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Fan Questions: Sídhe Politics
Dana, a faithful reader, asks:
What’s the relationship between Chief Matron and Primus, when they’re not married? and how much power (in a matrilinear society) does the Triad hold, especially in relation to the Primus?
Someone has been paying attention! In the Wonder, sídhe Courts are led by a Triad of (female) “Matrons” and by a (male) Primus, something like a chieftain or petty king. The Triad is related to the “triple goddess(es)” of Celtic mythology such as the Irish war-goddesses Badb, Macha, and Anu, but the idea goes back at least to Roman times, when unnamed “Matres” or “Matrones,” apparently goddesses associated with fertility and family life, were worshiped across northern Europe.
The Primus is a stand-in for fae kings like Finnvara, who is said to have ruled the daoine sídhe from Cnoc Meadha in County Galway.
As I’m imagining it, then, sídhe society is not strictly matriarchal, meaning women are in charge. Rather, it is matrilineal, meaning inheritance passes through the mother, not the father as in the ancient and medieval cultures of Europe. For a frame of reference, many Native American tribes (including the Cherokee) are matrilineal. A person belongs to the clan of his or her mother, and one’s “blood relatives” are counted exclusively in terms of one’s mother’s family.
In Cherokee and other Native American cultures, there is a balance of power between the sexes in which the men are in charge of hunting, war, and diplomacy while women are in charge of farming, property, and family. That isn’t a perfect model of what is going on among the sídhe, but it’s close: The Primus is something like the head of state, conducting diplomacy, leading in war, and generally ensuring that the Eldritch Law is upheld. Meanwhile, the Triad is more like the supreme court, resolving inter- and intra-clan conflicts and handing down decisions on how the Eldritch Law should be applied.
That perhaps explains how power is shared between the Triad and the Primus. Now, to the other part of Dana’s question:
Most of the time, the Primus will be the husband of the Chief Matron or ranking member of the Triad. She, in turn, is the ranking (female) member of the ruling house within each Court. This is what readers see with Crom Cornstack and his wife, Mara Hellebore. (Since inheritance passes from mother to daughter, women never take their husbands’ surnames!) As we will see below, it is also possible for the Primus to be the son-in-law or other close relation by marriage of the sitting Chief Matron.
But the situation is currently different in the Summer Court. The former Summer Primus was Vergosus Bright, who was married to Anya Redmane, the Chief Matron. But Vergosus faded in the 1970s. (The Fair Folk don’t die, as a general rule, but will “fade” when they have grown weary of this world.) Normally, the Primacy would then have fallen to the husband of Anya’s daughter—who would herself become next in line to fill the position of Chief Matron. (There would be a convocation of the house of Redmane to ratify the choice, but most of the time this is purely ceremonial.) Unfortunately, Anya did not have any daughters.
This caused the normal succession to shift to Anya’s cousin Martha and her husband, Ambicatus Bright (the brother of Vergosus—sídhe families tend to be somewhat inbred). Ambicatus would be elevated to Primus, and Martha would become Chief Matron, Anya retaining the powerful position of Chief Matron Emerita.
Here is where things got sticky, however. You see, Ambicatus was publicly humiliated when he fell victim to a rather elaborate prank. Although the perpetrator insists this was not his intention, the end result was that Ambicatus’s reputation was so damaged that it became unthinkable that he should ever serve as Primus. He and his wife went into self-imposed exile so as to avoid being the target of scorn and derision for the next several hundred years.
This left the Summer Court in a mess, as there were no other women of the Redmane line to whom to turn. (Nuala Redmane, the daughter of Martha and Ambicatus, was too tarnished by Ambicatus’s disgrace and only barely held on to her own seat on the Triad.)
At this point of social upheaval, the rival house of Fairchild, led by Dubessa Fairchild, compelled Anya and Nuala, the remaining members of the Triad, to offer Dubessa a seat on the Triad and to name her husband, Belas Wakefire, as the new Primus. This was at least somewhat tolerable in that both Dubessa and Belas had Redmane males in their respective family trees.
Backed into a corner, the Triad agreed to Fairchild’s demand. For the last forty years, the Summer Court has found a way to share power between these two influential families with only a minimum of open hostility.
An Elf by Any Other Name
In the world of Into the Wonder, “faery” is not always considered a politically correct word. It is thought too forward or aggressive, and therefore it is considered better to use euphemisms like “the Fair Folk.” Another option available to those in the know is to refer to various eldritch beings by their specific faery “species” or kindred: pooka, duine sídhe, etc.
Something similar happened in Iceland with respect to the ancient Norse álfar or “elves.” So as not to appear disrespectful, Icelanders began referring to these supernatural creatures with the euphemism huldufólk, “the hidden people.”
You Keep Using That Word…
Elves will make their formal appearance in The Devil’s Due, the second installment of Into the Wonder. Though I like the idea of people avoiding the word “elf” as (at least mildly) offensive, huldufólk doesn’t really work for my purposes as an appropriate alternative. “My” elves come mainly from England, not Scandinavia. So I’ve been working on a short list of euphemisms to refer to these creatures that come from the same Old English context from which I’ve derived the creatures themselves.
I have been surprised to see how little evidence there actually is for likely terms. Almost all of what follows comes from a doctoral dissertation that I have found extremely helpful in imagining how elves were perceived in Anglo-Saxon culture: Alaric Hall’s “The Meanings of Elf and Elves in Medieval England,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Glasgow, 2004 (PDF). (There is also a brief summary page with PDFs of individual chapters.)
Here, then, are some of the options I’ve discovered.
Terms Describing Grendel
In Beowulf, the monster Grendel is depicted as a cousin of numerous dangerous supernatural beings including giants, ogres…and elves. According to the author of Beowulf, all of these are descendants of the biblical Cain. Some of the terms used to describe Grendel might work as a description of his supposed kinfolk, the elves. (I should perhaps note that the elves of Anglo-Saxon England were a fair bit more sinister than the elves Tolkien described in The Lord of the Rings. If Tolkien had drawn his elves from England rather than the Vikings, they’d have been fighting alongside the orcs and trolls. Or, more likely, calling the shots behind the scenes.)
- maercstapa, “creeper/stalker in the marches” (103). When Grendel first appears by name, he is called a “border-stalker.”
- Caines cyn, “kin of Cain” (107). This term might work except that, in context, it can refer to a number of monstrous beings, only one of which is elfkind. Also, it calls for a particular theological interpretation of elf-kind that I’m not sure all elves would buy into.
- ellengaést, “powerful/bold spirit” (86). This term has great promise, I think. The meaning is obviously something the elves would take as a compliment, and it even sounds right.
- ellorgást, “alien, alien spirit” (807). Might work for the sort of thing humans would call elves, but I don’t see elves calling themselves “aliens.”
- sceadugenga, “shadow-walker/wanderer” (703). Probably the coolest option.
Terms Describing Elves Proper
All of the above terms have potential, but none of them apply strictly to elves. Let’s see what happens when we look specifically for roundabout ways of talking about elves as such. Unfortunately, there are no Old English narratives that feature elves. There are, however, a number of medical texts that give treatments for the various afflictions for which elves might be responsible. A couple of these describe elves in roundabout ways that might serve as a general euphemism for “elf.”
- nihtgenga, “night-walker/wanderer.” The text Wið aelfcynne (“For Elf-kin”) gives us this term, which ranks with “shadow-walker” on the coolness scale.
- hy, “they.” The first half of another medical text, Wið færstice (“For a Sudden Stitch”), uses a number of roundabout terms for dangerous spiritual beings before naming them explicitly in the second half. In lines 1, 2, and 7, these threatening powers are simply called “they.” I can see humans hesitate to name elves at all, and simply calling them “they” or “them.” Such a practice has parallels with Manx expressions such as “themselves” and “them what’s in it.”
- smiðas, “smiths/craftsmen.” This term is found in lines 11 and 14 of Wið færstice, where it refers to elves as fashioners of supernatural weapons to use against mortals (i.e., elf-shot).
Terms Describing Female Elves (or Something)
Wið færstice also mentions a class of supernatural female that is closely associated with elves. It isn’t entirely clear that these females are elves, however. They might be human witches. Or, they might be something like waelcyrigan (“valkyries”), which Hall argues are female counterparts of elves. Hall comments that, for the given time period, the boundary between a supernatural woman and a woman who has supernatural powers is quite blurry, so it’s probably not worth splitting hairs (see p. 174). At any rate, these females are called by two different names:
- mihtigan wif, “mighty/powerful women.”
- haegtessan, “hedge-riders” or “hedge-faeries.”
Haegtessan (singular, haegtesse) needs a little bit of explanation. The first element, haeg, is probably a variation of haga, meaning “hedge” or “enclosure.” Other Germanic languages have the expression “hedge-rider” for this sort of being. In Old English, the second element, tesse, might be related to Norwegian tysja in the sense of “faery.”
Conclusions
That, then is my raw data. What, though, am I to make of it?
- I’m thinking English-derived elves may not be quite as touchy about the word “elf” as faeries are by the word “faery.” (Their Icelandic cousins may well think differently, however!)
- At the same time, if the elves of c. AD 800 were still around today, would they appreciate the way the word “elf” has changed in meaning? How fiercely would they resist being lumped in with Christmastide toy-makers or mischievous, diminutive house-faeries?
- Assuming there is a need for an alternative term, there are some decent options out there. I’m personally partial to either ellengaést or nihtgenga. Furthermore, there are some possibilities from mixing and matching among them: haegstapan (“hedge-stalkers”), ellenfolc (“powerful/bold people”), etc., while not truly authentic, might at least be plausible.
That’s probably more than anybody wanted to read, but I suppose I’m just a stickler for getting the names right.
The Prehistoric World Was Rather Tolkienesque
Fifty thousand years ago or so, there were multiple species of humanoids on planet Earth. There were, of course, biologically modern humans: good old fashioned Homo sapiens sapiens. There were also, we now know, Neanderthals in northern Europe, Denisovans from Siberia to southeast Asia, and, most recently, the “hobbits” (Homo floresiensis) of the island of Flores in Indonesia. Sometimes these various groups traded with one another. Sometimes they fought one another. Occasionally—and the genetic evidence for this continues to mount—at least some of them *ahem* socialized with one another and produced viable offspring.
Some of this complexity is captured in a number of fascinating articles that have appeared recently at io9:
- How Did Neanderthal Genes Affect Humanity? Here Are Some Answers
- A Long Anthropological Debate May B on the Cusp of Resolution
- New Evidence Points to the Flores “Hobbit” as a Dwarf Species
I think the makings are there for a really interesting way to understand and depict the various races one encounters in fantasy fiction. How do these races differ from one another physiologically? What strengths and weaknesses do each possess? In fact, that is exactly how I went about fleshing out the various inhabitants of the Wonder: the true fae, dwarves, trolls, and little folk such as the yunwi tsunsdi.
For cultural/ethical characteristics and magical capabilities, I of course leaned heavily on mythology and folklore. I’m not trying to “explain” dwarves and the rest in anything like a scientific way, after all. But when looking for a bit of extra color, I was very happy to see what paleoanthropologists could tell me about some of humanity’s nearest kin.
A Walk in the Woods
[Well, for most of the eastern US, the weather outside is frightful. To pass the time as you bundle up and try to stay warm, here’s a 650-word “prequel” to Children of Pride, due to become available (hopefully) in about a month.]
“By oak, ash, and thorn!” Danny exclaimed. “It ain’t been this cold in twenty years.” He pulled his cloak tight as he crunched through the icy snow. His traveling partner, with his shorter legs, hurried to keep up. They walked in silence, saving their breath, through a wilderness of barren trees and snowdrifts: a stark vista in black and white spreading for miles beneath a steel-gray sky.
At the crest of a hill, Danny said, “You don’t reckon the Winter Court is up to something, do you?”
“Nah,” the second traveler shrugged. “Sometimes a cold snap is just a cold snap. If I was you, I’d be more worried about your own boss.”
Danny shivered, not entirely because of the cold. “You just had to go and say it, didn’t you, Bug?”
“Didn’t you tell me she gave you the winter off?” Bug said as if that proved his point. “So why, all of a sudden, are you on your way back to Bisgarra Verry?” Bug pulled a pointed ear back underneath his red knit cap.
“Hey, you may not know it, but I’ve gotten to be a pretty important guy at the Summer Court. Mrs. Redmane probably wants my opinion about—stop laughing!”
“I can’t help it, Danny. You crack me up sometimes! Look, you’re a nice enough guy. Best switcher I ever worked with. But you can drop the act. You’re scared of Mrs. Redmane, same as everybody. And you ain’t being called in ‘cause the Chief Matron of the Summer Court wants to have tea of a mangy pooka!”
“Yeah,” Danny said. “You’re right. But would it hurt you to be a little more diplomatic about it?”
“I’m a goblin,” Bug said. “I don’t do diplomatic.”
Danny rubbed his gloved hands together against the cold. “Winter’s got to be up to something, Bug. It ain’t been this cold in thirty years—at least.” The path opened on a patch of farmland.
“Maybe,” Bug agreed. “But that ain’t your problem.”
“Yet.”
“Yet. If Winter’s got a plan hatching, you can guarantee somebody’s keeping an eye on them. It’s the Summer Court that’s cut your vacation short. Go see what Mrs. Redmane wants.”
Danny sighed. “Probably just wants to give me a heads-up about my next assignment.” He smiled in spite of himself.
“This is your last one, ain’t it?”
Danny nodded. “Contract’s just about up. I reckon another couple months and I’m a free agent again. I swear, I can just about taste it, Bug.”
“That’s great, Danny. I’m happy for you. If you ever need somebody with my skills, I’d be happy to work with you again.”
“Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”
“The ring’s got to be around here somewhere,” Bug said.
Danny pulled off a glove. “Just keep watch for me.” He tilted his head toward the farmhouse in the distance. “We don’t need no Topsiders getting all curious.”
Bug nodded, and Danny summoned a ball of flame into his hand. He held it close to the ground around where he thought he remembered the ring being. Thankfully, the snow had heaped up into a bank ten or twenty feet away. The wind patterns had left the spot they were looking for almost clear, and Danny found what he was looking for soon enough.
It was a ring of mushrooms just wide enough across for two people to stand in. Danny smiled.
“One good thing,” he said. “They keep it pretty warm in Bisgarra Verry.”
“Then here’s to a toasty new year, Danny. Shall I?”
Danny nodded. Bug gestured toward the mushroom ring. Slowly, a swirl of sparkling light emerged. It grew until it became a column of white punctuated with gold and silver flashes.
“Thanks for walking with me,” Danny said.
“I appreciated the company. Now, go get ‘em!”
Danny winked, stepped into the vortex, and vanished.
Names
I appreciated Carl Sinclair’s post today about names in fantasy fiction. Some writers seem to love filling their fantasy worlds with awesome (if improbable) names for people, places, and things. Tolkien made a cottage industry of it—and inspired generations of writers who simply don’t have the linguistic chops to pull it off! Carl’s point that some (many?) such writers go overboard is well taken.
In Children of Pride, most characters, places, and things have names that are quite at home in the English language. This was something of a challenge, as the story deals with people and things that were often given their names centuries ago both in Gaelic, Cornish, or some other actual language or in Esrana, a constructed language that plays a tiny role in the unfolding of the story. Plenty of originally-foreign names became blatantly Anglicized (Gaelic Áine became Anya) or, in once instance, Gaelicized-then-Anglicized (Muskogee Rvne Rofke became Dunhoughkey) for ease of pronunciation.
Left to my own devices, I would probably have made things more complicated than they are. I am, however, dealing with fantasy in a contemporary setting and aiming the story at younger readers. I appreciated the constraint that provided, and my beta readers and I are fairly pleased with the results.
Interview: Kindreds
Into the Wonder: Your friend, Danny, thought I would like to interview you, Bryn. I hope that’s all right.
Bryn: Any friend of Danny’s is a friend of mine.
ITW: He speaks very highly of you.
B: Pooka and huldra, field and forest. We make a pretty good team.
ITW: And yet you seem so different. And not just your personalities. The more I learn about Your Kind, the more I’m amazed at how different you all look.
B: Part of that is magic. We can pretty much look however we want. And then, a lot of us are really into body modification.
ITW: You mean like piercings and tattoos?
B: Piercings, tattoos, hooves, antlers… The sky’s the limit, really. And, of course, the different kindreds all have their own particular look, if you know what I mean.
ITW: Kindreds? You mean different types of fae?
B: Presactly. Our Kind live all over the world, and we’re just as diverse as you people. Topsiders, I mean. And most of us value our heritage. Oh, not that I would think any less of Danny, for instance, just because he’s a pooka. But we all have our own ways, our own magics. It’s something to take pride in, you know?
ITW: And somehow, you all manage to get along?
B: Well, I’d say most of us at least try to stay out of each others’ way. There are some of Our Kind who are best left alone. Know what I mean? There’s no need to go asking for trouble.
ITW: So, some fae are more…agreeable…than others?
B: Isn’t it like that among you people?
ITW: Touché.
B: I think I like you, sweetie. You’re real easy to talk to.
ITW: Erm…thanks.
B: Is something the matter?
ITW: No, it’s just…well…
B: It’s the tail, isn’t it?
ITW: I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.
B: Aw, you’re blushing! How cute! But it’s okay. Really. It’s just part of who I am. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
ITW: You’re very kind. I think that’s enough for now, though. This has been very enlightening. Shall I see you to the door?
B: Such a gentleman!
ITW: I’m a married man, Bryn. I’d appreciate if you’d stop batting your eyes at me.
B: Sorry. Force of habit.
ITW: Now you’re blushing.
Interview: Tradition
Into the Wonder: Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Fountain.
Mr. Fountain: My pleasure. Can I offer you something to eat?
ITW: I think I’ll pass. You’ve lived in the United States for some time, I take it?
Mr. F: There was no such thing as “the United States” when I got here. Just a jumble of colonies up and down the coast.
ITW: And you came over because…?
Mr. F: Where I come from, we have a saying: “Where your ancestors do not live, you cannot build your house.”
ITW: I’m sorry. I don’t think I follow.
Mr. F: Let’s just say there were plenty of folk arriving on these shores that could use an ancestor or two.
ITW: You’re an ancestral spirit?
Mr. F: Oh, maybe not in any literal sense. But yes, that’s an apt description. You might say I’m a symbol of the past. A lot of culture got lost in the Middle Passage. If I can help folk remember the old ways, get in touch with who they are, where they come from…well, that just does my heart good.
ITW: That’s very commendable.
Mr. F: There’s a reason for tradition, young man.
ITW: Yes, sir.
Mr. F: You don’t want to throw it away on a whim. Might just throw away something you need if you’re not careful. Sit up straight, son! Have some respect for yourself.
ITW: Yes, sir.
Mr. F: That’s better. So many folk these days suffer from a lack of proper upbringing. I could tell you about a pooka I know, but I won’t belabor the point.
ITW: Of course not. But speaking of pookas, it seems like there are a lot of different types of fae. Do you all get along.
Mr. F: Son, you really are new to all this, aren’t you?
ITW: Well, it’s just that…
Mr. F: Let me tell you, most of us get along just fine if we’re left alone. You start trying to get us organized and before long you’re going to have a goat rodeo on your hands. That’s why there’s no central government among Our Kind. Whenever one of our chiefdoms grows too big, it either splits up or they find a way to share power so no one faction can lord it over the others.
ITW: You’re talking about the faery Courts?
Mr. F: That’s more of a Eurocentric thing, but you’ve got the idea. The nunnehi have a different arrangement, but it serves the same purpose. I’m not sure what the jogaoh do; I’ve never traveled that far north. Personally, I try to ignore all of them.
ITW: And they don’t object?
Mr. F: They know better than that. I have something of a reputation, you might say.
ITW: You seem very passionate about your beliefs.
Mr. F: Have you ever met one of Our Kind who wasn’t passionate about something?
ITW: Not really, but I’ve only met a few.
Mr. F: Well, let me tell you. You don’t want to push a fae’s buttons. Ever.
ITW: No, I don’t believe I do…. Thank you once again for your time, Mr. Fountain. This was very helpful. I wish there were a way I could repay you.
Mr. F: Don’t worry, son. I’ll think of something.
Interview: “Faery”
Into the Wonder: Your name is Danny…?
Danny: If it’s all the same to you, Professor, sir, I’ll just stick with Danny.
ITW: Your Kind seem to be a bit touchy about names.
D: Yeah, well. You try living amongst folk who can…do things…if they know your name.
ITW: Fair enough.
D: Oh, your everyday name is usually pretty safe. Not much magic in it, at least compared to your true name. But if you’re really gonna share this little talk with the whole Topside world…
ITW: Yes, I see your point. And is that why Your Kind object to the word “faery”?
D: That’s part of it, I suppose. It’s not really a bad word, so to speak. Just a little forward, you know? Say your boss is named Charles. You don’t just go around calling him Charlie—not to his face, anyway!
ITW: And Your Kind consider yourselves our bosses?
D: I ain’t never said that! Oh, the Gentry’ll take that attitude, I admit. But most of us don’t. We got more sense than that. But anyway. Yeah, “faery” just don’t sound right. We’ll use the word to describe our animals, our magic, stuff like that. But ourselves? Forget it!
ITW: You prefer “fae.”
D: Most of us, anyways. A fella down in South Carolina explained it to me once. You see, fae comes from an old French word, faé. “Enchanted.” I don’t exactly know how you spell it, though.
ITW: Don’t worry, I’ll spell-check it later.
D: Thanks. So, if you look at it scientifically, faery relates to fae the same as witchery relates to witch or knavery relates to knave.
ITW: So it’s not a person. It’s a concept? A characteristic?
D: You got it. It’s the whole shebang. It ain’t just Our Kind; it’s the realm we share with all kinds of magical creatures.
ITW: But it’s also those creatures themselves, right?
D: Right. Call one of Our Kind a faery, you’re lumping him in with everything in the Wonder: the plants, the animals, the whole deal, you see? How’d you like it if I called you by the same name I called your dog?
ITW: That’s very helpful. So it’s fine to talk about faery dogs or faery horses…
D: Some of my best friends are faery dogs and horses.
ITW: Just not…uh…faery faeries.
D: Bingo.
ITW: Thank you, Danny, for taking the time to visit. Is there anything else you’d like to say?
D: Just that Our Kind are just like Topsiders. We can be some of the friendliest, most helpful folk you’d ever want to meet. But we can also be cruel, selfish, petty, and destructive. You’ve got to take the good with the bad.
ITW: That’s a lesson all of us could learn.
Darrell J. Pursiful 