A LAND OF MANY A thesis submitted to the Kent State University Honors College in partial fulfillment of the requirements for University Honors by Connor Lillis May, 2021 Thesis written by Connor Lillis Approved by ________________________________________________________________, Advisor ______________________________________________, Chair, Department of English Accepted by ___________________________________________________, Dean, Honors College ii TABLE OF CONTENTS ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS................................................................................................iv CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE: CATH...............................................................................................1 II. OFA.......................................................................................................................12 III. ENTOWN..............................................................................................................53 IV. ONMU.................................................................................................................123 V. NORA’S BURG..................................................................................................174 VI. CLO......................................................................................................................198 VII. FERVA................................................................................................................236 VIII. BHUNIR..............................................................................................................275 IX. LINBE..................................................................................................................330 AFTERWORD.................................................................................................................373 BIBLIOGRAPHY............................................................................................................377 iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to thank my advisor, Dr. Sainato, for all of her tenacity and wit in aiding me on this journey. iv 1 Prologue: Cath The man walked quietly down a path he did not understand, for the dirt beneath his boots told him that he did not belong. Each leather footstep was carefully muffled against an earth that remained firm against every brushing invitation. The man’s name was Jack and he had everywhere to go and nowhere to stay. In his thoughts he turned over the quiet passing words of lovers and working people in taverns of a beautiful city named Cath. Like every small town in the green land of Isah, Cath’s image was formed by rumor and strange stories that resembled monastic visions more than lived events. With each tale of ruby-red curtains and rivers seeming like they were filled with coins painted blue came the reminder that the eyes of men were flawed not only in the viewing but in the understanding. Jack doubted that the colors of Cath were as vibrant as oil paints or the green grass of his home, but he desired to see anyway. A string in his mind tugged at his body with every new story he heard, and so, he arrived at Cath. A wind played at his back, pushing him forward. The land and the people who had made ashen-gray homes with fine thatched roofs were all recovering from the scorching pain of a summer keenly felt. For once, nobody shivered at the cool breezes, and though Jack was in from the northwest where snow liked to slip into the air at private, innocent times, he liked the mild cold. However, he was far too early in the night to see the wraiths of white frost visit and paint each blade of swaying grass. Though the farms that rolled along the land of Cath were bursting with the 2 joy of maturity and harvest, like a yearly coming-of-age, everyone was inside their homes enjoying the quiet warmth of a closed house in autumn. Jack thought on the rumors of colors and knew he had heard correctly. Where were the cobbles like smooth river stones? This road had only packed dirt. He wanted to see the fair maiden or lad whose golden crown bobbed up and down as they did the most marvelous jig at the tavern. These stories could not have been true, for Cath’s shade was deep and both tavern and store appeared deserted. The wanderer, solemn as ever, walked alone between wooden buildings as he noticed something out of place in his image of a town. Jack had boredom, loneliness, and odd confidence mixing in him like a witch’s brew, and with that he stole a glance into the nearest window. Against the dark, each window was filled with gentle candlelight suited for quiet contemplation. At the first house he thought to knock and ask for lodging. He could offer little but stories and a few rabbits’ furs he had hunted a forest over, but the sight inside the house made him pause and shy away. In the soft smoke of a night worth candlewax, two children were giving their mother a fine white dress. The stitching and seams were awkward and uneven, but the woman beamed as she lauded the two small artists. Jack shivered in the lonely cold. At the second window he thought to ask for a warm meal, but there was none left for him. Two couples shared a wooden table a comfortable distance away from a roaring fireplace. On the border of summer, none could say the fire was worthwhile or necessary. Even the most extravagant tavern host would keep his firewood locked up tight for a better day, but these four were thriving. The blaze almost matched the thrill of the 3 conversation they were having, and the food was steaming and shiny. For a moment, Jack forgot that the bread was devilishly dark and there was hardly any meat to be seen. He craved the company of the table and his stomach grumbled at the sight of their feast. This house he too passed on, for there was no fifth chair and he believed there was no space in their hearts for another. At the third house, he only desired directions to the nearest tavern so he could rest his weary bones. His body was made heavier by each scene inside the windows, for they glistened not with material wealth but with the tantalizing boons of staying forever inside a town. The last house he peered inside before the guilt tore him away was again impossible to intrude upon. There was an attractive young man dancing. His movements were not a bawdy jig or a courtly waltz with a partner. He stepped and swayed around a small bedroom with an audience of two or three. With another step and a long sway bearing the grace of a crane’s white wing, he took up a candle in his hand and lit two more to make a fine triangle of orange flicker. His soft hair shook and his smile reflected the light so that Jack could be stunned by the man’s beauty. His heart throbbed outside the third house because he wanted tender attention and the private intimacy of a dance behind closed curtains. As he walked down the path that led outside of the town of Cath, he reflected on how all of these gatherings, these rituals of meals, gift-giving, and quiet, abstract joy happened constantly. He believed that a wanderer could have dinner with good friends by the light of a fire, but the friends or the action would be temporary, and all involved would be left with the same deepening sandpit he felt in his heart at that moment. He 4 stumbled as the path gave way to rock and root. Jack thought he might cry at the thought of another sad canvas tent in the shade of the forest but he dutifully set one up anyway and wished he would not dream. His body ignored him and he was assaulted with visions of princely young men and food too rich for his poor stomach to handle. - - - Jack woke up the next day curled up on his bedroll, so he unwound his lightly aching body and surveyed his campsite. He had made camp so fast that he did not even notice that he was set on the peak of a small, sad hill. The wanderer could not tell the time due to the deep autumnal clouds gathering in the sky, so he sat under the gray on a log that had fallen long before he ever graced the forest. He hoped the sky would open up and reveal his path because he felt lost in his feelings and in the foreign land of Isah. The traveler had been many places after being shunted out of his home, but he had never set foot in that country. Out before him was a gathering of dark pines that could be called Ofa, but on casual occasion the forest was called nothing at all. Jack could find no paths or trade routes into or out of the thick green, but he did gather in the beauty of each trunk and peak. He sat wide-legged and rested his chin on his palm, thinking and watching for anything that he could turn towards and make his goal. A cool wind grazed against him, a whimsical little strand of what remained of a distant ocean gust, and he stood at the elemental urging. Just as he had resolved to trudge into the forest without a guide, he heard a shuffling sound as if someone or something had fallen many a mile away. He thanked the wind for carrying the sound that he decided to walk swiftly towards. 5 After packing his bedroll and one-man tent into a sack strapped along his back, Jack muddied himself stumbling down the small hill and dived into the even darker shade of the forest. The sky was black and roiling with clouds that threatened to storm down onto him, but the karma of what was surely to be a heroic deed stopped them from releasing anger. Jack also entertained the humbler thought that the clouds were cowards today, or that they were too full with love for the summer that would bleed out slowly and fade from this world like a good man on a bad hunt. He fell into the darkness of the forest with the fervor of a child when a merchant or troupe comes to town. After he had tripped over numerous roots and tangled his soft black hair in three askew branches, he found a clearing where a woman took slow steps of a poorly-learned dance as if she was practicing an art of a foreign country heard of only in passing. Her bare feet crunched and bent pine needles and stray leaves blown in from other corners of the forest.