The Gift The Naraudh Lar-Chanë (or Riddle of the Treesong), one of the key legends of the lost civilisation of Edil-Amarandh, is here translated in full for the first time. This great classic of Annaren literature deserves, it seems to me, a much wider audience than the academics it has so far attracted. This is therefore a book directed towards the general reader rather than the scholar. Up until now the Naraudh Lar-Chanë has been primarily valued for the illumination it throws on the culture of Edil-Amarandh, but what struck me when I first encountered it was its virtues as a romance. I was overcome by a desire at once humbler and more ambitious than my original intention of writing a dissertation on Annaren society: I wished to capture its vivid drama and unique magic in contemporary English. If my labours have captured a tenth part of the enchantment of the original, I shall be well pleased. To this end I have eschewed explanatory footnotes, which would have interrupted the flow of the story. Instead, as a courtesy to the reader I have included some general information on the society and history of Edil-Amarandh, as well as notes on the pronunciation of Annaren names, in appendices at the back of the book. However, I hope that the tale stands without these notes, and that the reader who seeks primarily the pleasures of adventure will be satisfied by the narrative alone. Much has been written elsewhere of the sensational discovery of the Annaren Scripts in a cave revealed by an earthquake in the Atlas Mountains of central Morocco. Since that event in 1991, much more has been said of the dismaying implications for contemporary archaeology, of The Riddles of dating which still remain stubbornly unsolved, and of the laborious and on-going task of decipherment and translation. For the curious amateur, the most useful sources to begin looking for background on the Naraudh Lar-Chanë are Uncategorical Knowledge: The Three Arts of the Starpeople by Claudia J. Armstrong and Christiane Armongath’s indispensable L’Histoire de l’Arbre-chant de Annar. The Gift consists of the first two books of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë‘. The original text, of which there exists a single complete copy, is written in Annaren, the principal language spoken in Annar. In translating from the Annaren I have attempted as my first concern to convey its vitality: if this has led to some unscholarly, or even controversial, decisions, I at once plead the conventional excuse of the translator – that it is sometimes impossible to keep both to the letter and the spirit of another language. Where I have struck an intractable problem, I have chosen to serve the latter rather than the former. Many decisions perhaps require a little explanation, but here I wish to be brief and will examine only the most important, my choice of the word Bard. I have used Bard to translate Dhillarearë from the Speech. It means, literally, Starpeople. With its particular resonance of artistic mastery and spiritual authority, Dhillarearë has no real equivalent in our language. I also considered the fact that in the Annaren language dhillë was the verb to sing or to chant, and this bilingual pun led to the popular designation of the Dhillarearë as Singers of the Gift. Bard seemed the most transparent and useful word available to me in English for imputing political, social and cultural status to those it describes. The danger of using the term is, as has been pointed out, its inevitable associations with Irish and Welsh traditions. Bards in Edil-Amarandh held a very different political place and power to the Bards in these later societies; there is however an intriguing foreshadow of their later decadent status, as courtly chroniclers and flatterers, in Gilman’s employment of the Bard Mirlad at the beginning of the story. In Annaren society this position would have been considered well beneath the dignity of a Dhillarearën; and the present-day eclipse of poets, whom we presume to be their contemporary descendants, would have been well nigh unthinkable. There are many people to whom I owe thanks, and I can mention only a few here. Nicholas, Veryan, Jan, Richard and Celeste Croggon read the manuscript at an early stage and their generous responses encouraged me greatly. Thanks are also due to Dan Spielman for his enthusiastic advocacy of the project, and to Sophie Levy of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, for illuminating some of the more obscure aspects of Bardic social life during many fascinating conversations. I am grateful also to Alphonse Calorge, of the Department of Comparative Literature, Université Paris IV – Sorbonne, for invaluable advice on some nuances of translation, and to David Bircumshaw for suggestions on the prosody of the poems, which was often very difficult to render in English. Lastly, but by no means least, I would like to thank my husband Daniel Keene for his unfailing support, his acute comments on some tricky questions of Annaren syntax, and also for proofreading the manuscript, and my editor Suzanne Wilson, for her excellent and painstaking counsel on all aspects of this book. Any remaining faults and mistakes are, naturally, solely my own. Alison Croggon, Melbourne, Australia, 2002

 

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The Riddle

The Riddle continues the translation of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë (The Riddle of the Treesong), which I began with the first two books of this classic romance, published two years ago as The Gift. The response to The Gift has been most encouraging, and confirms my feeling that this major work of Annaren literature deserves a broader public. It speaks to a modern audience as much as it did to those nameless Annarens, now lost in the mists of time, for whom it was originally written.

In The Gift we are introduced to Maerad of Pellinor and Cadvan of Lirigon, and learn of Maerad’s destiny as the Fated One and her unique Elemental heritage as she comes into her Gift as a Bard. The Riddle picks up from the events at the end of The Gift and, against the darkening background of the coming War of the Treesong, takes us on the second stage of Maerad’s quest: that for the Riddle of the Treesong itself.

In The Riddle the quest moves outside Annar for the first time, and we encounter some of the broad cultural diversity of Edil- Amarandh. For the purposes of this translation I have taken Annaren, the original language of the text, to be the equivalent of English. For the most part, I translate all Annaren into English, but otherwise have left other languages untranslated, although I hope the context makes their meanings clear.

The Riddle consists of Books three to six of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë. I have preserved the general structure of the narrative, although I have found it necessary, in transposing this text from Annaren to modern English, to take some liberties: in particular, the divisions of books in the translation do not correspond with the divisions in the original text, and some sections have been rearranged or slightly extended. In my defence I will say that I have excised nothing and added little, making only such changes I deemed necessary, within my limited judgement, to give the narrative the immediacy it would have possessed in its own time. I hope the result does not displease. For those who are curious about the complex structures and tropes of the original story, I understand that Mexico’s University of Querétaro Press, one of the leading patrons of this exciting field of studies, has begun the massive task of preparing a fully annotated Annaren publication of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë. Sadly, we will have to wait some time until this major project reaches completion, but such an investment of time and scholarship indicates the deep interest this field is now attracting.

As a convention, throughout The Riddle, I have used the Speech word Dhillarearën to refer to Named Bards with the Gift who have not been trained in the Schools of Annar, retaining the word ‘Bard’ to specifically refer to Bards of the Schools. As those familiar with Annaren mores will be aware, people born with the Speech who did not gain their true or secret Bardic Name were unable to come into their full Gift and were considered unfortunate and, in some cases, dangerous individuals. However, there were many Dhillarearën in cultures outside Annar who did gain their true Names by other means, and were therefore able to access their full powers. Their mores and cultural assumptions were often very different from those taught in the Annaren Bardic traditions of the Balance and the Three Arts, and so it seemed useful to make a distinction between the different Dhillarearën in this way.

As before, I have included appendices with further information on the cultures of Edil-Amarandh, drawn from the on-going translation of the Annaren Scripts after their spectacular discovery in Morocco in 1991. Annaren studies have grown exponentially since then, and now exist in almost every academic discipline. It is a fulltime job simply to keep abreast of the latest discoveries in the field and, while I have attempted to the best of my ability to ensure that the information contained in the appendices is from the most recent scholarship available, I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies that may have resulted from my inadvertently overlooking an important new development. For the amateur reader, however, the definitive studies for those interested in the background of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë remain Uncategorical Knowledge: The Three Arts of the Starpeople by Claudia J. Armstrong and Christiane Armongath’s authoritative L’Histoire de l’Arbre-chant de Annar.

As always, a work such as this translation owes much to the contributions of others, many of whom I am unable to name here. Above all, I need to thank my husband Daniel Keene, who contributed his proofreading skills yet again and bore with patient good humour the myriad inconveniences of living with a translator obsessed with such a long-term project. My children, Joshua, Zoe and Ben, demonstrated a similar grace. I also owe thanks to Richard, Jan, Nicholas and Veryan Croggon, who read the rough drafts with attention and enthusiasm and whose encouragement has meant a great deal. My thanks are also due to Suzanne Wilson and Chris Kloet, for their excellent counsel on all aspects of the text. Lastly, I wish to record my gratitude to Professor Patrick Insole of the Department of Ancient Languages at the University of Leeds, who has been unfailingly generous with his expertise on the Treesong, and most kindly permitted me to publish parts of his monograph on the subject in the Appendices.

Alison Croggon, Melbourne, Australia, 2004

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The Crow

The Crow is the third part of my translation of the eight volume Annaren classic text, the Naraudh Lar-Chanë (The Riddle of the Treesong). The enthusiastic responses of readers so far confirm for me my initial instinct that this story could move outside the cloisters of academic study and fulfil its initial function. This we know quite clearly, from a note attributed to Cadvan of Lirigon, which is inscribed on a forepage to one of the extant versions: the purpose of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë is, he says, to ‘delight all hearers’ and ‘to introduce those unfamiliar with Bardic Lore to the ways and virtues of the Balance’. Instruction, then, was important to those who wrote it down for their contemporaries; but its first intention was ‘delight’.

As for ‘instruction’: like the rest of the bewilderingly vast trove of parchment and reed-paper documents unearthed in Morocco in 1995 and known, increasingly misleadingly, as the Annaren Scrolls, this text repays study. It is one of the richest single sources for what we know of daily life in Edil-Amarandh, and gives us clear and vivid pictures of many of its peoples, from the complex Bardic cultures of the south to the various societies of the frozen plains of the north. It is quite likely that in its own time it served the same purpose as it does for us – that in part it was written to educate Annarens about the diversity of cultures amid which they lived – but unknown millennia later, this instruction has a special piquancy, bringing to life a civilisation now long vanished from the face of the earth. The translation I present here cannot pretend to have captured in contemporary English all the subtleties and intricacies of the original text, and for this I am sorry; but I hope to have captured at least some sense of its beauty and excitement. Those who wish to know more can find some sources of information in the appendices that I have included with each volume.

The first two volumes of Pellinor, The Gift and The Riddle, concern themselves with Maerad of Pellinor, a young Bard who discovers she is the Fated One prophesied to save her world from the rising darkness of the Nameless One. The Gift records her meeting with her mentor and friend, Cadvan of Lirigon, and their increasingly perilous journey to Norloch, the centre of the Light in Annar, in order to reveal her destiny and bring her into the power of her Bardic Gift. In the course of her quest, by chance or fate, Maerad finds her brother, Cai of Pellinor, whom she had long thought dead, and reveals the corruption that now lies at the heart of the Light in Annar. The Riddle traces her adventures with Cadvan as they flee the forces of both the Dark and the Light across the green lands of Annar and the frozen wastelands of the north, where she is captured by the Winterking, Arkan, a powerful Elemental being. It finishes on Midwinter Day, after her escape from his northern stronghold, Arkan-Da, and her discovery that the Treesong – or at least, half of it – is inscribed on the lyre that she inherited from her mother, and has owned since she was a child.

The Crow – originally books IV and VI of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë – shifts focus from Maerad’s story to that of her brother Cai, known as Hem. We last saw Hem when he parted from Maerad at the end of The Gift, as they fled Norloch; and now we pick up the story on his arrival with the Bard Saliman in the populous and ancient city of Turbansk. Here we see a society very different from Annar in many ways – despite the commonalities of Bardic authority – through the naive eyes of a bewildered young boy and against the darkening background of gathering war. The battle against the depredations of the Nameless One intensifies as the immortaldespot of Dén Raven (known more commonly in the south by his usename, Sharma) threatens to destroy all the cultures of the Light in Edil-Amarandh.

As in the previous volumes, for the purposes of this text I have treated Annaren as the equivalent of English and left untranslated some terms from other languages, in this case, most commonly, Suderain – the language spoken across both the Suderain and the Amdridh peninsula. A couple of Annaren experts have questioned this decision, arguing that in doing this I give a false sense of the centrality of Annaren and imply that it was an imperial language like global English, which, for all its wide usage, it was not. I can only note their objections here, and answer that it seemed to me to be the best solution at the time. I wish to point out, also, that the original text was, indeed, written in Annaren.

As I worked on the text, it was impossible to resist reflecting on how many parallels exist between our own time and this ancient story. Our world has darkened considerably in the early years of the twenty-first century, suggesting to this reader at least a contemporary relevance in some of the descriptions of war in the volumes that make up The Crow. The Naraudh Lar-Chanë’s sub-textual concerns about the relationship between human beings and the natural environment seem equally timely. It is, in part, a function of the universality of all art; but I can’t help reflecting sadly that it says little for the human race that we are no closer to resolving these questions than we were in the days when Bards and the Balance held sway.
I have now spent so long on this task of translation that it is almost impossible to imagine my life without it; and it is fair to say that I did not realise, when I began to translate The Gift, how much it would take over my life. And the work is still a long way from completion: there are still the final, and most difficult, two volumes before me. This is not a complaint: the many hours spent debating intricacies of Annaren syntax or the finer points ofBardic ethics, the days in libraries poring over ancient scripts or microfiche, attempting to decipher some arcane detail of life in the vanished realm of Edil-Amarandh, have been among the most rewarding in my life. And this work has made me many friends, both readers and those who have helped me in my research, who have enriched my life immeasurably.

As always, a work of this kind is created with the help of many people, most of whom I do not have the space to acknowledge here. Firstly, as always, I want to thank my family for their good-humoured tolerance of this obsessive work – my husband, Daniel Keene, for his support of this project and his proofing skills, and my children, Joshua, Zoe and Ben. I am again grateful to Richard, Jan, Nicholas and Veryan Croggon for their generous feedback on early drafts of the translation. Chris Kloet, my editor, has my endless gratitude for her unfailing support and sharp eye, which has saved me from many a grievous error. Among my many colleagues who have kindly helped me with suggestions and advice, I particularly wish to thank: Professor Patrick Insole of the Department of Ancient Languages at the University of Leeds for again permitting me to quote generously from his monograph on the Treesong in the Appendices; Dr Randolph Healy of Bray College, Co Wicklow, for his advice on the mathematics of the Suderain Bards; and Professor David Lloyd of the University of Southern California, for his acute and valuable analyses of the complexities of political power in Edil-Amarandh during many pleasurable conversations. Lastly, I would like also to acknowledge the courtesy and helpfulness of the staff of the Libridha Museum at the University of Querétaro during the months I spent there researching the Naraudh Lar-Chanë

Alison Croggon, Melbourne, Australia, 2006

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The Singing

It is with mixed feelings that I have at last finished my task of translating the Naraudh Lar-Chanë, the Riddle of the Treesong. On the one hand, I write this in the intense relief, not to say euphoria, that attends the end of any long labour; on the other, its completion will leave a large gap in my life. I will miss Maerad, Cadvan, Hem and Saliman and their many friends; in the past seven years they have become as real to me as anyone in my life. I feel as if I have journeyed with them and shared their joys and sorrows, and now I must leave them behind and turn to the more sober demands of my academic profession, from which this has been the most pleasurable diversion imaginable. The past three volumes translate the first six books of this great epic of Annaren literature. In The Gift, we follow Maerad’s adventures as she meets the Bard Cadvan of Lirigon, learns her destiny and true identity and journeys to Norloch, the great citadel of the Light in Annar, discovering her lost brother Hem on the way. In Norloch, Maerad and Cadvan find the Light is corrupted and are forced to flee as civil war beaks out among the Bards of Annar. In the second volume, The Riddle, Maerad travels with Cadvan to the frozen wastelands of the north in search of the Treesong. After a skirmish in which she believes Cadvan is killed, she journeys to the deep north, where she is told that half of the Treesong is written on her own lyre. On her way back, she is captured by the powerful Elidhu, Arkan, the Winterking, but escapes his clutches and is reunited with Cadvan.

The Crow shifts focus to follow Hem’s story. Hem travels with the Bard Saliman to thte city of Turbansk and is embroiled in the great battles in the south, when the Nameless One marches on the Suderain and lays siege to Turbansk. Hem’s dark journey to the Nameless One’s stronghold Dagra, in the heart of Dén Raven, is the nadir of the story. In The Singing, which consists of the final two books of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë, the story of the quest for the Treesong reaches its end. I will leave it to the reader to discover the story; but I will say that I probably enjoyed my task most in these final books. In the course of the books, we encounter some of the diverse cultures of Edil-Amarandh and we learn a lot about the place of Barding in this society, further details of which I have endeavoured to provide in the appendices in the three previous books. I have always considered this story more than just a mine for information about these cultures; in its own time, I have no doubt that it was treasured as much for its delights as its usefulness. The Naraudh Lar-Chanë is by popular tradition written by Maerad and Cadvan themselves, although some scholars dispute this authorship and claim it was written decades after their deaths, drawing from oral traditions. I have little interest in these arguments myself, just as I am not very concerned about the disputes about the authorship of Shakespeare’s plays; what has always excited me most is the story itself. For reasons that scholars can only guess, the histories come to an abrupt and unexplained end in about N1500, around 500 years after the events of the Naraudh Lar-Chanë. The most popular theory is that the civilisation of Edil-Amarandh was destroyed by a major cataclysm caused by a meteor striking the earth. Like so many aspects of Annaren lore, the truth remains a teasing mystery. All that is known for sure is that this fascinating society vanished, leaving nothing behind except the strangely enigmatic traces preserved in the Annaren Scrolls.

I owe thanks to so many people, that I do not have the space to acknowledge them all here. Firstly, as always, I want to thank my family for their patience and help over the years while I was working on this translation – my husband, Daniel Keene, for his support of this project and his proofing skills, and my children, Joshua, Zoe and Ben. I am again grateful to Richard, Jan, Nicholas and Veryan Croggon for their generous feedback on early drafts of the translation. I owe a special debt to my editor, Chris Kloet, whose sharp eye and good advice has improved on my own work beyond measure; it has been an unfailingly pleasurable collaboration. My debt to the generous and creative contributions of my colleague Professor Patrick Insole, now Regius Professor of Ancient Languages at the University of Leeds, is also beyond measure. Equally, I would like to thank my many colleagues who have so kindly helped me with suggestions and advice over what has now been many years of delightful conversations; they are too numerous to name, and I am grateful to them all – their help has been beyond price, and any oversights or errors that remain after such advice are all my own. Lastly, I would again like to acknowledge the unfailing courtesy and helpfulness of the staff of the Libridha Museum at the University of Querétaro during the months I spent there researching the Naraudh Lar-Chanë.

Alison Croggon, Melbourne, Australia, 2007

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