“A human life and an indigo flower: the most beautiful ones, when cut, create other beautiful things.”

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Tamabono liked this proverb more than any other, for two main reasons. The first was that this phrase had been her namesake – the Injatamabono were the indigo flowers which grew outside her courtyard-house. The second reason was that, once she had grown old and wise, the woman had decided that the only proverbs worth reciting were those that had to do with life itself.

They hadn’t always been her favourites. As a foolish girl, yet to give her vase away, she had loved all proverbs that had to do with love. Once she was with children, she found those about motherhood comforting, touching, worrying. As she saw her daughters grow and enter their own marriages, she took great solace and amusement from those that illustrated with wit and brevity the opposing spirits of men and women.

As the autumn of her life drew to a close, however, she had come to the realisation that all those proverbs she had whispered as a girl, invoked as a woman and handed down as a mother could all be summarised into a handful of them: all of which begin with "a human life" and something else. Another one came to her mind that morning, as she gathered with the rest of the village.

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“A human life and a clay pot: if filled excessively, what is inside will not keep well.”

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She couldn’t count the times she heard that one throughout her life: from the times her mother would reprimand her at the family table, to the times the village's harvest had failed – a way to cope with what little they had, a way to see the brighness in something dark, virtue in difficulty. She looked around, peering at the people of her village, most of whom she had seen grow up: she could feel that same phrase go through their heads at the same time.

The people of Ireberâza, the ochre-yellow village, were neither surprised nor scared, that morning: they were very aware that their paddies could still offer a barren crop after all their prayers. On the shore, the whole village was watching the returning farmhands, and they knew full well that those men and women would not bring a happy answer. But one thing is to know that something could happen, and another is to feel once again an almost forgotten feeling, one only felt in those trying times. Years, almost a decade, had passed since the last failure of this size. The rice stored from previous harvests would save the village during bad years, and the domains of the Clan, the famous family that oversaw the paddies and groves around Iberâza, were growing so large that it would take a jinx or a spirit's punishment for all that land – all that wealth – to fail. And yet, that year it did; in the past , good harvest after good harvest, the villagers could not stop themselves from wondering when the Great mother of rôdo would prove herself infertile for her children. Their constant expectation had served as an antidote to fear, but the people had forgotten the dismay a man or woman can feel when they realise they are forgotten.

The birchbark canoes of the last farmhands glided over the waters of lake Sibozjivôro, cutting through its surface, perturbing the light mist that blanketed it. As the verdict became clear to every woman and man in the village, their eyes moved away from the lake and towards the figures at the centre of their congregation. Tamabono turned towards them as well: the entirety of the Clan was there, standing proud and visibly unperturbed in the midst of their people. One could make no mistake in identifying the leaders from the rest of the villagers. If the villagers’ shawls were rough, the hemp clothes of the Clan were finer, softer. If the villagers’ hair was braided in practical styles, the curls of the Clanmen and Clanwomen were oiled and left free to fall on their backs, collected in fine nets. Their hands were smoother, softer, painted with ochre. Their feet were covered in warm buffalo skin, protected from the muddy ground of the lakeshore and the crispness of that autumn morning.

Tamabono, named after the indigo flower, had been birthed in a world where the Clan was just one Clan. Her mother had been a niece of the Clan’s leader, back in the day – back when the men of the Clan did not seek to distance themselves from the very people who tended to their fields and kept their hearths going. She had seen that change throughout her life; first the lands of the Clan grew larger, then other families who requested the Clan's help or favours became subordinate to them, and finally they had become the most important voice in the village: the last to speak.

The people of the Clan had become something closer to spirits than men and women. Tamabono had quietly followed that change throughout her life, never questioning it, never mentioning it, but accepting it – if begrudgingly.

The villagers were speechless, and so the Clan was to have the first and last word. The leader of the men turned towards the Clan-mother – she nodded, he stepped forward.

“ Ireberazamai.” He said, calling his village to attention. “As you can see, the Mother Lake has not given us our share of her bounty, this harvest. This comes at a moment of great difficulty for the Clan and the village, as our stores sit nearly empty.”

The village murmured, almost growled in unison. It was exactly as they feared: a winter of tubers and long, watery soups. The clan would keep what little they had, the village would fend for themselves.

But the leader spoke again.

“However,” – that was enough to make the village quiet again – “There is another way to see through the months ahead. The lake might not have given us a rich harvest… but our clan is rich, and our wealth will save us.”

The village was now completely silent, puzzled.

“We will ask our ancestor spirits to grant us leave to remove some prised possessions from our treasury – fine crafts made by the woman of my clan, and others acquired from your homes to ours. We will ask them leave to take those treasures and give them to our neighbouring villages in exchange of whichever part of the rôdu harvest they can spare.”

New murmurs filled the air – different murmurs, cheerful. Only Tamabono was quiet, as she leaned on her stick and smirked.

The Clan would save the village from its misery: they have not become similar to divine spirits, they have become the Rôdu mother herself! In her wisdom and experience, Tamabono could see – perhaps the only one amongst the cheering folk – what this meant for the future of her village, what changes this would bring to the lives of her children, grandchildren and future descendants. But Tamabono, an old crone who had once belonged to the Clan but had then been forgotten, could not say or do anything to change that. That was the new path that her people were destined to pursue.

As the Clan returned to their home above the mound to prepare the necessary rituals, Tamabono was left with one last proverb.

“A human life and a stream: even when obstacles create a new path, they will end the same way.”

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The Arhada

The Arhada live in the southern reaches of Tritonea, known to them as Arānolo, along the coast of the lakes Sibozjivôro, Orohivôro and Nanamovôro. Despite the fact that they form different nuclei of settlements around those three lakes, the Arhada maintain consistent traits in their cultural, social and political dimensions and a sense of kinship amongst each other.

Way of Life

The Arhada rely extensively on agriculture for their sustenance. Aside from rôdo, their name for Zizania acquatica, they cultivate two increasingly important crops: lemesojo, (Typha Dominigensis) and mobo (Sagittaria macrocarpa), the domestication of which began around the shores of lake Nanamovôro, quickly spreading to neighbouring communities. The planting of these aquatic crops is organised in paddies that run along the coast of the lakes that the Arhada inhabit: the modest, seasonal houses of farmhands are built on stilts near to the fields. Because of the relatively forgiving climate of their regions, with more temperate winters and decidedly hot summers, the people of the southern lakes can count on another key resource, further away from the lake. Jaba trees (Pecan) are the latest domesticate aquired by Arhada farmers, who, having gathered pecans in their wild forests since time immemorial, have begun to experimenting with grafting around the first century BD, and soon redrawing the landscape of their inland forests. Carefully designed plantations of pecans, which also provide safe, enclosed spaces in which pastors can let their cattle roam, are more and more common. From the nut, they can press golden jaba oil, which serves both as a culinary staple and a luxury export for its application in cosmetics. Their landscape, thus, is effectively divided into two bands; one of paddies along the lakeshore and a band of groves in the interior. Beyond those two layers, there are hunting grounds on both sides: the lake, where they hunt fish, eels and waterfowl, and the wild forests where they hunt passenger pigeons as they migrate through their region, as well as larger game. In the middle of this organised system of food gathering are the villages, on dry enough land to be shielded from flooding and humidity but close enough to the lakes to collect their bounty.

Society and Politics

In these villages, at the start of the formative era, an increasingly specialised class of merchants, pottery makers, copper workers and aristocratic administrators has begun to form, quickly setting themselves apart from the rest. Residing in courtyard-plan palaces built on low mounds at the heart of their communities, these clans administer the work, assemble the fieldhands and lead the spiritual life of the villages. Clan palaces, which as the dawn begins are growing larger and larger, cater to a host of activities: it is a home for the noble clan or clans that live within it, a place of employement for their attendants, workers and favourites, and a place for storage. Within the courtyard of these palaces, in fact, two standalone buildings can usually be found: on one side a granary, where food surpluses are stored in plentiful years, on the other a treasury, where instead the families collect their most prized and valuable possessions: fine textiles died with blue *Tamabono –*indigo –, copper plates and jewels, high quality clay pots, pipes and oil vessels, sculptures and many other artful objects resulting from the growing specialistic crafts of the cities. Most of those objects are made by the women of the clan, who specialise in a craft while the men administer the work of the village and tend to the cattle; others yet are bought with wealth generated by extra food production or gifted as favours in a complex network of intra-village relationships. In years of poor harvests, when even the granary is not enough, clans will pull from this wealth as an insurance of sorts – through intricate relationship of gifting, favours and mutual aid with neighbouring clans, they ensure that the real wealth, sustenance, remains stable through the years, allowing for their communities to thrive. At the start of the formative, these relationship would begin to evolve from promises and oaths to true contracts, often ending in the dominance of one clan over another, or the amalgamation of two clans into one – either for a period of time, or forever.

Culture and Kinship

The Arhada have a strongly dualistic view of the world: everything good is symmetrical and has a balanced counterpart that completes it. This view translates to how they perceive gender roles. Men and women inhabit two different worlds: it's understood that men take care of external matters in politics, village and family life, while women take care of the internal ones, with equal dignity given to both roles. At the highest form, in the political sphere, this means that men are tasked with animal husbandry, administration of works outside the village and the maintenance of social networks with neighbouring communities. Women on the other hand deal with the internal matters of the village, pass judgement, and organise and manage their acquired wealth.

Family, being the definition of an internal matter, is run by the women: clan mothers give birth to Orōmo, the male leaders who act as the outside face of the clan. While the Ōromo of a clan may be its chief executive and representative, the council of the matriarch, heeded within the walls of their courtyard-homes are binding. Families are matrilineal, but marriage is not necessarily matrilocal: both men and women can marry outside of their clan, usually to seek admittance into a higher status one. When marrying outside the clan, their wealth will be their "life-pot" (see "Religion and Myth"). As the transfer of power goes from Mother to son, to sister to nephew, and the children of men do not inherit the wealth of the clan, a mother's life-pot is the only inheritance they would receive – the absence of true affiliation to their father's clan is what prompts most children of endogamously married men to marry outside their family, rather than inside.

Marriages outside one's community, on the other hand, are fairly uncommon, and as such the Matriarchs of a specific village will often keep detailed oral accounts of genealogical informations regarding all the families that live in a village. Their historical knowledge is deep and half seeped in myth – parables, stories and proverbs are associated with every generation as a mnemonic device, turning the genealogies of villages into something resembling epic poems.

Proverbs are a very important feature in the Arhada's daily life and understanding of the world – everyone knows a host of topical proverbs for any situation, and the correct usage of proverbs in conversation associated with prestige, wit and wisdom. Arhada proverbs mostly work by analogy, comparing disparate concepts through a short, poetic phrase. Proverbs are used as namesakes, both for people, specific years and whole generations, and they form a base of common understanding between strangers.

Religion and Myth

The myths of the Arhada are a patchwork of different beliefs, varying from lake to lake, from plain to valley. Their main beliefs centre around the Rôdu-mother and the Moon-father, the divine couple who regulate the fertility of the lake and the passage of time, respectively. These two gods have generated all the spirits of nature that inhabit the world and keep it alive and who in turn have created lower spirits, who have created "clan spirits", who are the progenitors of mankind. In this cosmological myth, the attention that the Arhada place in the furthering of generations, the creation of offspring and their lineage is evident: it's not a surprise that all their gods and spirits come in married pairs.

Twins are especially revered as a clear manifestation of the cosmological strength of two opposing energies – male and female twins more than anything else. Birth is an important occasion, but the birth of a twin will be seen as a blessing, and a feast will usually be held to honour it. The most important rites for the Arhada, however, are connected to marriage. The Harvest Feasts, perhaps the most important recurring celebration, are directed by two high standing members of the community chosen by the ruling Clans, who are ritually married and "lord and lady" of the celebration for the entirety of the festive period. Ritual weddings are also practiced by shamans and soul-speakers, who will have a second wedding, aside from their secular one, entering the "clan" of the spirits they dedicate their life to. Finally, weddings are also a pivotal moment of transition for any Arhada man or woman.

The tradition of the Ibosso hadân, "the pot of life" is a very widespread one in the lands of the Arhada. As a child grows into a marriageable young man or woman, a maturity feast will be held, for which the young person will have to craft a vessel – a clay pot or a cattail basket, heavily decorated, are the most usual choices. During the feast, to which only the family or the entire village may be invited, everyone will provide a valuable gift that will fill the vessel, which will then serve as the personal wealth of that person. Marriage for the Arhada means the exchange of those vessels: a woman will acquire her husband's basket, a man will receive her wife's vase. This system, other than creating an amount of personal wealth for whoever in the couple married exogamously, serves to reinforce strong cultural themes.