Author's Note: Well, this is my first multi-chapter story in a while, and I do plan on going through with it (though it will take some time). Note that this will have spoilers to every single novel and game, except possibly the coming Book of Marrim. My ideas about the Bahro culture might not be entirely correct, but this is just my interpretation of it. Feel free to speculate whatever you like. Also, I thank my comrades at DPWR for reviewing it before I posted this.
In addition, the name "Kantath" comes from the D'ni word, "kahntin," meaning "oppressed." Parrin comes from the D'ni word, "Prihn," meaning "small." Nraavat Ai is from what I believe is a Bahro corruption of the D'ni "Nava," meaning master. Kepik- I'm not sure what Kepik means, but Yeesha writes the name in Myst 5.
The prologue has been slightly edited as of April 16, 2006.
Disclaimer: Uru: Ages Beyond Myst Uru: the Path of the Shell and Myst 5: End of Ages are property of Cyan Worlds and Ubisoft. Some of the ideas come from Anthem by Ayn Rand.
Life of the Least
Prologue: Child of Shadow
It is dark, so dark. But why should this be surprising? I was born in shadow, raised in shadow, and will probably die in shadow.
I am a Bahro, after all; a living, breathing shadow. Nothing more.
My name is Kantath, and my tale is not a happy one, but I feel it is one that must be spoken. You might think of me as a feral beast, or a mad demon of some sort, but please listen to me, just to calm my weary soul.
The beginning of my life is a mystery even to me. I do not know who my birth parents were. Just glimpses of memories. However, I think I have managed to piece together the story of my birth. Yes, I can see it now. My mother's tired eyes gazing into mine for the first and last time… Her warm, weak arms protecting me… A comforting purr climbing up her throat…
And then I was taken away. The first bit of love and affection I ever experienced was cut short. We had to learn how to be good, obedient little slaves. Our spirits had to be shattered. Love only got in the way.
And why do I say "we;" because this probably is the memory of every Bahro child.
And what of my mother? After her labor from childbirth ended, she simply resumed her ordinary labor. True, carrying and birthing me was strenuous for her, and all she wanted was a rest from her endless toil. But what was she to them? What was I to them? Just a beast of burden that had just produced another worthless spawn to tarnish the world. Besides, the only thing they valued was work. So they took me and sent her away.
I wonder if she ever thinks of me like how I think of her…
As a youngling, I was brought to Eder Kemo. Yes, I'm pretty sure you have seen it. You have seen the valley, filled with breathtaking slopes and beautiful architecture; the rarest of trees and shrubs whistling in the wind, watered solely by the skies of the Age. And surely, you have thought about what a wonderful, relaxing place it was, and how odd it is that the Grower portrays it as a glimpse of the sins of Proud.
Of course, you haven't seen beyond the walls of that valley, now have you? You see, the humans get the valley. We get the tunnels underneath. Even the most desperate would refuse to dwell there. The caves are so dark and damp, the stale air reeking of mold. Of course, it was the only home we ever knew.
Every day at the break of dawn (or at least what would be the break of dawn above the surface), we had to crawl through the grimy, wretched hallways of mud and stone. If we were hungry, which we almost always were, we had to scratch the walls in hope of finding a nesting Keanulint nymph, or any other grubs and beetle we could find. Naturally, humans frown on such a diet, but it was the only thing available for us.
So great was our hunger that if one among us found anything no matter how small and forgot to devour it quickly, another Bahro would almost immediately leap on him to claim possession of the meal. Loud shrieking battle calls with louder cussing, grinding of claws, the packing sounds of kicking, and cries of pain echoed through the tunnels almost every day. It was only by a miracle that the earth above us was thick enough to prevent any passerby from hearing what is meant to be unheard.
The battle always ended in one of several ways. Sometimes the challenger was fended away; other times the challenger prevailed. Sometimes the prize slithered away, either escaping into the soil or victim of another hungry mouth. Sometimes the battle was short, which would happen if one Bahro was bigger and stronger than another. Other times, it was long and bloody, both competitors forgetting the original cause of the dispute and venting out all their frustration on each other. Once in a while, one of the elders would step in and call off the fight. Any way it happened, one thing was certain: the brawl would always slow down the traffic in the tunnel, causing many of us who were not even involved to be scolded at, or even beaten.
But whatever the case – food or no food, strength or fatigue – training always came first. At the end of the passage were several large rooms carved into the earth, made of slightly stronger and smoother stone (similar to that of the Kemo cliffs). These were the Chambers of Discipline, where we were taught all that we were required to know as future servants. The teachers were elder Bahro, most of whom were strict and eager to scold. In my infancy, I detested this, but later, I took notice of all the whipping scars on their backs, and that many limped. Perhaps because their lives were so harsh, they made sure not to give us any compassion which they had never been given.
In the Chambers, we learned of our present as wretched slaves, and our destiny as wretched slaves. The Bahro were bound to the D'ni. Their prosperity, their entertainment, and even their very lives were our responsibility, no matter how thankless this vocation. And we deserved to suffer because of who we were.
But how did this come to be?
In all my years as a youngling, I only admired one teacher, older and far wiser and the rest. I called this elder Nraavat Ai, which in our tongue means "my master." He, too, bears many grievous wounds on his back, but he also bore strange symbols on his body. Odd circular patterns and wavy lines were on his white, bony chest, while more of these lines were on his upper arms. Although we had not yet been informed about such marks, it was easy to realize that the elder was very important. There was a strange light in his light blue eyes, a sign of wisdom, and perhaps hope.
According to Nraavat Ai, the story of our slavery began many circles ago, back in the forgotten times. The Bahro were as a normal civilization, residing in the Age of Noloben. We dug tunnels under the rocks and we delighted in our creations.
One day, a being materialized from thin air, about the size of a Bahro, but walked straighter and had skin as soft and as oily as a worm. After years of talks, we learned that this being was a Ronay, a denizen of the world of Garternay. We learned of their power; their Art, which could craft doorways into other unimaginable worlds, and only with tiny Books.
And so, relations between our two nations blossomed. We grew to love their culture, they grew to tolerate ours. True, both sides bore many grievances against each other. Each side saw each other as agents of Jaktooth. Our appearance was seen as demonic, while their linking ability seemed too unnatural to be allowed by the Maker. Still, a long lasting peace was set between Garternay and Noloben.
The peace ended, however, when we began to covet the Skill, and we begged the Ronay to teach it to us, only to be turned down. The anger which had resided between the two cultures emerged from beneath the surface, resulting in a series of terrible wars. The Ronay nearly crushed us all with their superior devices, and we were forced to flee into hiding. Our race ultimately became dead to them.
In our rage and arrogance, we called onto the Maker, asking for his help to overcome the people of the root. We begged for a gift as wonderful and terrible as the gift of the Art.
Indeed, as our traditions tell us, the Maker did send a gift before our eyes: the Sacred Tablet. The Tablet itself looked simple, telling by a diagram Nraavat Ai scratched in the wall. But what a wonder it was! It gave us great power beyond the words of Bahro or Ronay. We could create rain and wind; we could link at will to other Ages. We could change worlds!
With this new power, the Bahro decided to hatch a plan for revenge. The conspirators managed to make the Garternay sun age prematurely, fast enough to unbalance the Age, but not fast enough to raise concern among the Ronay. From there, they planned to take refuge in Noloben, where they would reestablish their utopian society.
However, the fate of my people was sealed. One of the Ronay uncovered the conspiracy, and stole the Tablet and carved his own name into the side. By doing so, he forced the Bahro to follow his will. Our slavery had begun.
Our new master was greedy, and wanted us to serve him alone. Therefore, he decided to hide away the Tablet forever, so nobody could free us. Thus, his unwilling servants built the Keep, which locked the Tablet into place. The only way it could be unlocked was by using four special Slates to push the heavy locks, but they were set on special Pedestals, and the only way we could move them to the Keep was if we were ordered by the Ronay.
The Keep and the four Pedestals were each set into Linking Bubbles, which made them each an Age onto themselves, being in many times and places at one. Finally, the Bahro were forced to spirit them away. Our bond of servitude had been sealed.
Thankfully, our captor died with no heirs, but we were still forced to quietly serve the Ronay, even if we damaged their world. To make up for it, we aided the Ronay, preventing plagues and bringing bounty to their fields, even if they did not recognize our work.
Nonetheless, the inevitable came. The Ronay finally became aware of their world's critical condition, and set out to leave Garternay. Most of them ventured to the paradise of Terahnee, yet there was one, Ri'Neref, who split from the rest to form his own nation. The Bahro found him as a promising master. He and his followers were compassionate individuals, most of which detested the corruption of the Ronay.
Thus, we ventured to the Cavern of D'ni with Ri'Neref, where our two peoples stayed out of contact with each other. But at least the silence was filled with harmony, and in our part, hope. As we continued to bring blessings to the D'ni, we witnessed the rise and fall of many great kings and prophets. Although some prophets, like Gish, proved to be false, and some kings, like Me'emen, proved to be foolish, our faith little diminished.
We rejoiced as the Watcher preached the coming of the Grower, who would redeem the Least at last. We gazed in awe as the Great King Ahlsendar sealed himself within his Tomb, calling for a separation from Garternay, and we smiled as Queen Lalen reclaimed the Lost Books of Birenni. If the D'ni could find something that ancient, perhaps they would remember us as well.
To add to our expectations, many of us believed that the Tablet was actually hidden within the D'ni Cavern. Of course, we never discovered its location or that of the Slates, yet our priests felt a strong presence. It is not known for sure whether or not they were actually telling the truth, but we began to celebrate our bond with the Tablet once again.
An example of this is the crafting of Pillars. These Pillars, still part of our tradition today, are made of the same stone as the Tablet, and share the same blue aura. These Pillars are seen as substitutes (but not replacements) of the Tablet, so they must come with us wherever we go. And wherever the Pillars are brought, we shall reside.
In the end, the D'ni did discover our presence. However, the ones who found us were evil and corrupt, desiring only wealth and power. They stole Pillars from our innocent, and hid them in Ages which demanded hard labor. They beat us with whips; they stabbed us with poisoned daggers; they suppressed our powers.
After all these years, our situation did not improve in the slightest. The black market and the slave trade began to run smoothly, dodging every trap set by the Kings, and later the Grand Masters. Yet hope still lied. Prophecies of the Grower became popular, and prophets even emerged among the Bahro.
"And so," Nraavat Ai concluded, "A shadow of light has fallen onto our race. But remember, the day shall come when the Tablet is restored, and we shall be free again. For many circles we waited, but the circle shall soon be complete. Very soon."
The other lessons were also interesting, but were more or less variations on the main theme. Bahro prophets, D'ni prophets, failed uprisings and false Growers... all for what? I once believed in the Prophecies and the Great Hope. But now... forget it.
After the various lectures, we were sent away for free time. This was when we were to eat our meals of Keanulint and grubs, and we were allowed to leave the main tunnels. We were even free to roam above the surface. The one condition: stay out of the valley where the humans visit.
I used to love this hour. The sun was so warm and welcoming; the air was pure and inviting, unlike the musky stench of the tunnels. For the most part, I would just climb around on the sloping limestone cliffs, sunning myself as a lizard would.
If I got caught in the cyclic rains, then the experience was all the better. The rain felt… I don't know how to describe it in words. It felt like I was being purified from every dark deed of my forbearers, while at the same time being sheltered by a thousand invisible sentinels. It was like I was being embraced by the Maker.
Of course, I didn't always go alone. I met a couple good friends in my days of Training. First, there was Parrin, a Bahro a half-cycle younger than I. Yes, Parrin was the most cautious and reasonable of us (quite fitting- he was smaller than usual, making an easy target for those larger and more able than him). And then there was Kepik, who was quite arrogant and rash.
The three of us truly did get into a lot of mischief in our youth. Although we were forbidden to enter the main valley of the Age, we did so anyway. He carefully dodged all human eyes, and we even managed to scrawl various symbols on the cliff walls. We were naturally beaten severely for our actions, but it did help us pass the long hours afterwards, which only consisted of more lectures, followed by rest, where all communication was forbidden.
I miss those carefree days. If only things had turned out differently…
It is useless to mourn the past, but it was on one of those excursions to the surface when everything changed…