Empire of the Lake. It made little sense for their rulers to acknowledge the nominal authority of the Lord of the Lake when they claimed divine backing for their own rule. The formal break came in 1255, with the death of Yutapina Yadji. His son Kwarrawa chose to mark his accession in a ceremony where he was ritually married to Lake Kirunmara, rather than paying homage to the distant Emperor. The Yadji would date the creation of their own empire from this moment.
The Empire of the Lake persisted for a few decades longer, but after 1255 it could no longer be considered even a nominal nation. The real power had always been in the hands of the otjima, and now it was being concentrated in the three most prominent families. The lesser otjima started to formally align themselves with the Yadji, Euyanee or the Lyawai, or were conquered by them. The last Lord of the Lake died in 1289 from the third major Marnitja epidemic to hit the Junditmara in the same century, and he was never replaced. By then, virtually all of the Junditmara were either directly ruled by one of the three great families, or their local otjima were effective vassals of one of the three.
In time, they would all be ruled by the Yadji.
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Ouyamunna Yadji, the ruler who created the death warriors, is said to have believed that they would ensure he had a legacy which would be remembered. In truth, four centuries later, few men remember him, but they have not forgotten the death warriors he created. The death warriors have become an elite few recruited from amongst those who have limited life prospects, and who embrace the opportunity for glorious death in battle. The Yadji still use these frenzied warriors as shock troops in their armies, and they have won many a battle. Under their aegis, the Yadji have become the most populous empire on the continent.
In 1618, the Yadji rule over an empire which they sometimes call the Regency of the Neverborn, and at other times they call Durigal, the Land of the Five Directions. For like many other peoples around the world, the Junditmara perceive five cardinal directions, not four. As well as the more familiar north, east, south and west, they also describe a "centre" direction, the point of origin. Within the Yadji lands, the centre is always Kirunmara [Terang], their capital. All directions within the Yadji lands are given in relation to Kirunmara itself; a man might say that he is travelling "north of the centre" or "south of the centre."
From west to east, the Land of the Five Directions extends approximately from the mouth of the Nyalananga [River Murray] and includes all of the coast as far as the River Gunawan [Snowy River]. Its northern border is usually near the Spine [Great Dividing Range]. Some of these borders are fluid; regular warfare with its northern neighbours, particularly Tjibarr, means that frontiers are contested in the north and northwest. For the rest, Yadji rule is relatively secure, apart from some occasional rebellions over religion, tribute, or language.
The Land of the Five Directions is well-populated, with several large cities and a host of smaller towns and villages. The Yadji divide their lands into four provinces, which roughly correspond to the old ethnic divisions at the time of Yadji conquest. The Red Country stretches from the Nyalananga to just west of Gurndjit [Portland], and its old inhabitants were two Gunnagalic-speaking peoples, the Yadilli and Tiwarang. The borders of the Red Country are the most fluid in the Land, sometimes advancing with military expansion, and sometimes withdrawing due to revolts among conquered peoples or victories by Tjibarr.
The Lake Country is the most populous province; it includes the old Junditmara lands, and some parts of the more contested northerly regions inhabited by the Yotjuwal people. Along the coast, it stretches from Gurndjit to Jerang [Lorne], although its inland boundary is more restricted, and runs generally north-west from Jerang.
The Golden Country consists mostly of the old Giratji lands, although its northern border sometimes includes much of the Yotjuwal lands, except when those areas revolt or are captured by Tjibarr or Gutjanal. The Golden Country includes the gold mines around Nurrot and sometimes those around Djawrit [Bendigo], although the latter mines are sometimes controlled by one of the northern kingdoms. The Golden Country stretches from the border with the Lake Country east as far as Kakararra [Koo Wee Rup].
The White Country is the easternmost province, stretching from Kakararra to the edge of Yadji-claimed territory. Its eastern borders are vaguely defined, because the Yadji claim more territory than they have settled, but their effective line of control is along the lower River Gunawan. The easternmost city of any size is Elligal [Orbost]. Beyond these boundaries lies rugged, difficult to farm territory where the Yadji sometimes raid but do not control. The White Country is mostly inhabited by the Kurnawal, who make reluctant imperial subjects, but who have been largely quiet for the last half-century.
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While the Yadji rule subjects of a great many languages and religions, they have done their best to centralise their whole empire. Based on their inherited Junditmara social codes, they seek to create a strict sense of local community and common religion, and to impose a broader sense of hierarchy where everyone has their place under the Regent.
Every Yadji city and town worthy of the name has at least one temple at its heart. The temples are the grandest part of each city; built of the strongest stone available in any given area, and deliberately constructed so as to appear larger than life. The temple is the centre of all aspects of daily life. Religious rituals are only one part of that control. Each temple governs all aspects of daily life for the town and the surrounding community, from telling the farmers when and where to work the fields, overseeing hunting and fishing, controlling the building and maintenance of waterworks, giving approval to new buildings, approving or rejecting marriages, overseeing the activities of the weavers and craftsmen, and collecting the proceeds of the harvest. Every temple has attached storehouses where the bulk of the harvest can be retained, including storage for bad years. It is considered very poor practice for any temple to have less than four years stored food available in case drought, bushfires, or pests ruin the harvest.
In their religious practices, the Yadji have created a new religion blended out of some of the older Junditmara beliefs and the apocalyptic teachings popularised after the Marnitja epidemics of the thirteenth century A.D. They teach that the first being was the Earth Mother, and the warmth of her body was the only heat in an otherwise cold and empty cosmos. In time, she gave birth to a son, who was known as the Firstborn. The Firstborn served and loved the Earth Mother, until he found out that she was with child. Jealous that he would have to share his mother's affection, the Firstborn stabbed her through the heart.
As she lay dying, the Earth Mother plucked out her eyes so that she would not have to look upon the son who had betrayed her. One eye she hurled into the sky, where it would circle the world and act as a mirror to reflect the warmth of the earth. Her other eye shattered with tears; the largest shard became the moon, the smaller shards became the stars.
With her dying breath, the Earth Mother cursed the Firstborn to be trapped in eternal darkness and cold. Her blood spilled over her body, creating the mortal world and all of its inhabitants. The warmth of her blood meant that things would always grow, but the Firstborn could not endure the heat for long. He was driven from the surface of the world, out into the darkness of the night. (Hence his alternative title, the Lord of the Night). Here he waits still, waiting and watching. Whenever someone dies, he or one of his servants will descend to the surface of the earth to try to claim the spirit of the recently deceased. The deceased will have to defeat the Firstborn or his servants, or be carried up into the darkness of the night to become another servant. Thus, the Yadji say that one someone has died, he has "gone to fight his Last Battle."
However, while the Firstborn succeeded in killing his mother, he did not kill the child she was carrying. That as yet unborn being still lives, trapped within the flesh of the earth. He is the Neverborn, the true loyal son of the Earth Mother, who waits yet within the warmth of the earth. He is the one who will be born someday to fight his elder brother, and that day will be the changing of the world. All who have died and who won their own last battles wait with him, and will be called to fight at this, the Cleansing, when the universe will be remade.
This, the Yadji teach, is the purpose of the world: to live one's own life in preparation for the world that is to come. They recognise only three deities, the dead Earth Mother, and her two sons, the Firstborn who is scorned, and the Neverborn who is loyal. They also recognise a number of other beings who play a role in the day-to-day world, who are servants of one of the Sons, but they do not view them as gods. Only the Neverborn should be worshipped, since he is pure and steadfast, and the Earth Mother should be honoured and remembered.
To the Yadji, religion is meant to be a unifying force, and indeed many of their subjects have converted to this belief. Not all have done so, though, and religious unrest continues to trouble their empire at times, particularly amongst the Kurnawal in the east. Those peoples who live near the north-western borders are also often more reluctant to follow the Yadji faith completely; they still cling to some of their older beliefs or the teachings of the Good Man [Plirism].
Some Regents enforce religion more strictly, and others care little about the substance of others' beliefs provided that they obey. The current Regent, Boringa Yadji, worries very little about what his people believe. He has concerns of his own; partly staying awake when his generals argue about how best to solve the perennial border wars with the northern kingdoms, and partly how to convince his pet rock to talk. His senior priests have never bothered to dissuade him from his efforts to attain this difficult goal; after all, while the Regent is incommunicado, they can speak for him to the outside world, and this suits them well enough. If he progresses to the stage where he starts to drool too obviously at public audiences, well, they will deal with that problem when it comes. It is a crime beyond hope of atonement to spill the blood of any member of the Yadji family, let alone the Regent, but they will find a solution.
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The temples control most aspects of life within the Yadji realm, but nowhere is their organisation more significant than their oversight of waterworks and aquaculture. This is the Junditmara's most ancient technology; they have developed it to a level unsurpassed anywhere else on the continent and, in some ways, anywhere else on the globe.
Not everywhere in Yadji lands is suitable for waterworks. However, anywhere that geography, rainfall, and water flow permits, the Yadji will have sculpted the land itself to suit their waterworks, creating the swamps, weirs, ponds and lakes which are their joy.
The ancient Junditmara developed their system of aquaculture into the basis of the first sedentary culture on the continent. It relied on the short-finned eel (Anguilla australis), a species which migrates between fresh and salt water depending on age. Mature short-finned eels breed far out to sea, and the young elvers return to freshwater rivers where they will swim far upland in search of a home territory. The elvers can even leave water for short periods, traversing damp ground in pursuit of fresh territory. Eventually, the elvers find a home range – a stretch of river, a lake, a pond, or a swamp – and establish themselves there. They feed on almost anything they can catch – other fish, frogs, invertebrates – and slowly grow to maturity. The eels are remarkably tolerant of changing environments, tolerating high and low temperatures, murky waters, low oxygen, and going into a torpor state if conditions are poor. The mature eels can reach a substantial size (over 6kg for female eels), and will eventually migrate back downriver to the sea to repeat the process.
Or the eels try to, anyway.
The early Junditmara system of aquaculture was designed to maximise the available habitat for short-finned eels to live and reach maturity, and then trap them when they had reached a decent size. They did this by creating ponds, swamps and lakes for the eels to live while they grew. This involved not just the occasional pond or lake, but long series of ponds with connected waterways, each with enough water to support one or more eels. The Junditmara reshaped the land to suit their needs, using weirs and dams to trap sufficient volumes of water, and creating a myriad array of canals and trenches to connect the ponds and lakes to each other and eventually to the rivers and the sea. Their lands were crisscrossed by an immense network of these canals, all carefully maintained to allow eels to migrate up the rivers.
Sometimes the Junditmara even trapped young elvers, transported them upriver, and released them into suitable habitats for them to grow to a mature size. Their entire system was designed to allow the eels to grow to their maximum size, then trap them before they could migrate back downriver. The Junditmara made woven eel traps and positioned them at well-chosen points along the weirs and dam walls, so that they would trap larger eels when they tried to swim back downriver, but would still allow smaller eels to pass through.
The early Junditmara built their entire culture around farming eels, harvesting edible water plants, and catching waterbirds who fed off the abundance of their waterworks. When they received agriculture from Gunnagalic migrants, the Junditmara were no longer completely reliant on eel meat to feed their population. Still, they never lost their knowledge of aquaculture, and they built larger and more complex waterworks wherever geography and their technology permitted them to do so.
The newer Junditmara waterworks are far more diverse in the produce they harvest than the original eel farms, although 'waterfood' is still a very high-status commodity. Many of the expanded waterworks are too far upriver to obtain a decent supply of eels; sometimes because of the distance itself, sometimes because most of the elvers become established in suitable habitats created by communities further downriver.
The Junditmara have solved this by farming a much greater variety of fish and other watery denizens. They create a series of watery habitats of many depths to suit particular species, and allow fish to migrate between these ponds depending on their habitats. The shallowest waterworks are kept as swamps and marshes with limited depth, but where edible reeds and other plants grow in abundance. Deeper ponds and lakes host a wide variety of fish species; Australian bass, silver perch, river blackfish, and eel-tailed catfish are among the most common.
Some smaller ponds are maintained simply to breed freshwater prawns and other invertebrates to be used as bait by Junditmara fishermen. For some fish species, especially river blackfish, the Junditmara breed them in special ponds and then transport the young fry to stock larger lakes and wetlands. They also keep separate ponds where they breed freshwater crayfish as a luxury food; these invertebrates are slow-growing but are considered extremely tasty. A few Junditmara farmers have even developed farming methods for freshwater mussels (Alathyria and Cucumerunio species), which are treasured not just as sources of food, but because they occasionally produce freshwater pearls.
The Junditmara have amassed a thorough knowledge of which habitats suit the breeding and living requirements of the many fish species in their country. Some fish prefer locations with underwater cover, so the Junditmara ensure that suitable logs, rocky overhangs, debris, or other places of concealment are available for those species. Some fish will only spawn in flooded backwaters of small streams, and the Junditmara hold some water back in dams to flood in the early spring when those fish breed. Many fish migrate regularly throughout their lifecycle, and unlike the engineers who would dam these rivers in another history, the Junditmara make sure that their weirs and dams still allow enough waterflow for these fish to migrate up and downstream as they need.
As part of their aquaculture, the Junditmara also learned much more about how to work with water, stone and metal. They have never developed anything approximating scientific investigation or philosophical inquiry, unlike the classical Greeks who first started to use mathematics to calculate the shape of the world, of mechanics, and hydraulics. Still, the Junditmara have a long history of experimentation and development of solutions by trial and error. This is not a quick process; there have been many errors and many trials. But slowly, the Junditmara and their Yadji successors have developed a remarkable corpus of knowledge of hydraulics and of engineering as it is applied to the construction of water-related features.
Junditmara engineers have become experts at controlling the movement of water. They know how to build very good dams and weirs. By trial and error, they have developed arch dams whose curving structure allows them to build very strong dams while using less stone. Their engineers do not quite understand the principles of forces and calculations and stresses, but they know that the method works. Likewise, they have learnt how to build gravity dams, carefully balanced to ensure that they do not overturn under water pressure. Their engineers have also learned how to build cofferdams to keep a chosen area dry while they are building more permanent dams. They know how to build levees against floods or to keep chosen areas dry even if surrounded by waterworks. Around larger river systems, they build networks of levees, flood channels, and secondary dams to trap floodwaters for later use.
On a smaller scale, Junditmara engineers have discovered how to control water for other uses. They use reservoirs and aqueducts to supply drinking water to their towns and cities. Like their neighbours in the Nyalananga kingdoms, they understand the usefulness of plumbing, but they apply it much more widely. Most Junditmara houses have plumbing connected to sewer systems, and the human waste is collected for fertiliser and other uses. In the temples and the houses of the upper classes, they have flush toilets with a carefully-shaped fill valve which can fill the water tanks without overflowing [1].
The Junditmara engineers have even developed mechanical means of shifting water, thanks to their discovery of screwpumps [Archimedes screw]. They discovered a primitive version of this device more or less by accident, but they have improved its design over the centuries. All of their screwpumps are hand-powered devices; the most typical use is to move water from low-lying ponds into higher ponds as part of maintaining their waterworks. They also make some use of screwpumps to irrigate elevated gardens, drain local flooding, and maintain watery features of their major cities.
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The practice of aquaculture is the most obvious example, but everything in Yadji daily life revolves around the temples and their dictates. Trade, farming, craftsmanship, and everything else is in one way or another dictated by the reigning priests, who exercise the will of the Regent. In many ways, this is a continuation of the old Junditmara tradition, where their chiefs or other local headmen oversaw their daily lives. The Yadji rulers have applied the same principles, although priests are usually appointed by the Regent or his senior advisers. There is a deliberate policy of moving them between temples throughout their lives, to limit their opportunities to build up a personal power base in any particular region.
Trade and farming, and many of the other parts of Yadji life, have been eased by the Junditmara invention of what was for them a revolutionary device: the wheel. For many centuries the peoples of this isolated continent had never invented this device; perhaps for want of an inventor, perhaps because with few beasts of burden, it would not benefit them as much. For so long, transportation relied on sleds, travois and other means, rather than the wheel. In the last few centuries, however, the Junditmara adapted their existing potter's wheel into a form which worked upright – and which revolutionised their lives.
The Yadji have applied the wheel to several uses. While they are still hindered by a lack of any large beasts of burden, they have converted their old transport vehicles into carts or other wheeled forms pulled by people or by teams of dogs. These are used in their larger cities to transport people and goods. They are also used along the royal roads. The Yadji road network is not as extensive as some other peoples on the continent, but most of their main cities are connected. There are two royal roads which start at their westernmost outpost on the Bitter Lake [Lake Alexandrina], with one running near the coast and the other in the northern regions, converging at Duniradj [Melbourne], then dividing again as they run east, and finally converging at the easternmost Yadji outpost at Elligal. The Yadji also use small hand carts to help with their farming, and this has been a substantial boost to their agricultural productivity.
Yadji productivity would no doubt have been improved in many other areas if they found out how to apply wheels to them. Textiles, for instance, would be easier to weave if they had developed the spinning wheel. No-one has found out how to do this, and the Yadji rely instead on the ancient technology of the spindle for weaving. Still, elaborately-woven textiles were a Junditmara specialty for centuries, and the Yadji have only expanded their use.
For textiles, the Yadji have only a few basic fibres to work from, but they put them to many uses. Their basic fibre is the ubiquitous crop, native flax, whose fibres they work into a variety of forms of linen and other textiles.
For higher-status textiles, they use animal fibres. Dog hairs, to be exact. The Junditmara have bred white, long-haired dogs whose fur is thick enough to be turned into a kind of wool. These fleece dogs are carefully maintained as separate breeds which do not have contact with other dogs; the largest breeding populations are maintained on the personal estates of the Regent. The dogs are fed mostly on eel and other fish meat gathered from their waterworks, and they are shorn every year to produce fleeces and yarns used for high-quality textiles.
The most precious fibres of all are threads of silver or gold. These metals are under strict royal monopoly, and much of the material collected from the mines is spun into thread and woven into the clothing of the imperial family or very senior priests.
From these few fibres, the Yadji have created a myriad variety of textiles, to serve the many needs of their hierarchical society. The fundamentals of their clothing are quite simple. Men wear a sack-like tunic with a hole for the head and two more for the arms, and which usually reach to their knees. Women wear a sleeveless dress held in at the waist with a patterned sash. Both sexes wear the anjumi, a kind of textile headband which has elaborately-woven patterns which indicate a person's home region and their social rank.
Indeed, while the basic aspects of clothing are similar for peoples of all ranks, the Yadji use many colours and patterns to indicate status. They use many dyes, some produced from local plants, some imported by the Islanders or from the northern kingdoms, and they use these to mark status. The patterns on a person's anjumi are an immediate indication of their rank, role in society, and the region where they live. Amongst those of higher status, there are more elaborate indications of status; thread or small plates of silver and gold, lustrous shells, pearls, feathers from parrots and other birds, and other markers to show the wealth and standing of their wearer. It is said amongst the Yadji that even if every person in their realm was gathered into one place, it would still be possible to tell where each person was from, and their rank.
The varieties of clothing which the Yadji wear are only the most visible sign of the careful organisation of their society. For where it has been said that three Gunnagal cannot agree about anything, the Yadji and their Junditmara ancestors have always been a regimented society. The priests act as local rulers, within the broad expectations of the Regent and his senior priests at Kirunmara. To enforce their will, they can rely on both religious authority and the carefully-maintained records of a literate society. For the Yadji make extensive use of writing, using a script derived from the ancient Gunnagalic script. They have never developed any use for clay tablets as their northern neighbours used; instead, they use parchment made from emu hide, and a form of paper made from the boiled inner bark of wattle-trees. Literacy is largely confined to the priestly class and a few aristocrats, but that is sufficient to allow careful administration of the many lands under the control of the Regent.
The same desire for control means that the old military structure of the briyuna has been completely removed. The briyuna were a hereditary class of warriors who were loyal to their local otjima, but no further. The reigning Yadji have no tolerance for warriors whose allegiance is not to the Regent, and the briyuna who survived the conquest of the other Junditmara lands were retired.
In their place, the Yadji developed a new military order based on the careful recruitment of loyal soldiers. Military discipline is strong, with Yadji units very good at fighting alongside each other. They have also developed good methods for coordinating movements between units, using a combination of banners, drums and bugle-like horns.
The spread of ironworking has also revolutionised their military tactics. The Yadji most commonly use a form of scale armour, which they favour as cheaper to produce than the mail which is preferred by their rivals in the northern kingdoms. Part of their preference for scale armour is also because it is easier to decorate; the old Junditmara love of ornamentation lives on in the Yadji military. High-ranking officers in Yadji armies are given sets of ceremonial armour, not just the practical varieties. Designs of gold are common in ceremonial armour, for one of the useful properties of iron is that gold designs show more prominently than on the old bronze armour.
Still, for all that the Yadji have changed, the original ethos of the briyuna has not been lost. Within the Regency's borders, they no longer exist as a separate warrior caste, but many of the retired briyuna took up priestly or related administrative roles in the expanding Yadji realm. Their old warrior code lives on in songs, epics, and chronicles, becoming increasingly mythologised and romanticised, and the ruling Yadji have tolerated this development. The code of the briyuna is still seen as the standard by which a proper Yadji gentleman should conduct himself, even if this standard is more honoured in the breach than the observance.
As for the briyuna themselves, they did not completely vanish when the Yadji dissolved their order. Some of the briyuna refused to accept retirement, and fled beyond the borders of the Regency. A few went to the northern kingdoms, but the largest group fled to the Kaoma, another non-Gunnagalic people who live in the highlands beyond the Regency's eastern border. There, the briyuna have become a warrior caste amongst the Kaoma and their neighbouring Nguril, and they still preserve much of their old code and lifestyle. They have not forgotten their origins, and they still mistrust the Yadji who evicted them from their old homelands.
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One of the perennial questions which has vexed linguists and sociologists is whether language shapes society, or society shapes language. Or, indeed, whether both are true at once.
When they come to study the Yadji, they will find a rich source for further arguments. For the Junditmara who form the core of the Regency's dominions have developed their own extremely complex social rules regarding their interactions with each other. The rules dictate who can speak to whom, the required courtesies and protocols needed when people of different status meet, what subjects can be discussed with which people, and a myriad of other intricacies. The Junditmara are status-conscious in a way which few other peoples on the globe would recognise.
The intricacies of Junditmara social codes are reflected in their language. All Junditmara pronouns have six different forms, which can be roughly translated as dominant, submissive, masculine, feminine, familiar, and neutral. Their language also uses a variety of affixes which are added to individual names and titles, and which carry a similar function to the pronouns.
Each of these forms indicates the relationship between the speakers. Dominant and submissive are broadly used to indicate the relative social status of each of the speakers. Using the dominant form with a person of higher rank is a major social faux pas at best, and is usually treated as a grave insult. These two forms can also serve other functions, such as when two people of similar rank are arguing, one might use the submissive form of "you" in a form such as "I agree with you" to concede the argument.
The masculine and feminine forms have the fundamental purpose of indicating the gender of the person being referred to, but the customs regarding their use also reflect social rules amongst the Junditmara. When speaking to a person of higher social status, a person will normally use the submissive form rather than a masculine or feminine form. When speaking to a person of roughly equal social status, the masculine or feminine form is typically the form used. When speaking to a person of lower status, a high-status speaker may choose to use the dominant forms, which indicates a greater degree of formality, or the masculine or feminine form, which indicates a less formal meeting. As with all aspects of Junditmara society, these forms can be used in other ways, such as if a group of soldiers wished to condemn another soldier for supposed unmanly or cowardly behaviour, they would typically refer to him using a feminine form.
The familiar and neutral forms are more restricted in their usage. The familiar form is normally used only for relatives or close friends, and indicates that the relationship between the two people is so well-established that questions of status will never arise [2]. It sometimes has other uses, such as being used with someone who is clearly not on familiar terms, which indicates either irony or extreme disrespect. The neutral form is used mostly in ambiguous situations where people have only just met and are not sure of each other's status, or a situation where someone of lower status temporarily needs to be treated as being of equal status. Some subsets of society also use the neutral form if they want to indicate that they are completely equal. For instance, amongst soldiers, men of the same rank are expected to refer to each other using the neutral form, rather than the masculine form.
The intricacies of Junditmara language extend to many of their other words. Most of their common verbs have two different flavours, which can be described as directive or suggestive. Directive means that what is said is a command, while the other indicates a request or a preference. "Come here" if said in a directive flavour would have a rather different impression upon the listener than if it were said in a suggestive flavour.
While the intricacies of the Junditmara language are not directly matched in that of the other peoples who make up the Yadji Empire, some of their phrases and meanings are slowly diffusing amongst the other peoples. For the Junditmara language is the effective language of government amongst most of the Regency; even if priests speak a local language as well, they will be literate mostly in the Junditmara tongue. This is one of the many methods which the reigning Yadji use to centralise control over the dominions. Religion, however, remains the most important aspect of their government. Up until the year 1618, this has been very effective in maintaining their rule over a disparate group of peoples. As that year draws to a close, however, a new era is preparing, one in which all of the social institutions of the Yadji will be sorely tested...
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[1] This is a similar type of mechanism to the ballcock which would historically be developed in the nineteenth century.
[2] The familiar form is used in approximately the same manner as "first name terms," back in a time when being on first name terms actually meant something more meaningful than having said hello. Or the distinction between tu and vous in French (or similar forms in many other languages).
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Thoughts?
The Yadji, their neighbours call them. In 1618, the Yadji Empire is the most populous nation in all of Australasia; two and a half million people live under its rule. Its dominions include a variety of peoples; the empire is named not after its inhabitants, but for the family name of its ruling dynasty. However, the core ethnicity of the Yadji Empire is the oldest sedentary people in Australasia, the Junditmara, and it was among them that the empire began its growth.
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The Yadji Empire emerged out of the disintegration of its feudal predecessor, the Empire of the Lake. The old Lords of the Lake had exercised only nominal authority for centuries, and the head of the Yadji family was one of the otjima [ruling feudal lords] who controlled one of many realms. While most of the otjima realms were becoming ever more fragmented, the Yadji were one of three otjima families who became significantly more powerful during the twelfth century.
The Empire of the Lake, already in decline, was devastated by the arrival of Australia's worst native epidemic disease, Marnitja. The first epidemic swept through imperial territory in 1208-10, killing approximately one person in five, and the disease returned in a fresh epidemic a generation later (1238-40). The death toll from these epidemics produced major social and religious upheaval, including setting off a long period of internecine warfare amongst the surviving otjima.
The Yadji were the most successful otjima family to take advantage of this period of warfare. Under Ouyamunna Yadji, who died during the later stages of the first epidemic, and then his brother Wanminong, they launched an aggressive program of military expansion. Ouyamunna created a new caste of warriors who had survived the first stage of Marnitja, and who were waiting uncertainly to know whether they would survive the second stage. In battle, these warriors worked themselves into a frenzied rage, and helped Ouyamunna win a series of battles and subdue his immediate neighbours.
Most of the death warriors died from the fevered delirium or in battle. Some survived the intensive period of battles in the first year, and it gradually became apparent that they would not be consumed by the Waiting Death. Many of the survivors abandoned the death warrior cult at this stage. A few remained in the cult, motivated by the immediate prestige of being raised to a military caste where they had previously been excluded, and by the prospect of a glorious death in battle ensuring that they had a good afterlife.
The surviving death warriors created a new social institution, and they recruited new members from men who were dispossessed or displaced by the internecine warfare of the period. The few men who joined the new elite cult of death warriors shaved their hair and stained most of their faces with white dye, carefully applied to give the impression of a skull staring back at anyone they faced. Under Wanminong (1210-1227) and his son Yutapina (1227-1255), the death warriors were used as shock troops, normally held in reserve during the first stages of a battle, and then used to turn the tide or break the enemy line at a crucial moment. They were never very numerous, but their presence was felt on many a battlefield as the Yadji expanded their rule.
The Yadji were the most successful otjima family who expanded during this period, but they were not alone. Two other families, the Euyanee and the Lyawai, had been increasing in prominence before the Marnitja epidemic, and they also gained territory during its bloody aftermath. The Yadji gained control of much of eastern and south-eastern Junditmara territory, the Euyanee consolidated their power in the south-west, and the Lyawai controlled much of the north.
Between them, the three families controlled about a third of Junditmara territory by 1220. After this, while the internecine warfare continued, their expansion was largely halted, due to a shortage of warriors, and the difficulty of controlling so many new subjects. Many of the smaller otjima families continued fighting amongst themselves for longer, although over time many of them banded together to oppose the great three families, or entered into tacit alliances with one side or another.
The second Marnitja epidemic swept through the Junditmara lands in 1230-40, and was almost as deadly as the first, killing about sixteen percent of the non-immune population. The overall death toll was lower than the first epidemic, since many of the older generation were immune, and because the total Junditmara population had still not recovered. Still, the social disruption was immense, and the Lord of the Lake [Emperor] took the unprecedented step of publicly asking for the otjima to show restraint and calm against their fellow Junditmara.
He was ignored, of course.
All three of the great families made fresh bids for expansion during this time, as did some ambitious lesser otjima. Unlike the previous generation of warfare, though, this new round of internecine fighting saw relatively few otjima families conquered. The lesser otjima were much more inclined to side with each other and resist the advances of the Euyanee and the Lyawai. In this endeavour, they found support from the Yadji. For Yutapina Yadji did not seek to conquer his fellow otjima. When he did fight wars against Junditmara, they were defensive wars to protect his neighbours from the Euyanee and the Lyawai, or their supporters.
Instead, under Yutapina, the Yadji turned their attention outward, pushing into non-Junditmara lands. They conquered the surviving remnants of the Tjunini along the shore of the Narrow Sea [Bass Strait], and began to expand amongst the Giratji to the east. Here, they had far more success than anyone else had expected; perhaps even Yutapina himself, although history does not record that. The Giratji had internal struggles of their own, due to similar problems with Marnitja. The combination of death warriors and disciplined regular troops proved to be irresistible. Their greatest accomplishment was in 1251, when they captured the gold mines around Nurrot [Ballarat].
By Yutapina's death in 1255, the Yadji had more than tripled the size of their territory, although that included much of the thinly-populated Wurrung Mountains [Otway Ranges]. While they had no meaningful census records, certainly close to half their population were non-Junditmara. By comparison, their two main rival otjima families had gained only limited territory. The Euyanee made an attempt to emulate the Yadji's external conquests amongst the Tiwarang to the south-west of Junditmara territory, but they had only marginal success. The Yadji were now clearly the most successful otjima family.
With their new conquests, the Yadji were no longer a purely Junditmara society. They had to make new accommodations in terms of religion and social organisation, since their old institutions would no longer serve them. They started to rework the fabric of their society into a new form which drew from the old Junditmara social codes, but which had many new features.
Even under Yutapina, they had already started to change the old religious systems. Aided by the many apocalyptic beliefs which were emerging at the time, the Yadji created a new religious system which adapted the old beliefs into a form which suited their rule. Yutapina and his heirs created a new priesthood, with temples at the centre of every community, and who preached of the new faith where the ruling Yadji was the Regent of the Neverborn, and everyone else his subjects.
The Yadji also started to create a strict social hierarchy which was even more rigid than the old Junditmara social codes. Yutapina is reported to have said, "My lands have a place for everyone, and everyone is in their place." In time, the Yadji rulers would decide that the old briyuna warrior caste did not fit into this scheme, since they were loyal to their local otjima and usually not to the ruling Yadji. They would eventually disband the briyuna.
With the new religion and social system they were creating, the Yadji did not fit into the old feudal system of the Empire of the Lake. It made little sense for their rulers to acknowledge the nominal authority of the Lord of the Lake when they claimed divine backing for their own rule. The formal break came in 1255, with the death of Yutapina Yadji. His son Kwarrawa chose to mark his accession in a ceremony where he was ritually married to Lake Kirunmara, rather than paying homage to the distant Emperor. The Yadji would date the creation of their own empire from this moment.
The Empire of the Lake persisted for a few decades longer, but after 1255 it could no longer be considered even a nominal nation. The real power had always been in the hands of the otjima, and now it was being concentrated in the three most prominent families. The lesser otjima started to formally align themselves with the Yadji, Euyanee or the Lyawai, or were conquered by them. The last Lord of the Lake died in 1289 from the third major Marnitja epidemic to hit the Junditmara in the same century, and he was never replaced. By then, virtually all of the Junditmara were either directly ruled by one of the three great families, or their local otjima were effective vassals of one of the three.
In time, they would all be ruled by the Yadji.
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Ouyamunna Yadji, the ruler who created the death warriors, is said to have believed that they would ensure he had a legacy which would be remembered. In truth, four centuries later, few men remember him, but they have not forgotten the death warriors he created. The death warriors have become an elite few recruited from amongst those who have limited life prospects, and who embrace the opportunity for glorious death in battle. The Yadji still use these frenzied warriors as shock troops in their armies, and they have won many a battle. Under their aegis, the Yadji have become the most populous empire on the continent.
In 1618, the Yadji rule over an empire which they sometimes call the Regency of the Neverborn, and at other times they call Durigal, the Land of the Five Directions. For like many other peoples around the world, the Junditmara perceive five cardinal directions, not four. As well as the more familiar north, east, south and west, they also describe a "centre" direction, the point of origin. Within the Yadji lands, the centre is always Kirunmara [Terang], their capital. All directions within the Yadji lands are given in relation to Kirunmara itself; a man might say that he is travelling "north of the centre" or "south of the centre."
From west to east, the Land of the Five Directions extends approximately from the mouth of the Nyalananga [River Murray] and includes all of the coast as far as the River Gunawan [Snowy River]. Its northern border is usually near the Spine [Great Dividing Range]. Some of these borders are fluid; regular warfare with its northern neighbours, particularly Tjibarr, means that frontiers are contested in the north and northwest. For the rest, Yadji rule is relatively secure, apart from some occasional rebellions over religion, tribute, or language.
The Land of the Five Directions is well-populated, with several large cities and a host of smaller towns and villages. The Yadji divide their lands into four provinces, which roughly correspond to the old ethnic divisions at the time of Yadji conquest. The Red Country stretches from the Nyalananga to just west of Gurndjit [Portland], and its old inhabitants were two Gunnagalic-speaking peoples, the Yadilli and Tiwarang. The borders of the Red Country are the most fluid in the Land, sometimes advancing with military expansion, and sometimes withdrawing due to revolts among conquered peoples or victories by Tjibarr.
The Lake Country is the most populous province; it includes the old Junditmara lands, and some parts of the more contested northerly regions inhabited by the Yotjuwal people. Along the coast, it stretches from Gurndjit to Jerang [Lorne], although its inland boundary is more restricted, and runs generally north-west from Jerang.
The Golden Country consists mostly of the old Giratji lands, although its northern border sometimes includes much of the Yotjuwal lands, except when those areas revolt or are captured by Tjibarr or Gutjanal. The Golden Country includes the gold mines around Nurrot and sometimes those around Djawrit [Bendigo], although the latter mines are sometimes controlled by one of the northern kingdoms. The Golden Country stretches from the border with the Lake Country east as far as Kakararra [Koo Wee Rup].
The White Country is the easternmost province, stretching from Kakararra to the edge of Yadji-claimed territory. Its eastern borders are vaguely defined, because the Yadji claim more territory than they have settled, but their effective line of control is along the lower River Gunawan. The easternmost city of any size is Elligal [Orbost]. Beyond these boundaries lies rugged, difficult to farm territory where the Yadji sometimes raid but do not control. The White Country is mostly inhabited by the Kurnawal, who make reluctant imperial subjects, but who have been largely quiet for the last half-century.
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While the Yadji rule subjects of a great many languages and religions, they have done their best to centralise their whole empire. Based on their inherited Junditmara social codes, they seek to create a strict sense of local community and common religion, and to impose a broader sense of hierarchy where everyone has their place under the Regent.
Every Yadji city and town worthy of the name has at least one temple at its heart. The temples are the grandest part of each city; built of the strongest stone available in any given area, and deliberately constructed so as to appear larger than life. The temple is the centre of all aspects of daily life. Religious rituals are only one part of that control. Each temple governs all aspects of daily life for the town and the surrounding community, from telling the farmers when and where to work the fields, overseeing hunting and fishing, controlling the building and maintenance of waterworks, giving approval to new buildings, approving or rejecting marriages, overseeing the activities of the weavers and craftsmen, and collecting the proceeds of the harvest. Every temple has attached storehouses where the bulk of the harvest can be retained, including storage for bad years. It is considered very poor practice for any temple to have less than four years stored food available in case drought, bushfires, or pests ruin the harvest.
In their religious practices, the Yadji have created a new religion blended out of some of the older Junditmara beliefs and the apocalyptic teachings popularised after the Marnitja epidemics of the thirteenth century A.D. They teach that the first being was the Earth Mother, and the warmth of her body was the only heat in an otherwise cold and empty cosmos. In time, she gave birth to a son, who was known as the Firstborn. The Firstborn served and loved the Earth Mother, until he found out that she was with child. Jealous that he would have to share his mother's affection, the Firstborn stabbed her through the heart.
As she lay dying, the Earth Mother plucked out her eyes so that she would not have to look upon the son who had betrayed her. One eye she hurled into the sky, where it would circle the world and act as a mirror to reflect the warmth of the earth. Her other eye shattered with tears; the largest shard became the moon, the smaller shards became the stars.
With her dying breath, the Earth Mother cursed the Firstborn to be trapped in eternal darkness and cold. Her blood spilled over her body, creating the mortal world and all of its inhabitants. The warmth of her blood meant that things would always grow, but the Firstborn could not endure the heat for long. He was driven from the surface of the world, out into the darkness of the night. (Hence his alternative title, the Lord of the Night). Here he waits still, waiting and watching. Whenever someone dies, he or one of his servants will descend to the surface of the earth to try to claim the spirit of the recently deceased. The deceased will have to defeat the Firstborn or his servants, or be carried up into the darkness of the night to become another servant. Thus, the Yadji say that one someone has died, he has "gone to fight his Last Battle."
However, while the Firstborn succeeded in killing his mother, he did not kill the child she was carrying. That as yet unborn being still lives, trapped within the flesh of the earth. He is the Neverborn, the true loyal son of the Earth Mother, who waits yet within the warmth of the earth. He is the one who will be born someday to fight his elder brother, and that day will be the changing of the world. All who have died and who won their own last battles wait with him, and will be called to fight at this, the Cleansing, when the universe will be remade.
This, the Yadji teach, is the purpose of the world: to live one's own life in preparation for the world that is to come. They recognise only three deities, the dead Earth Mother, and her two sons, the Firstborn who is scorned, and the Neverborn who is loyal. They also recognise a number of other beings who play a role in the day-to-day world, who are servants of one of the Sons, but they do not view them as gods. Only the Neverborn should be worshipped, since he is pure and steadfast, and the Earth Mother should be honoured and remembered.
To the Yadji, religion is meant to be a unifying force, and indeed many of their subjects have converted to this belief. Not all have done so, though, and religious unrest continues to trouble their empire at times, particularly amongst the Kurnawal in the east. Those peoples who live near the north-western borders are also often more reluctant to follow the Yadji faith completely; they still cling to some of their older beliefs or the teachings of the Good Man [Plirism].
Some Regents enforce religion more strictly, and others care little about the substance of others' beliefs provided that they obey. The current Regent, Boringa Yadji, worries very little about what his people believe. He has concerns of his own; partly staying awake when his generals argue about how best to solve the perennial border wars with the northern kingdoms, and partly how to convince his pet rock to talk. His senior priests have never bothered to dissuade him from his efforts to attain this difficult goal; after all, while the Regent is incommunicado, they can speak for him to the outside world, and this suits them well enough. If he progresses to the stage where he starts to drool too obviously at public audiences, well, they will deal with that problem when it comes. It is a crime beyond hope of atonement to spill the blood of any member of the Yadji family, let alone the Regent, but they will find a solution.
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The temples control most aspects of life within the Yadji realm, but nowhere is their organisation more significant than their oversight of waterworks and aquaculture. This is the Junditmara's most ancient technology; they have developed it to a level unsurpassed anywhere else on the continent and, in some ways, anywhere else on the globe.
Not everywhere in Yadji lands is suitable for waterworks. However, anywhere that geography, rainfall, and water flow permits, the Yadji will have sculpted the land itself to suit their waterworks, creating the swamps, weirs, ponds and lakes which are their joy.
The ancient Junditmara developed their system of aquaculture into the basis of the first sedentary culture on the continent. It relied on the short-finned eel (Anguilla australis), a species which migrates between fresh and salt water depending on age. Mature short-finned eels breed far out to sea, and the young elvers return to freshwater rivers where they will swim far upland in search of a home territory. The elvers can even leave water for short periods, traversing damp ground in pursuit of fresh territory. Eventually, the elvers find a home range – a stretch of river, a lake, a pond, or a swamp – and establish themselves there. They feed on almost anything they can catch – other fish, frogs, invertebrates – and slowly grow to maturity. The eels are remarkably tolerant of changing environments, tolerating high and low temperatures, murky waters, low oxygen, and going into a torpor state if conditions are poor. The mature eels can reach a substantial size (over 6kg for female eels), and will eventually migrate back downriver to the sea to repeat the process.
Or the eels try to, anyway.
The early Junditmara system of aquaculture was designed to maximise the available habitat for short-finned eels to live and reach maturity, and then trap them when they had reached a decent size. They did this by creating ponds, swamps and lakes for the eels to live while they grew. This involved not just the occasional pond or lake, but long series of ponds with connected waterways, each with enough water to support one or more eels. The Junditmara reshaped the land to suit their needs, using weirs and dams to trap sufficient volumes of water, and creating a myriad array of canals and trenches to connect the ponds and lakes to each other and eventually to the rivers and the sea. Their lands were crisscrossed by an immense network of these canals, all carefully maintained to allow eels to migrate up the rivers.
Sometimes the Junditmara even trapped young elvers, transported them upriver, and released them into suitable habitats for them to grow to a mature size. Their entire system was designed to allow the eels to grow to their maximum size, then trap them before they could migrate back downriver. The Junditmara made woven eel traps and positioned them at well-chosen points along the weirs and dam walls, so that they would trap larger eels when they tried to swim back downriver, but would still allow smaller eels to pass through.
The early Junditmara built their entire culture around farming eels, harvesting edible water plants, and catching waterbirds who fed off the abundance of their waterworks. When they received agriculture from Gunnagalic migrants, the Junditmara were no longer completely reliant on eel meat to feed their population. Still, they never lost their knowledge of aquaculture, and they built larger and more complex waterworks wherever geography and their technology permitted them to do so.
The newer Junditmara waterworks are far more diverse in the produce they harvest than the original eel farms, although 'waterfood' is still a very high-status commodity. Many of the expanded waterworks are too far upriver to obtain a decent supply of eels; sometimes because of the distance itself, sometimes because most of the elvers become established in suitable habitats created by communities further downriver.
The Junditmara have solved this by farming a much greater variety of fish and other watery denizens. They create a series of watery habitats of many depths to suit particular species, and allow fish to migrate between these ponds depending on their habitats. The shallowest waterworks are kept as swamps and marshes with limited depth, but where edible reeds and other plants grow in abundance. Deeper ponds and lakes host a wide variety of fish species; Australian bass, silver perch, river blackfish, and eel-tailed catfish are among the most common.
Some smaller ponds are maintained simply to breed freshwater prawns and other invertebrates to be used as bait by Junditmara fishermen. For some fish species, especially river blackfish, the Junditmara breed them in special ponds and then transport the young fry to stock larger lakes and wetlands. They also keep separate ponds where they breed freshwater crayfish as a luxury food; these invertebrates are slow-growing but are considered extremely tasty. A few Junditmara farmers have even developed farming methods for freshwater mussels (Alathyria and Cucumerunio species), which are treasured not just as sources of food, but because they occasionally produce freshwater pearls.
The Junditmara have amassed a thorough knowledge of which habitats suit the breeding and living requirements of the many fish species in their country. Some fish prefer locations with underwater cover, so the Junditmara ensure that suitable logs, rocky overhangs, debris, or other places of concealment are available for those species. Some fish will only spawn in flooded backwaters of small streams, and the Junditmara hold some water back in dams to flood in the early spring when those fish breed. Many fish migrate regularly throughout their lifecycle, and unlike the engineers who would dam these rivers in another history, the Junditmara make sure that their weirs and dams still allow enough waterflow for these fish to migrate up and downstream as they need.
As part of their aquaculture, the Junditmara also learned much more about how to work with water, stone and metal. They have never developed anything approximating scientific investigation or philosophical inquiry, unlike the classical Greeks who first started to use mathematics to calculate the shape of the world, of mechanics, and hydraulics. Still, the Junditmara have a long history of experimentation and development of solutions by trial and error. This is not a quick process; there have been many errors and many trials. But slowly, the Junditmara and their Yadji successors have developed a remarkable corpus of knowledge of hydraulics and of engineering as it is applied to the construction of water-related features.
Junditmara engineers have become experts at controlling the movement of water. They know how to build very good dams and weirs. By trial and error, they have developed arch dams whose curving structure allows them to build very strong dams while using less stone. Their engineers do not quite understand the principles of forces and calculations and stresses, but they know that the method works. Likewise, they have learnt how to build gravity dams, carefully balanced to ensure that they do not overturn under water pressure. Their engineers have also learned how to build cofferdams to keep a chosen area dry while they are building more permanent dams. They know how to build levees against floods or to keep chosen areas dry even if surrounded by waterworks. Around larger river systems, they build networks of levees, flood channels, and secondary dams to trap floodwaters for later use.
On a smaller scale, Junditmara engineers have discovered how to control water for other uses. They use reservoirs and aqueducts to supply drinking water to their towns and cities. Like their neighbours in the Nyalananga kingdoms, they understand the usefulness of plumbing, but they apply it much more widely. Most Junditmara houses have plumbing connected to sewer systems, and the human waste is collected for fertiliser and other uses. In the temples and the houses of the upper classes, they have flush toilets with a carefully-shaped fill valve which can fill the water tanks without overflowing [1].
The Junditmara engineers have even developed mechanical means of shifting water, thanks to their discovery of screwpumps [Archimedes screw]. They discovered a primitive version of this device more or less by accident, but they have improved its design over the centuries. All of their screwpumps are hand-powered devices; the most typical use is to move water from low-lying ponds into higher ponds as part of maintaining their waterworks. They also make some use of screwpumps to irrigate elevated gardens, drain local flooding, and maintain watery features of their major cities.
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The practice of aquaculture is the most obvious example, but everything in Yadji daily life revolves around the temples and their dictates. Trade, farming, craftsmanship, and everything else is in one way or another dictated by the reigning priests, who exercise the will of the Regent. In many ways, this is a continuation of the old Junditmara tradition, where their chiefs or other local headmen oversaw their daily lives. The Yadji rulers have applied the same principles, although priests are usually appointed by the Regent or his senior advisers. There is a deliberate policy of moving them between temples throughout their lives, to limit their opportunities to build up a personal power base in any particular region.
Trade and farming, and many of the other parts of Yadji life, have been eased by the Junditmara invention of what was for them a revolutionary device: the wheel. For many centuries the peoples of this isolated continent had never invented this device; perhaps for want of an inventor, perhaps because with few beasts of burden, it would not benefit them as much. For so long, transportation relied on sleds, travois and other means, rather than the wheel. In the last few centuries, however, the Junditmara adapted their existing potter's wheel into a form which worked upright – and which revolutionised their lives.
The Yadji have applied the wheel to several uses. While they are still hindered by a lack of any large beasts of burden, they have converted their old transport vehicles into carts or other wheeled forms pulled by people or by teams of dogs. These are used in their larger cities to transport people and goods. They are also used along the royal roads. The Yadji road network is not as extensive as some other peoples on the continent, but most of their main cities are connected. There are two royal roads which start at their westernmost outpost on the Bitter Lake [Lake Alexandrina], with one running near the coast and the other in the northern regions, converging at Duniradj [Melbourne], then dividing again as they run east, and finally converging at the easternmost Yadji outpost at Elligal. The Yadji also use small hand carts to help with their farming, and this has been a substantial boost to their agricultural productivity.
Yadji productivity would no doubt have been improved in many other areas if they found out how to apply wheels to them. Textiles, for instance, would be easier to weave if they had developed the spinning wheel. No-one has found out how to do this, and the Yadji rely instead on the ancient technology of the spindle for weaving. Still, elaborately-woven textiles were a Junditmara specialty for centuries, and the Yadji have only expanded their use.
For textiles, the Yadji have only a few basic fibres to work from, but they put them to many uses. Their basic fibre is the ubiquitous crop, native flax, whose fibres they work into a variety of forms of linen and other textiles.
For higher-status textiles, they use animal fibres. Dog hairs, to be exact. The Junditmara have bred white, long-haired dogs whose fur is thick enough to be turned into a kind of wool. These fleece dogs are carefully maintained as separate breeds which do not have contact with other dogs; the largest breeding populations are maintained on the personal estates of the Regent. The dogs are fed mostly on eel and other fish meat gathered from their waterworks, and they are shorn every year to produce fleeces and yarns used for high-quality textiles.
The most precious fibres of all are threads of silver or gold. These metals are under strict royal monopoly, and much of the material collected from the mines is spun into thread and woven into the clothing of the imperial family or very senior priests.
From these few fibres, the Yadji have created a myriad variety of textiles, to serve the many needs of their hierarchical society. The fundamentals of their clothing are quite simple. Men wear a sack-like tunic with a hole for the head and two more for the arms, and which usually reach to their knees. Women wear a sleeveless dress held in at the waist with a patterned sash. Both sexes wear the anjumi, a kind of textile headband which has elaborately-woven patterns which indicate a person's home region and their social rank.
Indeed, while the basic aspects of clothing are similar for peoples of all ranks, the Yadji use many colours and patterns to indicate status. They use many dyes, some produced from local plants, some imported by the Islanders or from the northern kingdoms, and they use these to mark status. The patterns on a person's anjumi are an immediate indication of their rank, role in society, and the region where they live. Amongst those of higher status, there are more elaborate indications of status; thread or small plates of silver and gold, lustrous shells, pearls, feathers from parrots and other birds, and other markers to show the wealth and standing of their wearer. It is said amongst the Yadji that even if every person in their realm was gathered into one place, it would still be possible to tell where each person was from, and their rank.
The varieties of clothing which the Yadji wear are only the most visible sign of the careful organisation of their society. For where it has been said that three Gunnagal cannot agree about anything, the Yadji and their Junditmara ancestors have always been a regimented society. The priests act as local rulers, within the broad expectations of the Regent and his senior priests at Kirunmara. To enforce their will, they can rely on both religious authority and the carefully-maintained records of a literate society. For the Yadji make extensive use of writing, using a script derived from the ancient Gunnagalic script. They have never developed any use for clay tablets as their northern neighbours used; instead, they use parchment made from emu hide, and a form of paper made from the boiled inner bark of wattle-trees. Literacy is largely confined to the priestly class and a few aristocrats, but that is sufficient to allow careful administration of the many lands under the control of the Regent.
The same desire for control means that the old military structure of the briyuna has been completely removed. The briyuna were a hereditary class of warriors who were loyal to their local otjima, but no further. The reigning Yadji have no tolerance for warriors whose allegiance is not to the Regent, and the briyuna who survived the conquest of the other Junditmara lands were retired.
In their place, the Yadji developed a new military order based on the careful recruitment of loyal soldiers. Military discipline is strong, with Yadji units very good at fighting alongside each other. They have also developed good methods for coordinating movements between units, using a combination of banners, drums and bugle-like horns.
The spread of ironworking has also revolutionised their military tactics. The Yadji most commonly use a form of scale armour, which they favour as cheaper to produce than the mail which is preferred by their rivals in the northern kingdoms. Part of their preference for scale armour is also because it is easier to decorate; the old Junditmara love of ornamentation lives on in the Yadji military. High-ranking officers in Yadji armies are given sets of ceremonial armour, not just the practical varieties. Designs of gold are common in ceremonial armour, for one of the useful properties of iron is that gold designs show more prominently than on the old bronze armour.
Still, for all that the Yadji have changed, the original ethos of the briyuna has not been lost. Within the Regency's borders, they no longer exist as a separate warrior caste, but many of the retired briyuna took up priestly or related administrative roles in the expanding Yadji realm. Their old warrior code lives on in songs, epics, and chronicles, becoming increasingly mythologised and romanticised, and the ruling Yadji have tolerated this development. The code of the briyuna is still seen as the standard by which a proper Yadji gentleman should conduct himself, even if this standard is more honoured in the breach than the observance.
As for the briyuna themselves, they did not completely vanish when the Yadji dissolved their order. Some of the briyuna refused to accept retirement, and fled beyond the borders of the Regency. A few went to the northern kingdoms, but the largest group fled to the Kaoma, another non-Gunnagalic people who live in the highlands beyond the Regency's eastern border. There, the briyuna have become a warrior caste amongst the Kaoma and their neighbouring Nguril, and they still preserve much of their old code and lifestyle. They have not forgotten their origins, and they still mistrust the Yadji who evicted them from their old homelands.
--
One of the perennial questions which has vexed linguists and sociologists is whether language shapes society, or society shapes language. Or, indeed, whether both are true at once.
When they come to study the Yadji, they will find a rich source for further arguments. For the Junditmara who form the core of the Regency's dominions have developed their own extremely complex social rules regarding their interactions with each other. The rules dictate who can speak to whom, the required courtesies and protocols needed when people of different status meet, what subjects can be discussed with which people, and a myriad of other intricacies. The Junditmara are status-conscious in a way which few other peoples on the globe would recognise.
The intricacies of Junditmara social codes are reflected in their language. All Junditmara pronouns have six different forms, which can be roughly translated as dominant, submissive, masculine, feminine, familiar, and neutral. Their language also uses a variety of affixes which are added to individual names and titles, and which carry a similar function to the pronouns.
Each of these forms indicates the relationship between the speakers. Dominant and submissive are broadly used to indicate the relative social status of each of the speakers. Using the dominant form with a person of higher rank is a major social faux pas at best, and is usually treated as a grave insult. These two forms can also serve other functions, such as when two people of similar rank are arguing, one might use the submissive form of "you" in a form such as "I agree with you" to concede the argument.
The masculine and feminine forms have the fundamental purpose of indicating the gender of the person being referred to, but the customs regarding their use also reflect social rules amongst the Junditmara. When speaking to a person of higher social status, a person will normally use the submissive form rather than a masculine or feminine form. When speaking to a person of roughly equal social status, the masculine or feminine form is typically the form used. When speaking to a person of lower status, a high-status speaker may choose to use the dominant forms, which indicates a greater degree of formality, or the masculine or feminine form, which indicates a less formal meeting. As with all aspects of Junditmara society, these forms can be used in other ways, such as if a group of soldiers wished to condemn another soldier for supposed unmanly or cowardly behaviour, they would typically refer to him using a feminine form.
The familiar and neutral forms are more restricted in their usage. The familiar form is normally used only for relatives or close friends, and indicates that the relationship between the two people is so well-established that questions of status will never arise [2]. It sometimes has other uses, such as being used with someone who is clearly not on familiar terms, which indicates either irony or extreme disrespect. The neutral form is used mostly in ambiguous situations where people have only just met and are not sure of each other's status, or a situation where someone of lower status temporarily needs to be treated as being of equal status. Some subsets of society also use the neutral form if they want to indicate that they are completely equal. For instance, amongst soldiers, men of the same rank are expected to refer to each other using the neutral form, rather than the masculine form.
The intricacies of Junditmara language extend to many of their other words. Most of their common verbs have two different flavours, which can be described as directive or suggestive. Directive means that what is said is a command, while the other indicates a request or a preference. "Come here" if said in a directive flavour would have a rather different impression upon the listener than if it were said in a suggestive flavour.
While the intricacies of the Junditmara language are not directly matched in that of the other peoples who make up the Yadji Empire, some of their phrases and meanings are slowly diffusing amongst the other peoples. For the Junditmara language is the effective language of government amongst most of the Regency; even if priests speak a local language as well, they will be literate mostly in the Junditmara tongue. This is one of the many methods which the reigning Yadji use to centralise control over the dominions. Religion, however, remains the most important aspect of their government. Up until the year 1618, this has been very effective in maintaining their rule over a disparate group of peoples. As that year draws to a close, however, a new era is preparing, one in which all of the social institutions of the Yadji will be sorely tested...
--
[1] This is a similar type of mechanism to the ballcock which would historically be developed in the nineteenth century.
[2] The familiar form is used in approximately the same manner as "first name terms," back in a time when being on first name terms actually meant something more meaningful than having said hello. Or the distinction between tu and vous in French (or similar forms in many other languages).
--
Thoughts?
Maps: eastern Aururia in 1618
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Just happen to re-reading the AH-version now. Not sure whether it was because formatting difference or because it read it my mobile while I'm currently opening this on PC or I just being a blind bat who can't navigate, but the maps are easier to found here. Which is good, because I keep forgetting who's who and where's who.
The Junditmara proved very unique and fascinating, from their idea of forced betrayals and family, textiles and craft, to their isolationist culture and pragmatic adaptions based on internal or external influences, kudos!
Another fascinating piece from the ceremonial marriage to the lake, to the collapse of the empire, the difficulties with religion and farming, its a very impressive and detailed piece!
- Location
- Wörms, the half continent
I've been loving this. You might have said this earlier and I've just forgotten, but what would the population of *Australia and *New Zealand be at the eve of european colonisation?
On AH.com, a lot of the maps are no longer available because the creators posted them as image links which have either gone dead over time, or destroyed with the upgrade of forum software there. The earlier ones are available on the DoD/LoRaG website (which I'm linking to here), but the later ones aren't there either. As I get closer to posting the relevant updates, I'll make enquiries with the map creators in case they have any copies of the other maps remaining around.
Glad you liked it. These are fun sections to write.
For Australia, the agricultural population is something on the order of 9-10 million people. For New Zealand, the population is around 3-4 million people.
The non-agricultural population of Australia, aka hunter-gatherers [1] is hard to calculate because there are so many conflicting estimates of their population in OTL. But it's certainly a lot less than the agricultural population.
[1] Hunter-gatherer is a misleading term given the degree of land and plant management going on, but that's another story.
Lands of Red and Gold #17: The Good Man
Lands of Red and Gold #17: The Good Man
In Australia, the driest of inhabited continents, water means life. Droughts are common, and even when rain does fall, it often does so in such abundance that it causes floods. The irregularity of this rain is most pronounced in the interior, and naturally enough most of the inhabitants of the continent live nearer the coast. The outback – the red heart of the continent – is nearly devoid of water, and nearly devoid of human life.
In eastern Australia, the frontier between the outback and the settled districts is traditionally the River Darling. Rising in the mountain ranges of southern Queensland, the Darling drains a large part of the continent before emptying into the River Murray. The Darling is an extremely irregular river, often drying up completely, and at other times flooding so prodigiously that the waters can take six months to recede. Nonetheless, it became an important transport route during the early days of European settlement of Australia.
Beyond the Darling lies the red heart, the outback. The nearest part of this is called the Channel Country, a series of ancient flood plains marked by the courses of many dried up rivers. Rain seldom falls here, but when it does, it floods along these channels and drains into Lake Eyre, the largest lake in Australia, which has no outlet to the sea. Most of the time, Lake Eyre is a flat, dry salt plain, but sometimes the rains from distant cyclones or monsoons fill the lake. When it does, fish spawn in great abundance, and waterbirds gather from across the vast interior to feed and breed by the shores. The lake dries out soon enough, when the fish die, the waterbirds move on, and its bed reverts to a salt plain.
In the cyclically dry country beyond the Darling, Europeans found relatively little to interest them. Some rich mineral lodes have been mined, and sheep and cattle graze in stations (farms) which need very large areas to support their herds on the sparse vegetation, but otherwise the country is mostly empty.
In allohistorical Australia, the same river is called the Anedeli. To the Gunnagalic peoples who developed agriculture along the Nyalananga [River Murray], the Anedeli was for a very long time considered a frontier. The lower reaches of the Anedeli drained through country where the rainfall was extremely limited and agriculture almost impossible. In time, migrants used the Anedeli as a transportation route, following its course to the upper reaches. Here, they found more fertile country and a variety of mineral wealth – especially tin – which meant that the Anedeli became a much more important transportation route.
As Gunnagalic civilization developed over the centuries, they came to regard the Anedeli as one of the Five Rivers that watered the known world [1]. An empire arose, Watjubaga, which took its name from the Five Rivers which flowed through the heart of its territory. Four of those rivers had long-established cities and verdant agriculture and aquaculture along their banks. The fifth river, the Anedeli, continued to be used primarily as a transportation route, and it marked a frontier rather than a source of life.
To the Gunnagalic peoples, the country beyond the Anedeli was called the Red Lands, the Hot Lands, or the Dry Country. They did have a few uses for it. Silver Hill [Broken Hill] gave them a rich source of silver, lead and zinc, and other mines gave them some valuable metals and minerals, especially varieties of ochre which they used for dyes. They sometimes mined salt and gypsum from the dry lake beds, and collected a few flavourings and fibres from some of the outback plants. For the most part, though, the Red Lands were a thinly-settled frontier fading into desert which was occupied only by sometimes hostile hunter-gatherer peoples.
Usually.
For the Red Lands had a brief flowering of more reliable agriculture, a time when the Anedeli became not a frontier but a treasured source of water for peoples who lived along its banks. Thanks to a rare shift in the climate, the rainfall along the lower Anedeli became sufficient to support several substantial cities and a separate kingdom. This time of flowering would come to an end, with the yams and wattles withering for lack of water and the cities abandoned to the desert. In that brief time, though, the kingdom beside the Anedeli witnessed the birth of the first evangelical religion on the continent; a new faith which would in time spread far beyond its shores...
--
At the turn of the tenth century AD, during the decline of the Watjubaga Empire, imperial authority was dying outside of the heartland of the Five Rivers. The Bungudjimay in the northeast had defeated imperial armies and were starting to raid the fringes of the tin and sapphire-producing regions of the north. In the east, the Patjimunra had just declared their independence from imperial authority. The Junditmara in the south were rising in perpetual rebellion, and the imperial governors were powerless to stop them.
In the midst of this chaos, it took some time for the imperial administration at Garrkimang [Narrandera] to notice a remarkable shift in the climate. The lands around the Anedeli had always been dry and barely worth farming. Yet over the last few decades, the usual winter rains had been heavier than usual, and reached further and further north. Summers and winters both had grown somewhat cooler, but not intolerably so. Any minor inconvenience that the colder temperatures caused was more than offset by the prospect of bountiful rains falling year after year [2].
Just after the turn of the century, news reached Garrkimang of another remarkable change. They knew, of course, of the distant salt bed that they called Papukurdna [Lake Eyre], and of the cycle of refilling and evaporation. Most of their salt came from smaller dry lakes, but they had sufficient contact with the hunter-gatherer peoples of the interior to hear about this greatest of dry lakes. Tales from these peoples, and confirmed by 'civilized' visitors, confirmed the extraordinary tale that this great lake had filled permanently, or so it seemed.
The years turned, with rebellions and defeats plaguing Watjubaga, yet still visitors reported that the former dry lake remained full. The heavier winter rains continued over the frontier of the River Anedeli and the Red Lands it bordered. In time, the existence of these heavier rains came to be seen as the natural state of affairs. In 912, then-First Speaker [Emperor] Lopitja announced the founding of a new city along the Anedeli, modestly named after himself. Farmers started to settle the lands around this new city of Lopitja [Wilcannia, New South Wales]. In time, most people forgot that this country had for so long been arid and too hostile to support agriculture [3].
The decades passed, and the Red Lands along the Anedeli became almost as well-populated as any other part of the Five Rivers. Yams and wattles flourished with the rains, and the expansion into this region gave them access to crops which had not been domesticated further south; bush pears and bush raisins as fruits and flavourings, and trees such as blue-leaved mallee as a spice [4]. They were not able to build artificial wetlands in quite the same way as on the other main rivers, but they did build some artificial lakes which could store Anedeli floodwaters and allow both fishing and irrigation.
Lopitja became a flourishing city, the largest of several along the lower Anedeli, and an important waypoint in the tin trade. It prospered even as Watjubaga faded; the Empire was first reduced to its heartland of the Five Rivers, then into what was a minor kingdom in all but name. Lopitja declared its independence in 1080, establishing a nation of its own along the banks of the Anedeli. It became the capital of one of the several post-Imperial kingdoms which vied to inherit the mantle of the First Speakers' authority; its main rivals were Gutjanal [Albury-Wodonga], Tjibarr [Swan Hill] and Yigutji [Wagga Wagga].
Lopitja's favourable position along the Anedeli meant that it controlled the best transportation route for tin from the north. This was no longer a monopoly, since tin could also be imported from the distant Cider Isle [Tasmania], but it was still a valuable trade good. It was also close to the mines of Silver Hill, and its control over those lands added to its wealth.
For a brief flowering in the twelfth century, Lopitja was one of the two greatest post-Imperial kingdoms. Its main rival was Tjibarr, and the two kingdoms fought several wars throughout the century. Lopitja successfully defended itself during those wars. What its people did not know, however, was that their era of prominence was limited. The climate was reverting to its long-term norm of semi-aridity, and Lopitja's place in the wet would be replaced by a more normal place in the sun – the endless heat of the outback sun, to be more precise.
In that brief time, though, Lopitja produced one man who had ideas which would change the world.
--
August 1145
House of the Spring Flowers
Kantji [Menindee, NSW], Kingdom of Lopitja
Some have called him the Good Man, although he never acknowledges when people speak to him using that title. Nor does he answer to the name his mother gave him. What is that but an arbitrary set of syllables? Some have called him the Teacher, and he will answer to that name, however reluctantly. He does not want to teach people; he wants to make them teach themselves.
He stands at the double bronze gates that mark the start of the Spiral Garden. The breeze blows out of the northwest, warming his cheeks with the breath of the endless desert. The wind carries the distinctive tang of blue-leaved mallee trees, a scent that for now overwhelms the myriad other aromas of the garden beyond these walls.
In the burnished bronze, the Teacher catches a glimpse of himself. Red-brown skin covers a face which no honest man would call handsome, and which is mercifully blurred in the imperfect reflection of metal. Wavy hair growing bushy and long on both sides of his face, black streaked with white. He is turning old, he knows, but that is all part of the Path on which any man finds himself, willing or not. It matters not what happens to a man, just how he bears himself while events happen.
The image in the burnished bronze reminds him, although he already knows, that his clothing is no different to that worn by any other gentleman of substance in the kingdom. It has to be. Rightly or wrongly, no-one would listen to a poor teacher, any more than they would seek treatment from a deformed doctor. So he wears the same black-collared tjiming which any high-status man would wear, fitting loose around his neck, long sleeves dangling beneath his arms, and the main bulk of the garment wrapped twice around his torso and held in place with an opal-studded sash, while the hem just covers his knees. Clothes are merely appearance, not substance, but a wise man knows when appearances matter.
Four other men cluster behind him, dressed in similar styles although without the ornateness of opals and sapphires. They think that he has brought them to the House of the Spring Flowers to reveal to them some great truth that is concealed within these walls of stone and timber and vegetation.
So, in a way, he is. But it is nothing like what they will be expecting. The carefully crafted forms of the House were built on a spot where, it is said, the Rainbow Serpent rested on his path down the Anedeli. This is meant to be a place of power, a place where a man can stand and feel himself growing closer to the Evertime. The gardens, the pools, the three fountains, are all meant to inspire that sense of serenity.
If only truth were so simple to find that a man could step in here and attain it!
He gestures, and three of the four would-be acolytes move to open the gates. The fourth man does not move, but keeps chewing on a lump of kunduri. That man had offered the Teacher another ball of the stimulant a few moments before, and did not seem to understand why he declined the offer. Many men have claimed that using kunduri or other drugs brings a man closer to the Evertime. For himself, though, he thinks that such drugs merely let the user hear the echoes in his own head.
He leads the men into the Spiral Garden. He moves at a quicker pace than they will be expecting; he pretends not to notice the occasional mumbles of the would-be acolytes behind him. The Garden is meant to be contemplated slowly, in a careful progression in ever-decreasing almost-circles until one reaches the centre.
The Teacher strides past the places of contemplation; he ignores the niches set into the walls, or the places where gum trees have been planted to provide shade for men to stand and savour the scenery. He walks alongside the stream that traces a path through the centre of the spiral, drawing water via underground passages from the Anedeli. Flowers bloom in a myriad of colours around him, desert flowers from the Red Lands to the far north and west which normally would blossom only in the aftermath of rare desert rains. Here, with irrigation available, the flowers bloom according to the command of the gardeners. There is a lesson there, but not the one which he wants these men to consider today.
He leads them through almost all the Garden, then stops while they are not yet in sight of the central pond, although the sacred bunya trees [5] around that pond grow high enough that they show over the walls. When he stops, it is not to draw their attention to any of the arrangements of plants, but to speak to a gardener's assistant who is methodically pruning one of the ironwood [Casuarina] trees.
The assistant pauses in his labour and says, "Good to see you, Teacher! Are you well, my friend?"
The Teacher says, "Yes, Gung, I am well." He introduces each of the would-be acolytes in turn. Each time, the gardener's assistant gives the same enthusiastic greeting, word for word the same except for the name of the person he is greeting. The acolytes respond to the enthusiasm that the assistant shows, saying their own greetings in a similar energetic tone.
The Teacher says, "We need to see more of the Garden. Stay well, Gung."
The gardener's assistant says, "You too. Have a good day, Teacher!" He offers similar farewells to each of the would-be acolytes, each of them the same except for the name.
The Teacher leads the would-be acolytes a short distance away. Far enough that they can talk without their voices carrying, but not so far that they lose sight of the gardener's assistant. They watch as the assistant returns to his task of pruning the ironwood trees, cheerfully completing each step without supervision.
The Teacher says, "Gung is a man slow of wit, but sincere in his heart. If we go back and greet him in a few minutes, he will say the same thing as before, and greet each of us warmly, for he knows but little of how to speak. Yet he does his tasks as the gardeners give them, and will approach all of them in the same manner."
He pauses, then continues, "So, is this man happier than the king? The king is burdened with worry, with our enemies in Tjibarr and Garrkimang threatening our borders. Yet this man knows little, and enjoys much."
The would-be acolytes nod and murmur in agreement. "This man is happy, happier even than the king," the kunduri-chewing acolyte says.
The Teacher says, "So, if this man is happy, then, what makes him happy? It cannot be wealth, for this man has none." As if carelessly, his fingers run over the sapphire-studded bracelet on his wrist. All of these acolytes know that the Teacher is wealthy, if not quite of the royal family. "It cannot be praise, for those who work with him neither praise him nor condemn him, but just expect him to work."
"His joy must come from within, then," one of the acolytes says.
"So, then, is joy something which comes from within?" the Teacher asks. "Is it intrinsic to a man, not something which can be granted from without?"
The acolytes nod again.
"Yet if this man were to be punished, condemned, shouted at, would he not feel sorrow? Would he not be deprived of happiness?"
"Maybe happiness comes from within, while unhappiness comes from without?" the kunduri-chewing acolyte says.
"Perhaps," the Teacher says. "Yet if a man is praised, would that not usually make him happy? If I were to say to you, "I am pleased with you," would that not grant you a boon of joy?"
"It would be the honour of my day," the kunduri-chewer says.
"So, then, is joy something which can be found from within, or something which comes from without?"
The Teacher waits, but no-one answers him.
Eventually, he says, "Joy is neither internal nor external; it comes from bringing oneself into harmony with the world around. It need not even be a choice of enlightenment; a man who perceives as little as our gardeners' assistant can still be abundantly joyful. It is the alignment, the convergence of one's own desires with the present circumstances which matter. As circumstances change, as lives change, we must strive to keep ourselves aligned; we must make our own essence the balance on which our world shifts."
--
The man whom allohistory would come to call the Good Man was born sometime around 1080; accounts differ as to whether he was born before or after Lopitja gained its independence. The place of his birth is recognised to be somewhere near Kantji, although there are several competing claims for the exact location. He was born into a reasonably wealthy family; his father is reported to have been a dealer in incenses and perfumes. A plethora of tales describe his life and his teachings, many of them undoubtedly apocryphal, but there is no doubt that in his lifetime he was regarded as a great philosopher, teacher, and visionary.
Certainly, he spoke of the need to bring harmony to the cosmos, and of the Sevenfold Path which was the best means to achieve harmony. He was presumably a literate man, as most men of his background would have been, but no surviving letters or other writings can be indisputably attributed to him.
After the Good Man's death in 1151, his disciples squabbled amongst themselves as to his legacy, and produced a variety of writings which purported to describe his teachings and philosophy. Over the next three decades, most of these disciples settled on a more-or-less accepted account of the Good Man's life, teachings, and the path which should be followed. They came to be called Plirites, from a word which can be roughly translated as "(the) Harmony." This faith regarded the Good Man as a prophet-philosopher and ideal example of how a person should live, and its beliefs would spread most widely across the continent.
A smaller group of holdouts regarded the Good Man as a semi-divine figure, and over the next century emerged as a distinct sect who called themselves Tjarrling, a name which can be roughly translated as "the Heirs" or perhaps "the True Heirs." Opinions differed on both sides of the religious divide as to whether the Tjarrling should be considered a separate religion or a branch of Plirism; broadly speaking, most orthodox Plirites accepted the Tjarrling as misguided adherents of the same faith.
Plirism became the first evangelical religion which the continent had seen. Its adherents created an organised priesthood, whose emphasis was on the continuity of faith and personal teaching from the Good Man to his disciples and to his priests. While they had a variety of religious writings, to the orthodox Plirites, these were treated as supplements to the continuity of learning from teacher to disciple to priest. They taught that following the Sevenfold Path and bringing balance to one's own desires was the only way to achieve true harmony and concord throughout the cosmos. Other faiths and beliefs might have some truth, but they were not the whole truth, and so would thus inevitably bring discord. Only once all peoples followed the Sevenfold Path would there be complete harmony in the cosmos.
Missionaries and acolytes of Plirism spread throughout the Five Rivers and beyond, and met with mixed receptions. They won a few converts, but the syncretic nature of many of the Gunnagalic beliefs meant that there was considerable resistance to the idea of one true path.
Plirite missionaries had their first major success in 1209, when the new king of Lopitja converted to Plirism, and then in 1214 made it the state religion of his kingdom. Over the next few decades, the faith became deeply established in the kingdom. Unfortunately for its adherents, Lopitja itself was dying. The unusual climatic conditions which sustained the kingdom were fading. Papukurdna was drying up, and the winter rains were becoming more erratic. Farmers abandoned their fields, the population declined, and in time the kingdom lost its wars with Tjibarr. The capital was sacked in 1284, and most of its other cities were abandoned. Kantji returned to desert, its stone walls and roads now an empty haunt of wind-borne red dust, while the wonders of the Spiral Garden were reclaimed by desert scrubs.
By then, however, Plirism had spread much further.
Within the Five Rivers itself, Plirism never became a majority religion anywhere except the fading Lopitja kingdom. Some people converted to the religion, and temples were established which remained over the centuries. Yet the traditional view of religion gradually reasserted itself; the Good Man's teachings were simply viewed as one path among many.
Orthodox Plirite teachings were brought by missionaries to the lower reaches of the Nyalananga. They had some success in converting the peoples there, particularly the Yadilli who dwelt south-east of the Nyalananga mouth. Their most important long-term success, however, came from the establishment of temples on the Island [Kangaroo Island], and the wholesale conversion of the Nangu in 1240. The Nangu embraced Plirism, and as their trade network grew, the faith spread along with it.
The heterodox Tjarrling sect made little progress within the Five Rivers, but its displaced adherents carried their beliefs to the northern headwaters of the Anedeli. There, the Butjupa and Yalatji peoples [6] slowly converted to the new faith, and by the seventeenth century it had become almost universal among those peoples.
--
Plirism has many competing schools and interpretations; there are written scriptures, but no universal agreement about what they mean. Above the level of an individual temple, there is no guiding central authority for the faith, no-one who can make absolute decisions. Some living priests become regarded as influential authorities who should be consulted, and the writings of some former priests have become the foundation of particular schools of thought.
However, the form which was adopted by the Nangu would be the most influential school of Plirism. Like all of the schools, it was based on acceptance of the Sevenfold Path which was the core of the Good Man's teachings. It also included considerable elements and influences from traditional Gunnagalic religion. For the Good Man had taken many religious concepts and other aspects of his worldview from the preceding Gunnagalic religions, and some others were inserted into Plirism by his disciples and early converts.
At its core, Plirism views the cosmos as a single connected entity. The actions of every person and every object are connected; nothing happens in isolation. There is no such thing as an inanimate object, for everything is seen as having the same "essence," and both affects and is affected by everything else. All actions, great or small, good or bad, have their place in the pattern of the cosmos. Moreover, all actions have consequences; nothing which is done can be said to have no effect on the rest of the world. The most common analogy which the Good Man taught is of the cosmos being like a pond; anything which was cast into that pond would produce ripples.
According to the Good Man, the foundation of understanding came from recognising the truth of interconnectedness, and the effects of this truth. It is inevitable that actions will change the world, but the question is whether an action is dandiri (bringing harmony) or waal (bringing discord). Acting in a way which brings harmony is the foundation of all virtues and good things; acting in a way which brings discord is the foundation of all suffering, even if the influence is not obvious to the casual beholder.
The Good Man taught that the key to maximising harmony was to bring balance to one's own desires, and align them with the broader cosmos. This meant that one should follow the Sevenfold Path. The Path was the only true way to bring oneself into harmony with the cosmos. Stepping off the Path unbalanced oneself and reduced harmony in the cosmos, which increased discord and suffering. Other faiths and beliefs might contain some similarities to the Path, and so some aspects of truth, but their correspondence was never perfect. So, to some degree every other faith increases the suffering and discord in the cosmos. If everything and everyone acts in harmony, then there will be balance. That will bring a minimum of suffering, and the maximum of solace.
The Sevenfold Path was divided into seven aspects, each of which should be followed by every person, at least as far as they are able to within their understanding and ability. The interpretation of these paths was coloured by individual societies and pre-existing religious beliefs, but the names of each of the paths was accepted throughout Plirism.
The first path, the founding path, is the path of harmony. All people should act in a way which increases harmony, not in a way which causes discord. There is no universal list of the actions which create discord, but in general harmony can be increased by maintaining standards of courtesy, honesty, and respect for others. Honesty is not an absolute, at least according to some priests, for a lie can be tolerated when it would be less hurtful. Theft and taking of other people's property is condemned unless it is to avoid greater suffering. Violence is generally to be avoided, but it can become necessary if it is directed against something which would otherwise increase disharmony, such as social unrest, preventing murder or theft, and so on.
The second path is the path of propriety. This means that each person should act in a manner befitting their station in society; to do otherwise is to cause disharmony. Princes and slaves both should act as befits their role. A Nangu axiom restates this path as "to the merchant his profit, to the chief his obedience, to the artisan his craft, to the priest his prayers, and to the worker his duties." This includes the implicit assumption that rulers who act in a manner befitting their status should be obeyed, while those who do not do so should be removed. It also means that workers, labour draftees, slaves and the common classes are expected to obey and serve, not seek to improve their station. There is an implicit hierarchy in a Plirite society, and there is not much expectation of social mobility in life. Since Plirism inherited the old Gunnagalic beliefs in eternity and reincarnation, it is expected that people will live in different stations in different lives.
The third path is the path of decisiveness. This is often restated to mean "no half-actions." The principle of balance and harmony means that inaction is often the best course; sometimes doing nothing is the best way to avoid causing discord. Conversely, when action is required, it is because something has been done to cause disharmony. In this case, decisive action is required, not half-measures.
For instance, the Plirite principle is that war should not be fought unless there is good reason. Most commonly, this is because a society is causing discord, or against social unrest. Such a war should be pursued to its utmost finish. Enemy soldiers should be hunted down and killed in decisive battles; prisoners should not be taken, quarter should not be given. Soldiers should not kill those who are not part of the war, but if someone makes himself a part of the war, then he should be killed without compunction. Likewise, rulers who live according to this path should ignore small slights; there is no need to respond to every complaint and insult. That would only provoke a cycle of retribution and cause endless discord. If action is required against an enemy of the realm, though, it should be swift, decisive, and without mercy [7].
The fourth path is the path of prayer. The Good Man viewed prayer as both a means of personal enlightenment – communing with the Evertime – and as a means of honour, respect and intercession with other beings. People are expected to pray for intercession from beings of power, such as the myriad of divine beings whose existence was accepted as an inheritance from older religions. People are also expected to pray to honour and respect both their ancestors and their descendants. (The inherited view of time means that the distinction between ancestors and descendants is blurred.)
For common people, the orthodox faith has standardised the time of daily prayers as dawn and dusk. These are called the half-times, when there is balance between day and night, and when prayers are most efficacious. Other important times for prayer are at the times of the half-moon (both waxing and waning), and especially the equinoxes, which are seen as the focal points of the year. The orthodox Plirite calendar starts with a great religious festival at the autumn equinox, as an ideal time of balance. Priests are expected to spend much of their lives in prayer, since this will increase harmony and preserve the balance of the cosmos.
The fifth path is the path of charity. The Good Man taught of the need to support and care for others. On the Island, the Nangu traditionally interpret this as requiring a donation of a twelfth of their income to support others; other Plirite schools usually just expect generosity and helpfulness rather than a specific amount. In most cases, this path is followed by donating to the temples, which in turn are expected to support the poor, sick and hungry. Rulers are likewise expected to be generous; earning wealth is perfectly acceptable, but hoarding it while people starve is not.
The sixth path is the path of acceptance. The Good Man taught that the cosmos is larger than any individual; sometimes, no matter what a man's deeds might be, there are larger forces at work which he cannot control. In this case, while a man should do the best he can, he should not express frustration or condemn himself for things which cannot be changed. He should simply accept some things as inevitable, abandon futile striving which will only bring about further discord, and focus his attention on those duties which he can perform. In common practice, this is interpreted to mean avoidance of complaining about outcomes, perceived poor fortune, bad luck, or the like. It is appropriate to advise others on when their actions may be increasing discord, but not to complain about one's own status or present condition.
The seventh path is the path of understanding. The Good Man taught that each person should strive to understand themselves and the cosmos as they really are, not through misunderstandings or illusions. They should achieve this knowledge both through self-reflection and through instruction from those who have achieved greater understanding. In common practice, this means that a person should seek the guidance of their parents or other elder relatives to assist in understanding their daily lives. To understand the broader cosmos, they should seek the guidance of their priests or the written teachings of revered teachers, who can help to build their proper knowledge. Priests can guide people and help them to recognise the effects of their own actions, and thus better follow all aspects of the Sevenfold Path.
While they are not strictly part of the teachings of the Sevenfold Path, there are also other beliefs which have become integral parts of Plirism. Most of these beliefs were derived from the traditional Gunnagalic religious milieu. These include the existence of a great many divine beings, heroic figures, and other spiritual figures which are part of the cosmos. These can be prayed to, negotiated with, and in some cases consulted to gain greater understanding. However, the Good Man taught that none of these beings were infallible or all-knowing; they were merely powerful beings.
Likewise, Plirism accepts the idea of the Evertime, of the eternal nature of the cosmos, and of reincarnation. However, reincarnation has been somewhat reinterpreted. In traditional Gunnagalic religion, reincarnation could be into a variety of forms, human, animal, or plant. Plirism recognises only reincarnation in human form, and teaches that people are reborn into different bodies and stations as part of the overall balance of the cosmos. Reincarnation is not based just on an individual's own actions, but on the broader principles of harmony and discord. Everyone will be influenced by the cosmos.
--
In 1618, Plirism is the one multinational faith on the continent. Some peoples have religions of state, such as the Atjuntja and the Yadji. There are some traditional syncretic religions which are widespread over some areas, particularly the Five Rivers.
However, Plirism is the one faith which explicitly tries to convert other peoples, and its adherents have slowly become more numerous and more widespread, with even a few converts in Aotearoa [New Zealand]. The Atjuntja kill converts amongst their own subject peoples, the Yadji persecute them, and some other Gunnagalic peoples spurn them.
Plirism is still slowly growing. This is not least because once a population has become majority Plirite, they are very unlikely to revert to other faiths. This is part of the Plirite teaching that other religions increase discord and suffering; any would-be converts are discouraged through passive or active means. Plirite peoples are also inclined to speak out against their own people if they believe that a particular person is not living according to the Path. After all, anyone who steps off the Path is, in their way, increasing the suffering of others.
Still, after 1618, Plirism will have deal with a religious challenge greater than any which it has so far experienced...
--
[1] The Five Rivers are the Nyalananga [Murray], Anedeli [Darling], Matjidi [Murrumbidgee], Gurrnyal [Lachlan] and Pulanatji [Macquarie].
[2] Bountiful rains by Australian standards, that is. The rainfall in this period still only averages between 300-400 mm. It is more reliable than the usual Australian weather, though; droughts have been reduced in both frequency and duration.
[3] This climate shift occurs within the same broad timeframe as the Medieval Warm Period (roughly 900-1300 AD). Around the North Atlantic, this climatic shift produced generally warmer temperatures. It lasted for varying time periods and had different effects in other parts of the globe; parts of the tropical Pacific seem to have been cool and dry, as was the Antarctic Peninsula. In Australia, the weather was affected by a long-term La Niña phenomenon, which produced generally cooler temperatures and increased rainfall. It is unclear just how much the climate shifted, since climate records in Australia are sparse, but Lake Eyre held permanent water for what seems to have been at least two centuries, and probably longer. The climate reverted to a drier phase by the end of the Medieval Warm Period, possibly earlier.
[4] Bush pears (Marsdenia australis) and desert raisins (Solanum centrale) are fruits grown on vines and shrubs suited to semi-arid conditions. Blue-leaved mallee (Eucalyptus polybractea) is one of many Australian eucalypt species. It is native to semiarid regions such as along the Darling, and its leaves contain high concentrations of eucalyptus oil which make them useful as a flavouring.
[5] The bunya tree (Araucaria bidwillii), popularly but somewhat inaccurately called bunya pine, is a kind of conifer which in its wild state is restricted to small areas in the Bunya Mountains and a few other parts of Queensland. At erratic times, it produces large yields of edible seeds which were much appreciated by Aboriginal peoples; in the years when bunyas produced seeds, large gatherings of people would congregate to feast on the seeds. Bunya trees can be grown in cultivation over a fairly wide area, although they need a reasonable amount of water. In allohistorical Australia, bunya trees are also revered as sacred, although they are mostly grown on the eastern seaboard. In the inland areas, they can only be grown if supported by irrigation.
[6] The Butjupa live in historical northern New South Wales west of the New England tablelands. The Yalatji live in the historical Darling Downs, among the headwaters of the eponymous river.
[7] Orthodox Plirite priests would be right alongside Machiavelli's adage of never doing an enemy a small injury, although he would not necessarily have agreed with their idea of fighting wars without taking prisoners.
--
Thoughts?
In Australia, the driest of inhabited continents, water means life. Droughts are common, and even when rain does fall, it often does so in such abundance that it causes floods. The irregularity of this rain is most pronounced in the interior, and naturally enough most of the inhabitants of the continent live nearer the coast. The outback – the red heart of the continent – is nearly devoid of water, and nearly devoid of human life.
In eastern Australia, the frontier between the outback and the settled districts is traditionally the River Darling. Rising in the mountain ranges of southern Queensland, the Darling drains a large part of the continent before emptying into the River Murray. The Darling is an extremely irregular river, often drying up completely, and at other times flooding so prodigiously that the waters can take six months to recede. Nonetheless, it became an important transport route during the early days of European settlement of Australia.
Beyond the Darling lies the red heart, the outback. The nearest part of this is called the Channel Country, a series of ancient flood plains marked by the courses of many dried up rivers. Rain seldom falls here, but when it does, it floods along these channels and drains into Lake Eyre, the largest lake in Australia, which has no outlet to the sea. Most of the time, Lake Eyre is a flat, dry salt plain, but sometimes the rains from distant cyclones or monsoons fill the lake. When it does, fish spawn in great abundance, and waterbirds gather from across the vast interior to feed and breed by the shores. The lake dries out soon enough, when the fish die, the waterbirds move on, and its bed reverts to a salt plain.
In the cyclically dry country beyond the Darling, Europeans found relatively little to interest them. Some rich mineral lodes have been mined, and sheep and cattle graze in stations (farms) which need very large areas to support their herds on the sparse vegetation, but otherwise the country is mostly empty.
In allohistorical Australia, the same river is called the Anedeli. To the Gunnagalic peoples who developed agriculture along the Nyalananga [River Murray], the Anedeli was for a very long time considered a frontier. The lower reaches of the Anedeli drained through country where the rainfall was extremely limited and agriculture almost impossible. In time, migrants used the Anedeli as a transportation route, following its course to the upper reaches. Here, they found more fertile country and a variety of mineral wealth – especially tin – which meant that the Anedeli became a much more important transportation route.
As Gunnagalic civilization developed over the centuries, they came to regard the Anedeli as one of the Five Rivers that watered the known world [1]. An empire arose, Watjubaga, which took its name from the Five Rivers which flowed through the heart of its territory. Four of those rivers had long-established cities and verdant agriculture and aquaculture along their banks. The fifth river, the Anedeli, continued to be used primarily as a transportation route, and it marked a frontier rather than a source of life.
To the Gunnagalic peoples, the country beyond the Anedeli was called the Red Lands, the Hot Lands, or the Dry Country. They did have a few uses for it. Silver Hill [Broken Hill] gave them a rich source of silver, lead and zinc, and other mines gave them some valuable metals and minerals, especially varieties of ochre which they used for dyes. They sometimes mined salt and gypsum from the dry lake beds, and collected a few flavourings and fibres from some of the outback plants. For the most part, though, the Red Lands were a thinly-settled frontier fading into desert which was occupied only by sometimes hostile hunter-gatherer peoples.
Usually.
For the Red Lands had a brief flowering of more reliable agriculture, a time when the Anedeli became not a frontier but a treasured source of water for peoples who lived along its banks. Thanks to a rare shift in the climate, the rainfall along the lower Anedeli became sufficient to support several substantial cities and a separate kingdom. This time of flowering would come to an end, with the yams and wattles withering for lack of water and the cities abandoned to the desert. In that brief time, though, the kingdom beside the Anedeli witnessed the birth of the first evangelical religion on the continent; a new faith which would in time spread far beyond its shores...
--
At the turn of the tenth century AD, during the decline of the Watjubaga Empire, imperial authority was dying outside of the heartland of the Five Rivers. The Bungudjimay in the northeast had defeated imperial armies and were starting to raid the fringes of the tin and sapphire-producing regions of the north. In the east, the Patjimunra had just declared their independence from imperial authority. The Junditmara in the south were rising in perpetual rebellion, and the imperial governors were powerless to stop them.
In the midst of this chaos, it took some time for the imperial administration at Garrkimang [Narrandera] to notice a remarkable shift in the climate. The lands around the Anedeli had always been dry and barely worth farming. Yet over the last few decades, the usual winter rains had been heavier than usual, and reached further and further north. Summers and winters both had grown somewhat cooler, but not intolerably so. Any minor inconvenience that the colder temperatures caused was more than offset by the prospect of bountiful rains falling year after year [2].
Just after the turn of the century, news reached Garrkimang of another remarkable change. They knew, of course, of the distant salt bed that they called Papukurdna [Lake Eyre], and of the cycle of refilling and evaporation. Most of their salt came from smaller dry lakes, but they had sufficient contact with the hunter-gatherer peoples of the interior to hear about this greatest of dry lakes. Tales from these peoples, and confirmed by 'civilized' visitors, confirmed the extraordinary tale that this great lake had filled permanently, or so it seemed.
The years turned, with rebellions and defeats plaguing Watjubaga, yet still visitors reported that the former dry lake remained full. The heavier winter rains continued over the frontier of the River Anedeli and the Red Lands it bordered. In time, the existence of these heavier rains came to be seen as the natural state of affairs. In 912, then-First Speaker [Emperor] Lopitja announced the founding of a new city along the Anedeli, modestly named after himself. Farmers started to settle the lands around this new city of Lopitja [Wilcannia, New South Wales]. In time, most people forgot that this country had for so long been arid and too hostile to support agriculture [3].
The decades passed, and the Red Lands along the Anedeli became almost as well-populated as any other part of the Five Rivers. Yams and wattles flourished with the rains, and the expansion into this region gave them access to crops which had not been domesticated further south; bush pears and bush raisins as fruits and flavourings, and trees such as blue-leaved mallee as a spice [4]. They were not able to build artificial wetlands in quite the same way as on the other main rivers, but they did build some artificial lakes which could store Anedeli floodwaters and allow both fishing and irrigation.
Lopitja became a flourishing city, the largest of several along the lower Anedeli, and an important waypoint in the tin trade. It prospered even as Watjubaga faded; the Empire was first reduced to its heartland of the Five Rivers, then into what was a minor kingdom in all but name. Lopitja declared its independence in 1080, establishing a nation of its own along the banks of the Anedeli. It became the capital of one of the several post-Imperial kingdoms which vied to inherit the mantle of the First Speakers' authority; its main rivals were Gutjanal [Albury-Wodonga], Tjibarr [Swan Hill] and Yigutji [Wagga Wagga].
Lopitja's favourable position along the Anedeli meant that it controlled the best transportation route for tin from the north. This was no longer a monopoly, since tin could also be imported from the distant Cider Isle [Tasmania], but it was still a valuable trade good. It was also close to the mines of Silver Hill, and its control over those lands added to its wealth.
For a brief flowering in the twelfth century, Lopitja was one of the two greatest post-Imperial kingdoms. Its main rival was Tjibarr, and the two kingdoms fought several wars throughout the century. Lopitja successfully defended itself during those wars. What its people did not know, however, was that their era of prominence was limited. The climate was reverting to its long-term norm of semi-aridity, and Lopitja's place in the wet would be replaced by a more normal place in the sun – the endless heat of the outback sun, to be more precise.
In that brief time, though, Lopitja produced one man who had ideas which would change the world.
--
August 1145
House of the Spring Flowers
Kantji [Menindee, NSW], Kingdom of Lopitja
Some have called him the Good Man, although he never acknowledges when people speak to him using that title. Nor does he answer to the name his mother gave him. What is that but an arbitrary set of syllables? Some have called him the Teacher, and he will answer to that name, however reluctantly. He does not want to teach people; he wants to make them teach themselves.
He stands at the double bronze gates that mark the start of the Spiral Garden. The breeze blows out of the northwest, warming his cheeks with the breath of the endless desert. The wind carries the distinctive tang of blue-leaved mallee trees, a scent that for now overwhelms the myriad other aromas of the garden beyond these walls.
In the burnished bronze, the Teacher catches a glimpse of himself. Red-brown skin covers a face which no honest man would call handsome, and which is mercifully blurred in the imperfect reflection of metal. Wavy hair growing bushy and long on both sides of his face, black streaked with white. He is turning old, he knows, but that is all part of the Path on which any man finds himself, willing or not. It matters not what happens to a man, just how he bears himself while events happen.
The image in the burnished bronze reminds him, although he already knows, that his clothing is no different to that worn by any other gentleman of substance in the kingdom. It has to be. Rightly or wrongly, no-one would listen to a poor teacher, any more than they would seek treatment from a deformed doctor. So he wears the same black-collared tjiming which any high-status man would wear, fitting loose around his neck, long sleeves dangling beneath his arms, and the main bulk of the garment wrapped twice around his torso and held in place with an opal-studded sash, while the hem just covers his knees. Clothes are merely appearance, not substance, but a wise man knows when appearances matter.
Four other men cluster behind him, dressed in similar styles although without the ornateness of opals and sapphires. They think that he has brought them to the House of the Spring Flowers to reveal to them some great truth that is concealed within these walls of stone and timber and vegetation.
So, in a way, he is. But it is nothing like what they will be expecting. The carefully crafted forms of the House were built on a spot where, it is said, the Rainbow Serpent rested on his path down the Anedeli. This is meant to be a place of power, a place where a man can stand and feel himself growing closer to the Evertime. The gardens, the pools, the three fountains, are all meant to inspire that sense of serenity.
If only truth were so simple to find that a man could step in here and attain it!
He gestures, and three of the four would-be acolytes move to open the gates. The fourth man does not move, but keeps chewing on a lump of kunduri. That man had offered the Teacher another ball of the stimulant a few moments before, and did not seem to understand why he declined the offer. Many men have claimed that using kunduri or other drugs brings a man closer to the Evertime. For himself, though, he thinks that such drugs merely let the user hear the echoes in his own head.
He leads the men into the Spiral Garden. He moves at a quicker pace than they will be expecting; he pretends not to notice the occasional mumbles of the would-be acolytes behind him. The Garden is meant to be contemplated slowly, in a careful progression in ever-decreasing almost-circles until one reaches the centre.
The Teacher strides past the places of contemplation; he ignores the niches set into the walls, or the places where gum trees have been planted to provide shade for men to stand and savour the scenery. He walks alongside the stream that traces a path through the centre of the spiral, drawing water via underground passages from the Anedeli. Flowers bloom in a myriad of colours around him, desert flowers from the Red Lands to the far north and west which normally would blossom only in the aftermath of rare desert rains. Here, with irrigation available, the flowers bloom according to the command of the gardeners. There is a lesson there, but not the one which he wants these men to consider today.
He leads them through almost all the Garden, then stops while they are not yet in sight of the central pond, although the sacred bunya trees [5] around that pond grow high enough that they show over the walls. When he stops, it is not to draw their attention to any of the arrangements of plants, but to speak to a gardener's assistant who is methodically pruning one of the ironwood [Casuarina] trees.
The assistant pauses in his labour and says, "Good to see you, Teacher! Are you well, my friend?"
The Teacher says, "Yes, Gung, I am well." He introduces each of the would-be acolytes in turn. Each time, the gardener's assistant gives the same enthusiastic greeting, word for word the same except for the name of the person he is greeting. The acolytes respond to the enthusiasm that the assistant shows, saying their own greetings in a similar energetic tone.
The Teacher says, "We need to see more of the Garden. Stay well, Gung."
The gardener's assistant says, "You too. Have a good day, Teacher!" He offers similar farewells to each of the would-be acolytes, each of them the same except for the name.
The Teacher leads the would-be acolytes a short distance away. Far enough that they can talk without their voices carrying, but not so far that they lose sight of the gardener's assistant. They watch as the assistant returns to his task of pruning the ironwood trees, cheerfully completing each step without supervision.
The Teacher says, "Gung is a man slow of wit, but sincere in his heart. If we go back and greet him in a few minutes, he will say the same thing as before, and greet each of us warmly, for he knows but little of how to speak. Yet he does his tasks as the gardeners give them, and will approach all of them in the same manner."
He pauses, then continues, "So, is this man happier than the king? The king is burdened with worry, with our enemies in Tjibarr and Garrkimang threatening our borders. Yet this man knows little, and enjoys much."
The would-be acolytes nod and murmur in agreement. "This man is happy, happier even than the king," the kunduri-chewing acolyte says.
The Teacher says, "So, if this man is happy, then, what makes him happy? It cannot be wealth, for this man has none." As if carelessly, his fingers run over the sapphire-studded bracelet on his wrist. All of these acolytes know that the Teacher is wealthy, if not quite of the royal family. "It cannot be praise, for those who work with him neither praise him nor condemn him, but just expect him to work."
"His joy must come from within, then," one of the acolytes says.
"So, then, is joy something which comes from within?" the Teacher asks. "Is it intrinsic to a man, not something which can be granted from without?"
The acolytes nod again.
"Yet if this man were to be punished, condemned, shouted at, would he not feel sorrow? Would he not be deprived of happiness?"
"Maybe happiness comes from within, while unhappiness comes from without?" the kunduri-chewing acolyte says.
"Perhaps," the Teacher says. "Yet if a man is praised, would that not usually make him happy? If I were to say to you, "I am pleased with you," would that not grant you a boon of joy?"
"It would be the honour of my day," the kunduri-chewer says.
"So, then, is joy something which can be found from within, or something which comes from without?"
The Teacher waits, but no-one answers him.
Eventually, he says, "Joy is neither internal nor external; it comes from bringing oneself into harmony with the world around. It need not even be a choice of enlightenment; a man who perceives as little as our gardeners' assistant can still be abundantly joyful. It is the alignment, the convergence of one's own desires with the present circumstances which matter. As circumstances change, as lives change, we must strive to keep ourselves aligned; we must make our own essence the balance on which our world shifts."
--
The man whom allohistory would come to call the Good Man was born sometime around 1080; accounts differ as to whether he was born before or after Lopitja gained its independence. The place of his birth is recognised to be somewhere near Kantji, although there are several competing claims for the exact location. He was born into a reasonably wealthy family; his father is reported to have been a dealer in incenses and perfumes. A plethora of tales describe his life and his teachings, many of them undoubtedly apocryphal, but there is no doubt that in his lifetime he was regarded as a great philosopher, teacher, and visionary.
Certainly, he spoke of the need to bring harmony to the cosmos, and of the Sevenfold Path which was the best means to achieve harmony. He was presumably a literate man, as most men of his background would have been, but no surviving letters or other writings can be indisputably attributed to him.
After the Good Man's death in 1151, his disciples squabbled amongst themselves as to his legacy, and produced a variety of writings which purported to describe his teachings and philosophy. Over the next three decades, most of these disciples settled on a more-or-less accepted account of the Good Man's life, teachings, and the path which should be followed. They came to be called Plirites, from a word which can be roughly translated as "(the) Harmony." This faith regarded the Good Man as a prophet-philosopher and ideal example of how a person should live, and its beliefs would spread most widely across the continent.
A smaller group of holdouts regarded the Good Man as a semi-divine figure, and over the next century emerged as a distinct sect who called themselves Tjarrling, a name which can be roughly translated as "the Heirs" or perhaps "the True Heirs." Opinions differed on both sides of the religious divide as to whether the Tjarrling should be considered a separate religion or a branch of Plirism; broadly speaking, most orthodox Plirites accepted the Tjarrling as misguided adherents of the same faith.
Plirism became the first evangelical religion which the continent had seen. Its adherents created an organised priesthood, whose emphasis was on the continuity of faith and personal teaching from the Good Man to his disciples and to his priests. While they had a variety of religious writings, to the orthodox Plirites, these were treated as supplements to the continuity of learning from teacher to disciple to priest. They taught that following the Sevenfold Path and bringing balance to one's own desires was the only way to achieve true harmony and concord throughout the cosmos. Other faiths and beliefs might have some truth, but they were not the whole truth, and so would thus inevitably bring discord. Only once all peoples followed the Sevenfold Path would there be complete harmony in the cosmos.
Missionaries and acolytes of Plirism spread throughout the Five Rivers and beyond, and met with mixed receptions. They won a few converts, but the syncretic nature of many of the Gunnagalic beliefs meant that there was considerable resistance to the idea of one true path.
Plirite missionaries had their first major success in 1209, when the new king of Lopitja converted to Plirism, and then in 1214 made it the state religion of his kingdom. Over the next few decades, the faith became deeply established in the kingdom. Unfortunately for its adherents, Lopitja itself was dying. The unusual climatic conditions which sustained the kingdom were fading. Papukurdna was drying up, and the winter rains were becoming more erratic. Farmers abandoned their fields, the population declined, and in time the kingdom lost its wars with Tjibarr. The capital was sacked in 1284, and most of its other cities were abandoned. Kantji returned to desert, its stone walls and roads now an empty haunt of wind-borne red dust, while the wonders of the Spiral Garden were reclaimed by desert scrubs.
By then, however, Plirism had spread much further.
Within the Five Rivers itself, Plirism never became a majority religion anywhere except the fading Lopitja kingdom. Some people converted to the religion, and temples were established which remained over the centuries. Yet the traditional view of religion gradually reasserted itself; the Good Man's teachings were simply viewed as one path among many.
Orthodox Plirite teachings were brought by missionaries to the lower reaches of the Nyalananga. They had some success in converting the peoples there, particularly the Yadilli who dwelt south-east of the Nyalananga mouth. Their most important long-term success, however, came from the establishment of temples on the Island [Kangaroo Island], and the wholesale conversion of the Nangu in 1240. The Nangu embraced Plirism, and as their trade network grew, the faith spread along with it.
The heterodox Tjarrling sect made little progress within the Five Rivers, but its displaced adherents carried their beliefs to the northern headwaters of the Anedeli. There, the Butjupa and Yalatji peoples [6] slowly converted to the new faith, and by the seventeenth century it had become almost universal among those peoples.
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Plirism has many competing schools and interpretations; there are written scriptures, but no universal agreement about what they mean. Above the level of an individual temple, there is no guiding central authority for the faith, no-one who can make absolute decisions. Some living priests become regarded as influential authorities who should be consulted, and the writings of some former priests have become the foundation of particular schools of thought.
However, the form which was adopted by the Nangu would be the most influential school of Plirism. Like all of the schools, it was based on acceptance of the Sevenfold Path which was the core of the Good Man's teachings. It also included considerable elements and influences from traditional Gunnagalic religion. For the Good Man had taken many religious concepts and other aspects of his worldview from the preceding Gunnagalic religions, and some others were inserted into Plirism by his disciples and early converts.
At its core, Plirism views the cosmos as a single connected entity. The actions of every person and every object are connected; nothing happens in isolation. There is no such thing as an inanimate object, for everything is seen as having the same "essence," and both affects and is affected by everything else. All actions, great or small, good or bad, have their place in the pattern of the cosmos. Moreover, all actions have consequences; nothing which is done can be said to have no effect on the rest of the world. The most common analogy which the Good Man taught is of the cosmos being like a pond; anything which was cast into that pond would produce ripples.
According to the Good Man, the foundation of understanding came from recognising the truth of interconnectedness, and the effects of this truth. It is inevitable that actions will change the world, but the question is whether an action is dandiri (bringing harmony) or waal (bringing discord). Acting in a way which brings harmony is the foundation of all virtues and good things; acting in a way which brings discord is the foundation of all suffering, even if the influence is not obvious to the casual beholder.
The Good Man taught that the key to maximising harmony was to bring balance to one's own desires, and align them with the broader cosmos. This meant that one should follow the Sevenfold Path. The Path was the only true way to bring oneself into harmony with the cosmos. Stepping off the Path unbalanced oneself and reduced harmony in the cosmos, which increased discord and suffering. Other faiths and beliefs might contain some similarities to the Path, and so some aspects of truth, but their correspondence was never perfect. So, to some degree every other faith increases the suffering and discord in the cosmos. If everything and everyone acts in harmony, then there will be balance. That will bring a minimum of suffering, and the maximum of solace.
The Sevenfold Path was divided into seven aspects, each of which should be followed by every person, at least as far as they are able to within their understanding and ability. The interpretation of these paths was coloured by individual societies and pre-existing religious beliefs, but the names of each of the paths was accepted throughout Plirism.
The first path, the founding path, is the path of harmony. All people should act in a way which increases harmony, not in a way which causes discord. There is no universal list of the actions which create discord, but in general harmony can be increased by maintaining standards of courtesy, honesty, and respect for others. Honesty is not an absolute, at least according to some priests, for a lie can be tolerated when it would be less hurtful. Theft and taking of other people's property is condemned unless it is to avoid greater suffering. Violence is generally to be avoided, but it can become necessary if it is directed against something which would otherwise increase disharmony, such as social unrest, preventing murder or theft, and so on.
The second path is the path of propriety. This means that each person should act in a manner befitting their station in society; to do otherwise is to cause disharmony. Princes and slaves both should act as befits their role. A Nangu axiom restates this path as "to the merchant his profit, to the chief his obedience, to the artisan his craft, to the priest his prayers, and to the worker his duties." This includes the implicit assumption that rulers who act in a manner befitting their status should be obeyed, while those who do not do so should be removed. It also means that workers, labour draftees, slaves and the common classes are expected to obey and serve, not seek to improve their station. There is an implicit hierarchy in a Plirite society, and there is not much expectation of social mobility in life. Since Plirism inherited the old Gunnagalic beliefs in eternity and reincarnation, it is expected that people will live in different stations in different lives.
The third path is the path of decisiveness. This is often restated to mean "no half-actions." The principle of balance and harmony means that inaction is often the best course; sometimes doing nothing is the best way to avoid causing discord. Conversely, when action is required, it is because something has been done to cause disharmony. In this case, decisive action is required, not half-measures.
For instance, the Plirite principle is that war should not be fought unless there is good reason. Most commonly, this is because a society is causing discord, or against social unrest. Such a war should be pursued to its utmost finish. Enemy soldiers should be hunted down and killed in decisive battles; prisoners should not be taken, quarter should not be given. Soldiers should not kill those who are not part of the war, but if someone makes himself a part of the war, then he should be killed without compunction. Likewise, rulers who live according to this path should ignore small slights; there is no need to respond to every complaint and insult. That would only provoke a cycle of retribution and cause endless discord. If action is required against an enemy of the realm, though, it should be swift, decisive, and without mercy [7].
The fourth path is the path of prayer. The Good Man viewed prayer as both a means of personal enlightenment – communing with the Evertime – and as a means of honour, respect and intercession with other beings. People are expected to pray for intercession from beings of power, such as the myriad of divine beings whose existence was accepted as an inheritance from older religions. People are also expected to pray to honour and respect both their ancestors and their descendants. (The inherited view of time means that the distinction between ancestors and descendants is blurred.)
For common people, the orthodox faith has standardised the time of daily prayers as dawn and dusk. These are called the half-times, when there is balance between day and night, and when prayers are most efficacious. Other important times for prayer are at the times of the half-moon (both waxing and waning), and especially the equinoxes, which are seen as the focal points of the year. The orthodox Plirite calendar starts with a great religious festival at the autumn equinox, as an ideal time of balance. Priests are expected to spend much of their lives in prayer, since this will increase harmony and preserve the balance of the cosmos.
The fifth path is the path of charity. The Good Man taught of the need to support and care for others. On the Island, the Nangu traditionally interpret this as requiring a donation of a twelfth of their income to support others; other Plirite schools usually just expect generosity and helpfulness rather than a specific amount. In most cases, this path is followed by donating to the temples, which in turn are expected to support the poor, sick and hungry. Rulers are likewise expected to be generous; earning wealth is perfectly acceptable, but hoarding it while people starve is not.
The sixth path is the path of acceptance. The Good Man taught that the cosmos is larger than any individual; sometimes, no matter what a man's deeds might be, there are larger forces at work which he cannot control. In this case, while a man should do the best he can, he should not express frustration or condemn himself for things which cannot be changed. He should simply accept some things as inevitable, abandon futile striving which will only bring about further discord, and focus his attention on those duties which he can perform. In common practice, this is interpreted to mean avoidance of complaining about outcomes, perceived poor fortune, bad luck, or the like. It is appropriate to advise others on when their actions may be increasing discord, but not to complain about one's own status or present condition.
The seventh path is the path of understanding. The Good Man taught that each person should strive to understand themselves and the cosmos as they really are, not through misunderstandings or illusions. They should achieve this knowledge both through self-reflection and through instruction from those who have achieved greater understanding. In common practice, this means that a person should seek the guidance of their parents or other elder relatives to assist in understanding their daily lives. To understand the broader cosmos, they should seek the guidance of their priests or the written teachings of revered teachers, who can help to build their proper knowledge. Priests can guide people and help them to recognise the effects of their own actions, and thus better follow all aspects of the Sevenfold Path.
While they are not strictly part of the teachings of the Sevenfold Path, there are also other beliefs which have become integral parts of Plirism. Most of these beliefs were derived from the traditional Gunnagalic religious milieu. These include the existence of a great many divine beings, heroic figures, and other spiritual figures which are part of the cosmos. These can be prayed to, negotiated with, and in some cases consulted to gain greater understanding. However, the Good Man taught that none of these beings were infallible or all-knowing; they were merely powerful beings.
Likewise, Plirism accepts the idea of the Evertime, of the eternal nature of the cosmos, and of reincarnation. However, reincarnation has been somewhat reinterpreted. In traditional Gunnagalic religion, reincarnation could be into a variety of forms, human, animal, or plant. Plirism recognises only reincarnation in human form, and teaches that people are reborn into different bodies and stations as part of the overall balance of the cosmos. Reincarnation is not based just on an individual's own actions, but on the broader principles of harmony and discord. Everyone will be influenced by the cosmos.
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In 1618, Plirism is the one multinational faith on the continent. Some peoples have religions of state, such as the Atjuntja and the Yadji. There are some traditional syncretic religions which are widespread over some areas, particularly the Five Rivers.
However, Plirism is the one faith which explicitly tries to convert other peoples, and its adherents have slowly become more numerous and more widespread, with even a few converts in Aotearoa [New Zealand]. The Atjuntja kill converts amongst their own subject peoples, the Yadji persecute them, and some other Gunnagalic peoples spurn them.
Plirism is still slowly growing. This is not least because once a population has become majority Plirite, they are very unlikely to revert to other faiths. This is part of the Plirite teaching that other religions increase discord and suffering; any would-be converts are discouraged through passive or active means. Plirite peoples are also inclined to speak out against their own people if they believe that a particular person is not living according to the Path. After all, anyone who steps off the Path is, in their way, increasing the suffering of others.
Still, after 1618, Plirism will have deal with a religious challenge greater than any which it has so far experienced...
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[1] The Five Rivers are the Nyalananga [Murray], Anedeli [Darling], Matjidi [Murrumbidgee], Gurrnyal [Lachlan] and Pulanatji [Macquarie].
[2] Bountiful rains by Australian standards, that is. The rainfall in this period still only averages between 300-400 mm. It is more reliable than the usual Australian weather, though; droughts have been reduced in both frequency and duration.
[3] This climate shift occurs within the same broad timeframe as the Medieval Warm Period (roughly 900-1300 AD). Around the North Atlantic, this climatic shift produced generally warmer temperatures. It lasted for varying time periods and had different effects in other parts of the globe; parts of the tropical Pacific seem to have been cool and dry, as was the Antarctic Peninsula. In Australia, the weather was affected by a long-term La Niña phenomenon, which produced generally cooler temperatures and increased rainfall. It is unclear just how much the climate shifted, since climate records in Australia are sparse, but Lake Eyre held permanent water for what seems to have been at least two centuries, and probably longer. The climate reverted to a drier phase by the end of the Medieval Warm Period, possibly earlier.
[4] Bush pears (Marsdenia australis) and desert raisins (Solanum centrale) are fruits grown on vines and shrubs suited to semi-arid conditions. Blue-leaved mallee (Eucalyptus polybractea) is one of many Australian eucalypt species. It is native to semiarid regions such as along the Darling, and its leaves contain high concentrations of eucalyptus oil which make them useful as a flavouring.
[5] The bunya tree (Araucaria bidwillii), popularly but somewhat inaccurately called bunya pine, is a kind of conifer which in its wild state is restricted to small areas in the Bunya Mountains and a few other parts of Queensland. At erratic times, it produces large yields of edible seeds which were much appreciated by Aboriginal peoples; in the years when bunyas produced seeds, large gatherings of people would congregate to feast on the seeds. Bunya trees can be grown in cultivation over a fairly wide area, although they need a reasonable amount of water. In allohistorical Australia, bunya trees are also revered as sacred, although they are mostly grown on the eastern seaboard. In the inland areas, they can only be grown if supported by irrigation.
[6] The Butjupa live in historical northern New South Wales west of the New England tablelands. The Yalatji live in the historical Darling Downs, among the headwaters of the eponymous river.
[7] Orthodox Plirite priests would be right alongside Machiavelli's adage of never doing an enemy a small injury, although he would not necessarily have agreed with their idea of fighting wars without taking prisoners.
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Thoughts?