Stormhaven Glimpses are short pieces delving briefly into the lives of characters in the world of N’Ume. Any resemblance to real persons is not entirely coincidental, but is tangential rather than direct. These brief stories are offered as moments glimpsed in a mirror, strange and yet recognisable, but not portraits.
Aelaran and Giliane are among the Varethai (honoured elders) of Aelvargaria, the dense Elvakai forest-lands north of the Nar Mountains.
The climate of Aelvargaria is typical of the Far North: long winters, pale summers, and mists that linger among the roots of ancient trees. Yet Elvakai towns and villages are warm, many built around hot springs that rise from deep fissures in the stone. Steam coils through pine and fir, and even in the coldest months the forest breathes warmth.
Now past three hundred years of age, Aelaran and Giliane dwell in the long interval between full involvement in family and community, and complete withdrawal from the ties of embodied life. Among the Elvakai this phase is known as Vael’Sethira – the untying.
They remain members of the councils, though they seldom speak unless asked, and are no longer bound to decision or command. Their presence alone is considered sufficient.
They avoid crowds, and even among their own people they are seldom seen at festivals or assemblies. They walk often, and for long hours, through forests they know intimately – paths unmarked on any map, trees named only in memory.
Giliane believes that Au’um, the First and the Last, dwells in the forests. Aelaran believes that if Au’um exists, then Au’um dwells everywhere. Yet he loves the forests nonetheless – it is enough that they exist. When Giliane joins other devotees in the sacred groves – chanting the interminable histories of their peoples and invoking the blessings of Au’um – Aelaran listens politely.
To listen, he believes, is already a form of release.
On Au’um, Spoken and Unspoken
Across the peoples of N’Ume there exists an intuition so old that none remember its first naming. The wisest claim that it is whispered not only across cultures, but across worlds.
Among the Elvakai it is called Au’um. Among the Manakai it is spoken as mantra and affirmation, as Om and Amen. The Dwarakai carve it into stone without attempting to pronounce it. The Orakai carry it in the rhythms of drum and blood-beat rather than word.
Though its names differ, scholars and Light Keepers alike have noted a recurring pattern: Au’um is understood as both the First and the Last, the beginning of sound and the silence that follows it.
Some describe Au’um as the utterance by which the world came to be. Others say it is not a word at all, but the condition that makes words possible.
The Elvakai do not insist upon agreement. For them, Au’um is not an article of belief but a dwelling intuition – something one may walk within, listen for, or sing toward, without ever claiming to know.
The Light Keepers, when pressed, say that Au’um is an expression of the unity of the Way, the Truth, and the Light. The Light Warrior Issa Joshu once said that the Au’um that can be spoken is not the true Au’um – but that it must, nevertheless, be spoken.