We should remember as we venture forth to grab the World by the throat that we can be as defenceless as young toads in the middle of a busy road, as bear-cubs amidst flaming pines, or as lice in the beard of a newly-buried monk. And on top of that, we should guard against loneliness, since this is the Seven Sorcerers’ playing-field! But even then, as we succeed in harnessing the power of the will as if we’re channelling the energy of the sun and moon, with the black-winged demons of fate filling the goetic mirror to overflowing, reality, the judge of life and deviser of death will put out pseudopods to kill, absorb, digest, and integrate our creations. At the same time, vile, mis-shapen spectres, half bat and half crab, will squirt the thick poison of envy on us, driving us to seek power, yearn for wealth, create tumult, and spark wars, at home and abroad, that will threaten to destroy all the Thorlin sooner of later. And having said all that, here’s the painful truth for you. We’ll never completely get rid of some basic aspects of the Thorlin’s condition, namely illness, suffering, and death, despite how hard we work. We won’t fashion an Alternate World containing, alive and well, every still-born child, every lover, best friend and beloved lost relative, every favourite dead pet, nor every mind that has perished before its time. But, believe me, the only thing to do to create our own salvation will be to keep at it with all our strength to make the best of the raw materials available to us right here in the present moment.

“Waking the Slumbering Giant”

Ms Sesiline Arian

 

 

When I was a child, I studied history in school till I was thirteen years old on the dot, when I was initiated by the Icy Princess and the Ministering Mistress into the Mysteries of the Triple Goddess and began my education, or rather my training (and my sacrifice), properly [1]. I worked to perform miracles from then on, but only under my own steam of course, as it turned out, without the help of any exceptional powers beyond myself at all. I don’t believe in them anymore, at least – well, after I gave them up to save poor Gertrude. And to think that it’s her who should have taken my place! Anyway, I was terrified hearing the truly colourful and violent stories, and learning about the old Yarls of Pretany, bearded and warlike, the Fathers of the Nation, and all their wives, and how they used to fight tooth and nail against the predatory jaws of the EGO in the old, old days at least. I used to love the stories about the Bloody Yarless too, and all the scheming, and poisoning, and exiling, and head-chopping. But most of all, I doted on the ones from abroad, from the Brown and Orange Zones, about the Wise Warrior-women and the Deadly Nurse, for instance.

 

However, I never learned about modern history at all, it was as if the Purple Paternalistic Party had forbidden it. After all, whoever tells the stories, rules the World. Having said that, almost every day when I was a nipper I would go for a walk with me Mam, Mistress of the Mansion, tearing about with my two brothers in the push-chair. And, of course, we’d journey down from the Bare Mountain, through the parks and along the sea-shore, where the Unknown Martyrs dismember their enemies with enormous daggers on top of the monument to the First Great Tribulation. And then, before starting homewards (uphill the whole way back!), we would play freely around the Crypt of the Heroes, running up and down, and practise reading the Etruscan words on the walls there. But now, I like to go and sit in peace there and think (I can’t move too quickly these days, anyway).

 

On the threshold of the new year, here I am making a special pilgrimage from my house as usual, although I am about to die myself soon enough, from my birthplace on the estate on Bare Mountain, through my childhood haunts in Hellsgate, to the promenade along Paupers’ Row. And there’s the Heroes’ Crypt, opposite the old Hospice for the Walking Wounded, looking unconcernedly across the bay. This is a striking example of an ancient ziggurat together with the carved images that try to celebrate the great sacrifices of war without bringing to memory any specific individual. But I cannot stop remembering those who died, or disappeared, or who were terribly maimed in body and spirit, during all the conflicts of this War of Attrition which has boiled over the face of the Scarred Planet for ever and a day, it appears. It’s about four o’clock, as I stand by the truncated pyramid in the salty drizzle, and the ruddy sky is spread like a blood-stained bandage on the horizon. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, so they say. But I, Blod·íhweth Mek·veztha Prok·ethra, cannot see but wounds, and decay, and a tide of thick, black fluid, rising to annihilate everything in sight.

 

Oh, dear, dear! No-one’s heard my middle name before now, which I got in a secret ceremony from the Princess Ylydra, or the Most Illustrious Ulí·uthlí, and my Mother the Mistress El·esí, that is Madam Elsthe. In general everyone uses the name “Blodeuwedd Procter.” The sound of the Old Mother’s Tongue makes my mind run wild, almost as if I were trying to cast a spell. But then the diabolical squawking of the imperialistic seagulls threatens to derail my thoughts, and my awareness turns inwards, as my eyes wander across the pictures of the most significant events in the Continental Conflict, remembering how we suffered. I notice myself sneering unintentionally, thinking how little young people in the next generation know about conflict and suffering.

 

They are children of the Second Scientific Revolution, after all, who swallow cocktails of synthetic drugs, and interface unthinkingly with previously unimagined technology, without knowing or caring in the slightest how they are acting. They’re not like us, the old ones, at all, who used to toss and turn in our beds all night, worrying about invaders from the Continent running wild in the streets of every town and village, raping and pillaging, about rivers of blood, about famine and cannibalism, and, worst of all, about the threat of eternal torture in the Bottomless Pit. And even considering the hidden mutations and the ever-present understanding that the Cruel Eyrth could be burned to a cinder by a fire-ball released by one Cyber-pharmaceutical Institute or another any time, they’re as happy as anything, the silly fools.

 

After spending considerable time meditating lately, here’s a collection of my thoughts about the Continental Conflict from the vantage-point of Kimbria (and Aberdydd in particular). So, I begin my contemplation, full of lessons learned and lost, in the hope that I can explain a little of our history to that trainee mentalist, who is so woefully ignorant about the pitiful story of these Lands and their part in the Endless Massacre –

 

It was millennia ago that the Great Commotion began, with a single shot or blow, perhaps, no-one can remember now (or maybe harsh words and wounded pride were at the crux of the matter). The Continental Conflict is just its latest incarnation, which has been wreaking havoc around us on the Northern Continent for the most part for several centuries now (there’s not much of any worth in the Southern Continent apart from the overly-educated savages and the more civilized swine, probably). And who knows what sparked that off? Not I. But it involved assassination, criminally purposeful failure of diplomacy, and an appeal to obscure treaties between the EGO, IAM, and GoLS, for sure [2]. The Fellowship of Franchised Freepersons, the faction in power in the Court of the Consular Council at that time, made commitments with one overseas land and another, only to reword or block the articles unilaterally at the least excuse, opening old wounds and causing truly destructive conflict. Without a doubt, this was the most lethal war in the history of the Weak and Decaying World, to combatants and civilians alike, to clerics and laity, to nobles and plebs.

 

I admire the Prysfenni stone on the Crypt of the Heroes, which is similar to the one built in the Chapel of the Scorched Saints in the Sepulchre of the Illiterate Illuminati in Taviston, which people used to call, jokingly, “Emerald Town” and the “Big, Bad City" [3]. There, in bronze, are the arms of Aberdydd, as well as wreaths, anchors, reliefs showing well-known religious scenes. And all this beneath the Etruscan inscription, “Vīrēs, Vērum, Lūmen” – “Strength, Truth, Light.” The enclosure is surrounded by heptagonal walls, with a gate in each corner. 

 

It was believed that “Ferōx Febris” (the “Ferocious Fever”) was overpowering the foreign people, very many of them unbelievers, causing them to want to make love to demons and then sacrifice their children before fighting to the death like wild animals. The Filthy Cities of the Northern Continent (Dratlé, Podobat, and Zumyá) were declared “Places of Extreme Evil,” and a “Purity Crusade” was launched to stem the tide of immorality that was inundating the Infected Areas according to the reports. The Holy Army depicted itself as full of noble, selfless freedom-fighters, civilized and enlightened saviours, overflowing with courage and moral superiority, who fought for justice, truth, and the one true faith. The adversary, of course, said quite similar things, although they gave voice to heresies regarding plurality of beliefs (or none), and about the universal brotherhood of the Thorlin. I must say here that there was no official policy of conscription in force in Pretany at that time. The authorities attempted to stir up the war-spirit in the populace by appealing to a combination of religio-political ideas such as rigid duty, blind courage, renown in death, fear of sin, and respect towards the hierarchy of the EGO and its teachings. Furthermore, posters appeared everywhere asking, “Is there a traitor at home?” The numbers in he ranks of the Holy Army increased, and it then began to sweep like a tidal-wave over the Continental Extremities.

 

As I lurk here, with multitudinous grains of cruel sand assaulting my eyes, I ask myself: does the responsibility of remembering come to an end with the ceremonies, the orations, the broadcasts, the prayers – all the empty words? I cannot for the life of me understand why we are permitted only to remember general principles, events and consequences, and those most elusive beasts, historical facts, rather than the actual individuals’ lives and personalities. Who were the men (and the women), the brave warriors, the most excellent patriots, who lost their blood for freedom, but who are never mentioned by name? What is the meaning of the words: living, dying, sacrifice? Where are we now: where shall we be in the future? Who shall make the choices, and how, and why?

 

There were corps of professional soldiers sent incessantly into battle through the ages, of course, and that was just as true during the Righteous Retribution. But there was a call for civilians too, especially for those who had exceptional mental talents or special physical prowess, and some sort of amnesty was granted if they were to come forward. The rows of Kimbric women and men who used to gather outside the pub named “The Blessed Fool” in Clapped-out Mill Street, Brookvale, in response to the unambiguous, univocal command by the Star Chamber and the EGO’s Priory of Permanent Purification were not professional soldiers, certainly not. To be honest, they were fathers and daughters, sisters and uncles, mothers, teenage children, and grandparents, clerks in the ecclesiastical and civil courts, manual labourers, people of keen faith, hopeless sinners, and wandering minstrels. Some would have said under their breath at that time that they were unrepentant apostates, mendacious recidivists, or secret anarchists. Jack was amongst the unwilling volunteers there, of course, many long years ago, either on a frosty but fine morning, or a sunny and rainy afternoon, trying to flee from the guilt that only the two of us know about, connected with poor Gertrude Llwynlesg [4]. Never mind that, everyone his reasons for heeding the words of the Public Voices, with shame and worry amongst the most obvious. They were the “Irregular Agents Extraordinaire” in the official records, but by the time they reached the Heart of the Continent, the “Lost Sheep” was the popular name for this motley crew, who marched forward chanting the couplet: “Let all the snakes pour forth, despite the ill they bode – / Things bad begun get worse, when wrong’s by good bestowed.”

 

After two years, every one of them would have been lost, more or less, and I cannot but enquire: What better way would there be of getting rid of troublesome enemies at home, who could not be eliminated by more obvious means? When saying “lost,” please note, I choose my words with care. One must bear in mind the echo of the word “disappear,” or, Good Heavens, the whisper of the idea of “escape,” also. The ordinances of the Supreme Father-Church prohibited listing the names of the souls who had died (in the Conflict or otherwise), even with the swords of justice in their bloody hands (or with a sniper’s bullet through their brains later on). It still does that, of course, after a fashion, although its strength is ebbing and its voice weakening now, as our new chimerical sisters and brothers become unable to understand the words, or unwilling to care about them if they do. But I have spent considerable time bringing to light as many details as it’s possible for a woman to discover. And now, here, today, although I do not believe in anything specific anymore apart from the reality of loneliness and the torturous compulsion to endure, I am almost praying for them, in my own way.

 

The Holy Army attacked the Continental coastline ferociously from every side, and succeeded in gaining considerable ground whilst pushing forward towards the otherworldly territory of the Heart of the Continent. Where they found the information on how to avoid the rustic guerrillas, the booby-traps, and the poisoned wells, no-one knows, although some claimed that traitorous allies from the Southern Lands, or alien entities in the form of terrible cowled monks supported them. When the Army seized land in any Commonwealth, Cooperative Community, Democratic Domain, Duchy, Federation, Kingdom, People's Protectorate, Principality, Republic, State, Territory, or Union, they killed on the spot anyone accused of performing “unseemly acts” of any sort at any time. But there, around the conurbations and cities of the heartland, they discovered that the natives had made an extremely harsh decision (but, with hindsight, and extremely wise one), choosing to despoil their own soil, and turn it into some semblance of a Deathly Planet full of acid rain, mutagenic rays, and flesh-eating and disease-carrying beetles. As a result, as it happens (some would say that it was through the Indescribable Mind’s providence that this occurred), as the Conflict proceeded, the two sides were almost matched, but in very different ways. The one was stronger by virtue of the number and strength of its soldiers together with their unquestioning obedience and readiness to sacrifice themselves (according to the official records); the other because of the innate common-sense of the local folk, their immortal survival instinct, their thoroughgoing knowledge of the land, and their ability to use treacherous ruses.

 

The Army realised it had met its match near the Clay Pits of Gmrza, where it could not push forward, nor gain any territory because of all the factors just described. Trenches were dug by the residents along the battle-front, defended with barbed-wire, and explosives, and connected by deep tunnels. These protected the fighters from the invaders’ guns and cannons. The Army crawled forward as far as it could, establishing a front 200 metres from the front of the Ghastly Guerrillas. Between the two fronts was no-man’s-land, which was open to attack from both sides. But despite the undeniable superiority of the one in arms, training, and organization, when these were pitted against the inexhaustible ingenuity of the other, one faction could not get the upper hand over the other.

 

In theory, the winner would be the side which possessed more resources. But in practice, the native defenders could take advantage of attackers’ ignorance regarding the geography of the unforgiving land, attacking at random by all accounts, like wild gorillas in the day’s ever-present mist, and like violent thieves under the cover of night. Then again, the ceaseless bombardment caused substantial losses to the natives, which debilitated and demoralized them. This intractable situation led to a war of attrition, full of frustration. The defining image of the Continental Conflict is a scene where a host of people, old and young, poor and wealthy, brave and cowardly, go over the top of the trench to attack the enemy in a cauldron as if found in the Bottomless Pit, filled with fire, mud, blood, and shouting. Even successful attacks would mean mass slaughter.

 

This is how it was. Klvkrt (or the Place of the Skull) is at the top of a steep hill, in the middle of open ground full of hollows, even today, probably. And there the soldiers of the Holy Army attacked the Continental Forces in a way which would establish a pattern for the fighting and lead to such destruction on both sides in due course. First of all, strangely, it appeared that there would be no resistance. However, as the combatants of the Holy Army approached, they hit upon a sustained and deadly onslaught of firing from mechanical guns. The survivors cowered in holes in the ground to avoid the poisoned darts. The Continental Forces descended, and there began confused fighting with fists and daggers amidst the devastated trees, the craters, the mud, the barbed-wire, the trenches, and the corpses. The Continental Forces were almost pushed back, but as night fell, it became impossible to decide who was who. Both armies bombarded the battlefield, and the fighters shot friend and enemy indiscriminately in terror. Despite all this, it was the Holy Army which prevailed in the end on this occasion. A thousand from Kimbria were killed there, including a hundred from Aberdydd {Poppy Red}.

 

The fact of the matter is that fighting in trenches did not succeed in achieving its aims, but fear not, there is no holding back the Thorlin’s deadly creativity. Over the next years and decades, developments in industry and technology came without warning from the Southern Continent, such as better artillery, more poisonous gases, and armoured tanks, which helped to worsen the destruction to both sides. On top of that, there were shockingly devastating air-raids, and terrifying attacks against people and leaders alike by the invisible assassins. And the Mechanical Mentalists of course, those miniature machines encapsulating the will of the psyops corps that penetrated everywhere, broadcasting their enchantingly tempting and irresistibly self-destructive messages. Great were the gifts of the Continental Conflict! But the more terribly the Holy Army tormented the Evil Enemy’s Forces, the more strongly they fought back, and this led to an intractable situation. And then, after the Outrage of the Slaughter of the Million Children, the Mothers’ Sly Rebellion took place, led by Sister Fox-Eyes, which brought the intractable hatred to a head (for a brief period at least) in rivers of blood indeed [5]. After the deluge receded, a sweeping political upheaval began.

 

Despite all the EGO’s and the PPP’s official, contemporary histories, one must ask: were all the Continental Forces monsters of iniquity in fact? Thinking in detail, and meditating about the matter through too many long, sleepless nights, I have come to the conclusion that “no” is indeed the correct answer: definitely not! We can refer to the experience of members of the Holy Army’s Medical Corps. To their great surprise, when they went to collect wounded persons who had been lying in no-man’s-land for days, some of the enemy came out of their trenches and helped to bury the dead rather than firing at them. It is no surprise that this does not appear in the authorized version of the events which is available to the uneducated and tame public these days. And that’s without mentioning the heretical fact which is mentioned by a few, namely that some amongst the helpers, that is, the hateful overseas enemies, were wearing a plaid kilt like in the Blue Zone; or a hessian tunic bleached white as chalk with a green belt around the waist, like in the Red Zone; or a long cloak of red and white cloth like in the Green Zone.

 

Only a small percentage of the brave (but, one has to say, crazy) people would come back from the Heart of the Continent alive and well, if they returned at all. The physical and metal scars were terrible. The Crypt of the Heroes’ foundation stone was laid by the Commandant General, the Yarl Challavas (a word, of course, which isn’t too different from Klvkrt), who survived the Conflict at least, without ever having to go to the front himself. Nevertheless, he succeeded in being responsible for leaving countless corpses strewn everywhere in the streets of the cities, the towns, and the villages, as well as in the trenches. Was the Conflict either a futile and extravagant venture, or an unavoidable necessity, I wonder? This remains a matter for discussion, say the National Historians, after all, who ask who can discern the Cosmic Power’s inscrutable will? The circumstances in the Ludicrous World surrounding the start of the Continental Conflict were especially difficult, they declare. We must restrain ourselves from investigating the events of yesterday with the sensibilities of today – confounding hyper-history with retrofuturism – they insist. This is a debate that has not been resolved by the best minds up till now, and so maybe never will be, according to the incredible experts in the Cloisters of Incorruptible Virtue [#].

 

But I have decided for myself through long consideration that Challavas (who was born into the Llwynlesg family, was called Llavascha on the Continent, and who proudly adopted the name Challavas after the Massacre at Klvkrt), in particular, was a ruthless butcher who sent “white doves” beasted on by “black ravens” to be sacrificed without reason, delighting in bloodshed. (The old Wizards used to say, rather hysterically in my opinion, that he was trying to focus some unseen power using a diabolical organic machine, and awake forces unknown to the majority of the Thorlin, which demanded a ceaseless supply of hot, black blood to live. After all, there has not been a single winner in this Conflict – apart from the truly ingenious and warmongering Llwynlesgs, of course – where the blood-letting continues even now, getting worse from day to day and tearing the Sad World to shreds. What a pile of stinking rubbish for you, say I. There’s no need to blame non-existent demons, considering how terribly Humanity can behave all on its own!) But then again, it is certainly true that the generals failed to adapt themselves to the relevant circumstances immediately, and, worse still, even after months and years of massacre. And then, on the Eve of the Mortification of the Impure Urges, four years after the Conflict started, about five thousand people from Pretany were killed on foreign soil in a botched attack.

 

Of course, it was the Government of Pretany that seized command over the Holy Army at last, but, at what cost? The Conflict caused poverty and adversity to those who were left in the homeland, especially in the Red Zone. By the end of the Conflict, the majority of families would have lost some relative, and some communities were destroyed entirely. Propaganda posters entreated people at home to support the war effort. Some asked, “What are you still doing here?”, while others declared “Complete Victory through Submission and Obedience.” At the start of the Conflict, many families came as refugees to Pretany from the Remote-lands, and many of them went to Aberdydd, joining an already-existing community there under the covert patronage of the Guild of Secrets, although nobody realised at all that this society had organised everything. They were welcomed, in the end, after considerable prejudice and suspicion to start with, and treated very well by the Kimbrians generally at that time, although the unofficial persecution by the Government was terrible, causing many to change their names and devise fake histories whilst integrating into the society about them. That is the period when the Old Mistress of the Manse on the Bare Mountain decided it would be socially responsible (and, she hoped, very profitable) to begin welcoming refugees and wounded combatants in our wonky but kindly home.

 

There were other unexpected consequences as well. Amongst those who stayed at home, the women cared for the children, and the men went to work in accordance with the sophologia of the Most Holy Church. But almost every clan lost some family-member, one way or another, either a man or a woman (or, sometimes, persons of both genders), and so there was, on occasion, need for some men to work in the house, and for some women to do men’s jobs. And so, in many homes, men were seen changing nappies, cooking, cleaning, sewing, and reading stories, while women in other communities worked in post-offices, factories, munitions factories, farms, businesses, and public transport companies. Because of the particular circumstances, the Hierarchy of the EGO could not oppose this, despite its enormous discontent, and its severe disapproval. (Although I cannot be totally sure about this, I suspect that many women began to get involved in activities that were dodgy if not illegal at that time, in order to make ends meet.)

 

When the survivors came home, the walking wounded, they encountered unemployment, a lack of housing, and a high cost of living. In truth, this was the Islands of the Disunited Kingdoms starting to lose their place as the economic powerhouse of the Pitiful World. Of course, the Holy Army, and the arms industry, depended on the pits, and the technology, and the chemicals, the majority of which were produced in Pretany. However, copper production in Kimbria had reached its peak some years before then, and as it began to become less important, many of the workers had gone to jobs in other industries using new technologies which were being developed at that time. Towards the start of the Conflict, considerable complaints were building up amongst these technologists over wages and conditions. Then again, it was considered by many amongst the working class that the Conflict was an unjust squabble between the ruling classes throughout the Stupid World. So, there was an awakening of consciousness regarding self-determination in Kimbria at least after the Continental Catastrophe, where it was imagined that the workers would unite in order to take command, beginning to oversee industry and society. (What a vain hope – what they got was poverty, starvation, and martial law, almost, under the name of the “Regional Security Committees.”)

 

In general, however, in response to the Continental Conflict, there arose throughout the Absurd World a rabid sense of populist nationalism which surpassed patriotism. In Pretany the PPP swept to power displacing the FFF, and in the wake of the marches, the public meetings, the rioting, and the looting, protests of any sort including going on strike became a criminal offence soon after {Protest}. About a quarter of a million national technologists, motivated by a feeling of injustice, challenged the new law. It is likely that many of them believed that they were brave to insist on their rights during a period of world-wide danger. Indeed, they proudly declared on their banners and pamphlets, and in their speeches, “There’s no traitors here!” The Chief Minister and Father of the Nation himself agreed to meet a deputation of the strikers, and although he promised to listen most carefully to their demands, when the spokesperson moved to pull papers from her rucksack, the holder of the office of Most Humble Minister gave a sign for the Pretanic Guard [6] to shoot them straight away, and then claimed they were cowardly traitors from the Heart of the Continent who were about to kill him, and who deserved to be sent without delay to the Bottomless Pit more than anyone else. The Wonderful Counsellor (his own name for the office) was absent from Government House so often as a rule that a large percentage of the populace murmured it would be better being governed by a block of clay, or a tub or lard, or a chunk of coal, and many of them were delighted to get to see him in the flesh as it were, for once at least.

 

So wild were the nationalistic feelings in Pretany’s Pink Zone that the Government was applauded for these murders, and from then on, the Oppressive Zone would be its name on the lips of the inhabitants of the other Zones. That is when the yearly awarding of National Honours for Deserving Vassals was instituted in order to reward friends and supporters of the Government and those who had given it enough money, as well as successful sportspersons, popular entertainers, public servants, and a few commoners under the patronage of the high-ups who had done their jobs uncomplainingly under difficult circumstances, not to mention members of the nobility who needed extra honour (and cash). Of course there would be very few whom the majority agreed to have truly merited a prize, but the crazy media frenzy satiated the masses most of the time. In due course this contemptible free-for-all for celebrity would develop into the Glorious (and very profitable) Lottery {Celebrity}.

 

The folk of Pretany partook of similar, distressing, experiences, and through this, national identities became entwined, although the Red, Green, and Blue Zones were treated worse than ever even then in terms of finance, and self-government. In the political sphere, the grip of the Yarls’ Proletarian Councils was shattered in one of its strongholds, while the strength of the Purple Paternalistic Party increased. In the field of religion, many unwilling believers demanded to know why the sparks of the Incomprehensible Illumination were so obviously absent in the trenches, in those Bottomless Pits on our Wounded World. When a few brave souls dared to begin answering, increasingly loudly: “They are buried in the eternal darkness of Heli-hrelí, if they ever smouldered mute and powerless,” there followed a crisis of faith, without anything to fill the gap. In Kimbria, uncertainly and affliction displaced self-confidence and hope, and defining characteristics of Kimbric identity, such as language, neighbourliness, limitless artfulness, and a very black sense of humour, became weaker.

 

The Kimbrians and the Ilknish wove different tales about the Continental Conflict (the experiences of the Skalbers and the Eyrwians reflected those of the Kimbrians without a doubt). That is because there is a paradox in the collective consciousness of the Kimbrians (and the others). On the one hand, they could, as subjects (although most unwilling ones) of the Confederation of Pretanic Coloured Zones, accept that they were forced to fight for Islands of the Disunited Kingdoms. On the other hand, many of them were disillusioned by partaking in the Oppressive Pink Zone’s War, under the heel of what was seen as the “Pink Empire,” which betrayed community, faith, peace, anti-militarism, and the feeling of belonging to the Keltic Family. Furthermore, a sense of brotherhood between the various nations and myriad tribes arose across the Continent at that time, which would destroy the Pink Empire in due course.

 

All told, the Conflict was a disaster for Kimbria, which suffered disproportionately compared with the rest of the Islands of the Disunited Kingdoms, and the after-effects were highly significant in the history of the land. It tested Kimbria’s national spirit almost to destruction, and the ridiculous idea that the Red Zone (that is Kimbria) was equal to other Zones of Pretany, and with other members the Pink Empire across the Blind World was shattered. Heavy industry in Kimbria continued to deteriorate, and many more workers moved to the Pink Zone looking for jobs. Only seven years after the beginning of the Conflict, the flourishing of tin mining had also ceased. The societal milieu in Kimbria was even worse than in the rest of the Foolish World, as the EGO and the PPP fought ferociously against each other on home soil to start with and then began to cooperate in regulating the lives of the common people for the most part, in the minutest particulars, in order to cement their power. From then on and forevermore, it would be one rule for the Members of Government House and the Hierarchy of the EGO, and another rule for everyone else. The rule of law had died, as well as any semblance of moral authority in the Church.

 

The Continental Conflict was not a war like any other that had been before. In the wake of the strife, there had been sweeping changes across the whole Weeping World. In the Terrifying Conference in the Black Mountains of Kharsag, “The Conflict to Eliminate All Evil” was the name given to the war, and the ratification of many new and oppressive pacts was forced through. At that time, conditions were placed, boundaries were relocated, colonies were redistributed, and nations were created and liquidated. However, as it happens (and according to the secret plan of the shadowy cabal of governors, it is obvious now), a “treachery to put an end to peace forever” was this Conference indeed. It was psychological and practical results of the Conflict and the Conference, namely economic depression and a surge of nationalism within nation-states, which sowed the seeds of the next Great Commotion. The Weak Planet could not give up fighting, and the hostilities began once again, almost straight away. Needless to say, the slaughter has not abated even now. And still the spikni grows wild on the battlefields of the Northern Continent (especially at Kalormen and Veryalat), where the soil is stained dark red by the blood of the two sides that was spilled there.

 

Now we reach another anniversary of the start of the Continental Conflict. The Horrifying World today is different in some respects, but it is exactly the same as the old dispensation in many other important ways. Now, we are drowning in a cauldron of overwhelming uncertainty, having to fight wars on our own homeland against mentalist terrorism everywhere, a gradual but ever-increasing deterioration of morality, economic ruin, and endemic social disharmony – as oligarchic governance, no matter how unpalatable that was, fails, and criminal gangs of dealers, and pushers, and profiteers, and charlatans, and black-marketeers dare to operate openly without fear of chastisement, or punishment, or official reprisal.

 

And that is not to mention the obvious and unsettling changes in the physiological form and demeanour of the species that was once the Thorlin, whilst the spectre of the plague stalks the burning streets. Perhaps the Government’s “artificial brains,” or its “professional sloganeers,” or its “nudge-machines” will actually save us this time (well, a woman must live in hope, I suppose!). After all, almost no-one is left who can recount the terror and fearlessness of the trenches: the stench of the filthy places where disgusting beetles scurried, the sound of the fighting, the combatants’ screaming and praying, the blood mixed with muck and rain. By now, they are dumb things which have been cast out from the land of the living and the comforts of old-age, their blind eyes loosing frozen tears, and their lifeless fingers clutching the grave-soil in vain. Perhaps, sometime, we will long unconsolably in silence for the voices, the counsel, the strength, of the old Holy Warriors, in Kimbria at least.

 

As I perch there, considering the melting view around the Crypt of the Heroes in sullen silence (well, apart from the ear-splitting foreign curses of the gulls), it strikes me that nature of the Thorlin, that is Human characteristics, can be so perverse. We cannot decide whether history is factual or fantastic; whether reasoning or tale-telling governs it. Despite that, we talk so loudly about learning from it. But we do nothing but pay lip-service, whilst choosing to make the same mistakes over and over, and doing so criminally easily. We celebrate cutting out old lies whilst transplanting new ones. We look for the splinter in our Sister’s eye, whilst failing to consider the plank in our own; abuse, torture, and eradicate other creatures and species with relish; and claim to punish everyone else’s sins whilst drowning in sewers of impurity (especially in Government House, in the name of the Lovely But Terrible Old Goddesses!). And the war, and the killing, and the burning still scars the face of our Sickly Planet.  But the time for warring has gone. Now there is need for those of us remaining to make good the past, understanding that the opposite of destruction is not peace, but constant renewal.

 

As the Wintertide breeze’s persistent fingers ceaselessly harass the statue of the Terrible Warriors, the words of the old spell-chants call on me strongly still, although I do now know what they mean, nor how one can use then, because the Goddess’s ways are totally different. The daughters of the wind and the sons of the rain are the ones who dare to dream, whilst playing the immortal music, singing the old songs, and dancing barefoot and wild on the wet pasture beneath the Pale Moon. Only they now tell the true tales of the cities conquered and shattered, the lost crowns, and the glorious empires crushed under the insistent beating of time's sightless wings. They prefer mournful streams, bare mountains, and lonely waves over deafening streets paved with fat, and sweat, and fear, those who have been abandoned by false civilization and all who follow its treacherous ways. In nature's bosom they still jump, and prance, and shake the Unreal World to its roots. And there they lament, wailing and sighing, the demise of Nin-vethí in a lake of liquid fire, and foretell with a smile the rebirth of Biblael from beneath the green waters of oblivion. But I am not part of all that anymore.

 

I have tried to consult the entrails and the breastplate, but have failed utterly. And so, I salute those Wizards of long renown who were once amongst us but who have now disappeared almost completely, the Lost Sheep who escaped (for the most part, from the hatred of the EGO, the fear of the PPP, and the wrath of both). But I do not wish that they rest in peace forevermore. Instead of that, I pray to the heedless stars above that they return before it is too late. Not because we need them to accomplish anything important, of course, but just so that they can do penance, and pay the terrible price for their negligence and their failings; so that their sacrifice and their loss might do a little, perhaps, to help rid us of the cancer feeding on the Desperate Planet.

 

And then we might begin to overcome the Company of Clowns in power at present, who imagined they could succeed in ruling the Stubborn Eyrth by creating an infectious virus and releasing it, under the patronage of an enchantress and her son from overseas. But they had not realised that Deathly Dragons exist, which cannot be commanded by anyone who does not possess most unusual abilities. And that’s why the Exhausted World and the Blasted Church are on the verge of extinction now – as well as me myself, the failed priestess, who has almost reached the end of her long and burdensome, but, I must say, very satisfying, journey.

 

 

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[1] From "Memoir of a Useful Life” by Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann. — P.M.

 

[2] The Independent Association of Merchants (that is, the future MMU), and the Guild of Licensed Storytellers. — P.M.

 

[3] The first name came from Nilroth’s Tablet of Destinies, that is the Emerald Tablet, which promised every blessing, and delivered them all, but without ever providing what was desired by the seeker. And the second originated in the Story of the Most Beautiful Princess Helhen and the Charming Prince Thavoh, as the name for the capital city of the Land of Truth and Goodness after they let it go to pot. Now everyone says “The Home of the Utterly Incompetent Brigands,” without a smidgen of a smile on their glowering faces. — P.M.

 

[4] It is very interesting (although extremely sad, too) to read that Blodeuwedd was so convinced it was Jack who had hurt Gertrude, when many others insisted that it was David. But, the most important thing, despite this shameful situation, is that Gertrude recovered in her own time, and went on to be a renowned composer, and one I respect very much, as you know. And maybe the Brothers Procter have both received their just desserts by now. — P.M.

 

[5] It should be noted that this name is certainly hyperbolic, based, probably, on the Continental tendency of referring to any large number as a "million." So, the correct figure could have been 196 (14 to the power of 2), 16,384 (2 to the power of 14), or 823,543 (7 to the power of 7) at the outside. — P.M.

 

[6] That is, the “Pink-rose Praetorians," who are managed by "Krondí's Budyguards and Mercenaries," a subsidiary of Llavascha International Ltd. The majority of them come from the shores of the internal sea of Aradni on the island of Ardine in the Gulf of Ziwrpws. — P.M.

 

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[#] EDITORIAL NOTE. The irony of this name became completely obvious in the time of Leskov, the worst Chief Minister in Pretany's frightful history who spent all his time plotting (or hiding) in his extremely tasteful and totally impenetrable "war bunker" below the Gorgeous Dwelling with its priceless Pazran lizard-skin rugs as well as the beds and sofas stuffed with the hair of his multitudinous progeny. (Well, where else would the Great Pretender be supposed to work?) And from there he would constantly declare that he trusted in the abilities of his specialists in this Office as much as, if not more than, in his own substantial mind (he had attended the most costly educational establishments, after all). "Follow the path not travelled by the mob, and put your faith in the intuition of the wise masters, more than in life and truth, and more than in statistical principles, scientific data, and logical reasoning, for sure," was his over-the-top rallying-call. Well, that's what it sounded like anyway, when he prattled and mumbled so wildly in his meandering declamations, using Etruscan or Old Heladic usually. The upshot was that no-one could understand beyond all doubt what the meaning of his inexplicable monologues was. But then he would use the officials of this ancient department of the Oldest Convocation to obfuscate the situation and take the blame for him whenever he forgot, mis-spoke, messed up, distorted the facts, deceived, stole, broke his promises, or told barefaced lies (without respite, therefore).

 

Good examples of this (amongst hundreds) are the Mysteries of the Private Communication Device and the Compromised Official Data, and the Case of the Totally Illegal Parties Attended by the World and His Wife. Indeed in the end untruths were flying from the Cloisters like grains of pepper from a grinder so quickly that they caused everyone who heard them to sneeze uncontrollably, either laughing fit to burst or swearing like a trooper. That's when, and why, Father of the Nation Leskov began to be called "Pepper Pig." (Some would say that he got to look like one of those lovely and intelligent – but terribly misunderstood for the most part – beasts from the Southern Continent, which had been slandered so severely by the EGO since the time when the demon Az-mothus and his brothers were cast out and put into them, allegedly. Rumour had it that he was very fond of the cute squealers – on his plate, and in several other more sinister ways – and that he was the proprietor of a vast pig-farming empire in foreign parts.)

 

And then, after the dust settled, when the fallen unelected counsellors and the criminal external consultants from overseas lost their jobs and were immediately promoted to their inconsequential but very profitable seats on the scarcely-mentionable Plebeian Council over and over, a distressed and wrathful cry arose, exclaiming, "Never trust the experts again!" When the confidence of the public in their legally-appointed representatives and the great machines of governance deteriorates so much, it's no surprise to see that they start to put their faith in the messages of partisan and unofficial pressure groups. That is exactly what happened here, with Leskov and his crew profiting on the sly in the craftiest of ways (these groups were in fact under the clandestine patronage of the Star Chamber). With the common-folk torn between hatred and complete incredulity, this tactic of divide-and-rule worked like a charm. — D.B.P.

 

 

Dylen ni gofio wrth fentro allan i gydio yn y Byd gerfydd ei wddw y gallwn ni fod mor ddiamddiffyn â llyffant ifanc yng nghanol ffordd brysur, â chenau arth ymhlith coed pin ar dan, neu â llau ym marf mynach newydd ei gladdu. Ac ar ben hynny, dylen ni ochel unigrwydd, gan taw cae chwarae’r Saith Swynwr yw hwn! Ond hyd yn oed wedyn, wrth i ni lwyddo i harneisio grym yr ewyllys fel petaen ni’n sianeli egni’r haul a’r lleuad, a cythreuliaid ffawd â’u hadenydd duon yn gorlenwi’r drych gorcheiniol [goetic], bydd realiti, barnwr bywyd a dyfeisiwr marwolaeth yn tyfu ffugdraed i ladd, amsugno, treulio, ac integreiddio’n creadigaethau ni. Ar yr un pryd, bydd rhithiau ffiaidd â ffurf afluniaidd yn hanner ystlum a hanner cranc yn chwistrellu arnom wenwyn trwchus cenfigen, gan ein gyrru i ymofyn pŵer, dyheu am gyfoeth, creu cymhelri, a thanio rhyfel, gartref a dramor, a fydd yn bygwth dinistrio’r Thorlin oll yn hwyr neu’n hwyrach. Ac wedi dweud hynny oll, dyma’r gwirioned poenus i chi. Ni fyddwn ni fyth yn cael gwared yn llwyr ar rai agweddau sylfaenol ar gyflwr y Thorlin, sef salwch, dioddefaint, na marwolaeth er gwaethaf mor galed y gweithiwn ni. Ni fyddwn ni’n llunio mewn gwirionedd Fyd Amgen yn cynnwys, yn fyw ac yn iach, bob baban marwanedig, pob cariad, ffrind gorau a pherthynas annwyl colledig, pob hoff anifail anwes marw, na phob meddwl sy wedi trengi cyn ei bryd. Ond, credwch chi fi, yr unig beth i’w wneud i greu’n gwaredigaeth ein hun fydd dygnu arni â nerth deng ewin i wneud y gorau gyda’r deunyddiau crai sy ar gael i ni yn y presennol yn awr. 

 “Dihuno’r Cawr yn Cysgu”

Ms Sesiline Arian

 

 

Pan o'n i'n blentyn ro'n i'n astudio hanes yn yr ysgol nes mod i'n dair ar ddeg yn union, pan ges i’n ynydu gan y Dywysoges Iasoer a’r Feistres Fugeiliol yn nirgelion y Dduwies Driphlyg, ac fe ddechreuodd f’addysg, neu yn hytrach fy hyfforddiant (a’n aberth) i, yn wir [1]. Nes i weithio i gyflawni gwyrthiau o hynny ymlaen, ond dim ond ar fy liwt fy hun wrth gwrs, fel y digwyddodd hi, heb gymorth pwerau eithriadol y tu hwnt i’n hunan o gwbl. Dw i’m yn credu ynddyn nhw mwyach, o leia – wel, ar ôl i fi roi’r gorau iddyn nhw wrth frwydro nerth deng ewin nhw i achub Gertrude druan. A meddwl mai hithau a ddylai gymryd fy lle i! Be bynnag, fe gawn i ‘mrawychu wrth glywed y straeon gwirioneddol liwgar a llawn trais, a dysgu am hen Yarliaid y Pretaniaid yn farfog a rhyfelgar, Tadau’r Genedl, a’u gwragedd i gyd, a sut ro’n nhw’n arfer brwydro yn erbyn safnau ‘sglyfaethus yr EFE yn yr hen, hen ddyddiau o leiaf. Ro’n i’n caru’r straeon am yr Yarles Waedlyd ‘fyd, a'r holl gynllwynio a’r gwenwyno, a’r alltudio, a thorri pennau. Ond yn fwyaf oll, ro’n i’n dwlu ar y rhai o dramor o’r Parthau Brown ac Oren, ynghylch y Rhyfelwragedd Gall a’r Nyrs Farwol, er enghraifft.

 

Fodd bynnag, ddysgais i ‘rioed am hanes modern o gwbl, roedd fel ‘sai’r Blaid Baternalistig Biws wedi’i warchod. Wedi’r cwbl, pwy bynnag sydd yn adrodd y stori a reola’r Byd. Wedi dweud hynny, bron bob dydd pan o'n i'n grotes fach, elwn i am dro gyda’n Mam, Meistres y Mans, gan wibio o gwmpas gyda'r ddau frawd yn y gadair wthio. Ac wrth gwrs bydden ni'n teithio lawr o’r Mynydd Llwm, drwy'r parciau ac ar lan y môr, lle mae’r Merthyron Anhysbys yn darnio’u gelynion â dagrau enfawr ar ben y gofeb i’r Cythrwfl Mawr Cyntaf. Ac wedyn, cyn cychwyn adre (lan rhiw yr holl ffordd yn ôl!), fe fydden ni'n chwarae'n rhydd o gwmpas Crypt yr Arwyr, gan redeg lan a lawr, ac ymarfer darllen y geiriau Etrwsgeg ar y waliau. Ond bellach, dw i'n lico mynd i eistedd yn llonydd yno a meddwl (dw i’m yn gallu symud yn rhy gyflym erbyn hyn ta be).

 

Ar drothwy’r flwyddyn newydd, dyma fi’n gwneud pererindod arbennig o’m tŷ fel arfer, er fy mod ar fin marw’n fuan, o le’n enedigaeth ar y stad ar y Mynydd Llwm, trwy fro’n mebyd ym Mhyrth-y-Fall, tuag at y rhodfa ar hyd Rhes y Tlodion. A dyna Grypt yr Arwyr, gyferbyn â hen Hosbis y Clwyfedig ar Draed, yn edrych yn ddigyffro dros y bae. Mae hwn yn enghraifft drawiadol o sigwrat hynafol ynghyd â’r darluniau cerfiedig sy’n ceisio dathlu aberthau mawr rhyfel heb ddwyn i’r cof unigolion penodol. Ond dw i ddim yn gallu peidio â chofio’r rhai a fu farw, neu ddiflannu, neu gael eu hanafu’n enbyd o ran corff ac enaid, yn ystod holl wrthdrawiadau’r Rhyfel Athreuliol hwn sydd wedi bod yn berwi dros wyneb y Blaned Greithiog byth a beunydd, mae’n ymddangos. Tua phedwar o’r gloch ydy, wrth i fi sefyll ger y pyramid blaendor yn y glaw mân, hallt, a thaenir yr awyr rudd fel lliain gwaedlyd ar y gorwel. Coch i fyny, teg yfory, meddan nhw. Ond finnau, Blod·íhweth Mek·veztha Prok·ethra, sy ddim yn gallu gweld ond briwiau, a phydredd, a llanw o hylif trwchus, du’n codi i ddileu popeth mewn golwg.

 

O, diar, diar! Does neb wedi clywed f’enw canol cyn hyn, a ges i mewn seremoni gyfrinachol gan y Dywysoges Ylydra, neu’r Ddisgleiriaf Ulí·uthlí, a’n Mam y Feistres El·esí, hynny yw Madam Elsthe. Yn gyffredinol, mae pawb yn defnyddio’r enw lleol, “Blodeuwedd Procter.” Mae sain Iaith yr Hen Fam yn gwneud i’m meddwl garlamu, fel petawn i’n ceisio bwrw hud, bron. Ond wedyn dyna wawchio cythreulig y gwylanod ymerodraethol yn bygwth fy nrysu, a thry fy ymwybyddiaeth tuag at i mewn, tra crwydra fy llygaid ar draws y lluniau o ddigwyddiadau pwysicaf y Gynnen Gyfandirol, gan gofio sut y dioddefem. Dyna fi’n sylwi fy mod yn glaswenu’n anfwriadol, o feddwl cyn lleied y mae pobl ifanc yn y to sy’n codi’n ei wybod am gynnen a dioddefaint.

 

Plant oes yr Ail Chwildro Gwyddonol ydynt, wedi’r cwbl, sydd yn llowcio coctels o gyffuriau synthetig, a’u cysylltu’u hunain yn ddifeddwl â ffurfiau ar dechnoleg nas dychmygid o’r blaen, heb yn wybod na’n malio’r un daten, sut y gweithredant. Nid ydynt yn debyg i ni’r henoed o gwbl, a oedd yn arfer troi a throsi yn ein gwelyau trwy’r nos gan boeni am oresgynwyr o’r Cyfandir yn mynd yn wyllt ulw yn strydoedd pob tref a phentref gan dreisio ac ysbeilio, am afonydd o waed, am newyn a chanibaliaeth, ac, yn waethaf oll, am y bygythiad o artaith dragwyddol yn y Pwll Diwaelod. A hyd yn oed rhwng y cellwyriadau cuddiedig a’r ddealltwriaeth hollbresennol y gallai’r Ddaear Greulon gael ei llosgi’n lludw gan dân-belen wedi’i rhyddhau gan y naill Sefydliad Seiber-fferyllol neu’r llall unrhyw bryd, maent fel y gog, y twpsod gwirion.

 

Ar ôl hala cryn amser yn myfyrio yn ddiweddar, dyma gasgliad o'm meddyliau am y Gynnen Gyfandirol o safbwynt Kimbria (ac Aberdydd yn enwedig). Felly y dechreua fy synfyfyrdod, yn llawn gwersi wedi’u dysgu a’u colli, yn y gobaith o allu esbonio ychydig o ran ein hanes i’r feddyliaethyddes dan hyfforddiant honno, sydd mor resynus o anwybodus am stori druenus y Gwledydd hyn a’u rhan yn yr Alanas Anorffen —

 

Filenia yn ôl y cychwynnodd y Cythrwfl Mawr ag un saeth neu drywaniad, efallai, nid oes neb yn cofio bellach (neu ddichon mai geiriau llymion a brifo balchder a orweddai ar wreiddyn y mater). Dim ond y ffurf ddiweddaraf arno yw’r Gynnen Gyfandirol sydd yn creu hafog o’n cwmpas ar yr Cyfandir Gogleddol gan mwyaf ers sawl canrif bellach (does fawr o bwys ar y Cyfandir Deheuol ar wahân i’r anwariaid rhy ddysgedig a’r moch gwarach, siŵr o fod). A phwy a ŵyr beth a daniodd honno? Nid finnau. Ond yr oedd hi’n ymwneud â bradlofruddio, pall troseddol o bwrpasol ar ddiplomyddiaeth, ac apelio at gytundebau astrus rhwng yr EFE, CAM, ac UST i sicrwydd [2]. Gwnaeth Brodoriaeth y Bwrdeisiaid Breiniol, y garfan mewn grym yng Nghwrt Cyngor y Consyliaid y pryd hynny, ymrwymiadau â’r naill wlad dramor ar draul y llall, dim ond i ail-eirio neu atal yn erthyglau yn unochrog ar yr esgus lleiaf, gan agor hen friwiau a pheri gwrthdaro tra dinistriol. Y rhyfel mwyaf marwol yn hanes y Byd Gwan a Darfodedig ydoedd heb os, yr un fath i ymladdwyr ac i sifiliaid, i glerigwyr a’r lleyg, i’r bendefigaeth a’r werin.

 

Rwy’n edmygu’r garreg las o Brysfenni ar Grypt yr Arwyr, sy’n debyg i’r un a adeiladwyd yng Nghapel y Seintiau Llosg ym Meddrod yr Ilwminiaid Anllythrennog yn Nhref Dafwys a adwaenid yn gellweirus gan bobl fel “Tref Emrallt” neu’r “Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg" [1]. Dyna, mewn efydd, arfbeisiau Aberdydd, yn ogystal â thorchau, angorau, cerfweddau’n dangos golygfeydd crefyddol hysbys. A hyn oll o dan yr arysgrif Etrwsgeg, “Vīrēs, Vērum, Lūmen” – “Nerth, Gwir, Golau.” Amgylchynir y caeadle â muriau seithochrog, a phorth ym mhob cornel.

 

Credid bod “Ferōx Febris” (y “Cryd Cynddeiriog”) yn gorlethu’r bobl ddieithr, a llawer iawn yn anffyddloniaid, gan beri iddynt ddymuno caru gyda chythreuliaid ac wedyn aberthu’u plant cyn brwydro hyd angau fel bwystfilod gwylltion. Datganwyd Dinasoedd Budron y Cyfandir Gogleddol (Dratlé, Podobat, a Zumyá) yn “Lleoedd tra Drygionus,” a lansiwyd “Rhyfelgyrch dros Burdeb” er mwyn rhwystro’r afonydd o anfoesoldeb a ysgubai dros yr Ardaloedd Afiach yn ôl yr adroddiadau. Y Fyddin Lân a ddarluniai ei hunan yn llawn o ymladdwyr dros ryddid, nobl ac anhunanol, gwaredwyr gwâr a goleuedig, a orlifai o lewder a rhagoriaeth foesol, a frwydrai dros gyfiawnder, gwirionedd, a’r un gwir ffydd. Fe ddywedai’r gwrthwynebwr bethau eithaf tebyg hefyd, wrth reswm, ond lleisient gamgrediniaethau ynghylch lluosogrwydd credau (neu ddim), ac am frawdoliaeth fyd-eang y Thorlin. Rwy’n gorfod dweud yma nad oedd polisi o orfodaeth filwrol mewn grym ym Mhretania y pryd hwnnw. Fe geisid symbylu’r ysbryd rhyfel ymysg y boblogaeth gan yr awdurdodau trwy apelio at gyfuniad o syniadau crefyddol-wleidyddol fel dyletswydd lem, gwroldeb dall, bri mewn marwolaeth, ofn pechod, a pharch difeddwl at Hierarchaeth yr EFE a’i dysgeidiaethau. Ymhellach, ymddangosai posteri ymhobman yn gofyn, “Oes ‘na fradwr gartre?” Cynyddai niferoedd yn rhengoedd y Fyddin Lân, a dechreuodd ysgubo wedyn fel ton lawn dros Gyrion y Cyfandir.

 

Wrth imi lechu yma, a gronynnau fyrdd o dywod creulon yn ymosod ar fy llygaid, rwy’n gofyn i’m hun: a ddaw’r cyfrifoldeb o gofio i ben â’r seremonïau, yr areithiau, y gweddïau, y darllediadau, y gweddïau - y geiriau gweigion oll? Nid wy’n gallu deall dros fy nghrogi pam y gadewir inni ddim ond cofio egwyddorion cyffredinol, digwyddiadau a chanlyniadau, a’r creaduriaid mwyaf anniffiniadwy hynny, y ffeithiau hanesyddol, yn hytrach na bywydau a phersonoliaethau’r unigolion go iawn. Pwy oedd y gwŷr (a’r gwragedd), y gwrol ryfelwyr, y gwladgarwyr tra mad, a gollasant eu gwaed dros ryddid, ond nas crybwyllir byth wrth enw? Beth yw ystyr y geiriau: byw, marw, aberthu? Lle’r ydym yn awr: lle y byddwn ni yn y dyfodol? Pwy a wnaiff y dewisiadau, a sut, a pham?

 

Yr oedd corffluoedd o filwyr proffesiynol a ddanfonid yn gyson i’r gad drwy’r oesoedd, wrth gwrs, a dyna oedd yr un mor wir yn ystod y Gosb Gyfiawn. Ond yr oedd galw am sifiliaid hefyd, yn enwedig am rai a oedd â doniau eithriadol o ran meddwl neu bwerau arbennig o ran corff, a rhyw esgus o amnest a gytunwyd os deuent yn eu blaen. Nid oedd y rhengoedd o fenywod a dynion o Gimbria a fyddai'n dod ynghyd y tu allan i’r dafarn o’r enw “Y Ffŵl Dedwydd” yn Stryd y Felin Faluriedig, Pant y Nant, mewn ymateb i’r gorchymyn unfryd, diamwys gan Lys y Sêr a Phriordy Puriad Parhaol yr EFE yn filwyr proffesiynol, nid o bell ffordd. A bod yn onest, tadau a merched oeddynt, chwiorydd ac ewythredd, mamau, plant yn eu harddegau, a mam-guod a thad-cuod, yn glercod yn y llysoedd eglwysig a sifil, gweithwyr bôn braich, ffyddloniaid brwd, pechaduriaid dirwymedi, a chwaraewyr crwydrol. Fe fyddai rhai wedi dweud dan eu gwynt y pryd hwnnw mai apostatiaid anedifeiriol, gwrthgilwyr celwyddog, neu anarchwyr dirgel oedd y rhain. Yr oedd Jack ymysg y gwirfoddolwyr anfodlon yno, wrth gwrs, un dydd flynyddoedd maith yn ôl, naill ai ar fore barugog ond braf, neu brynhawn glawog a heulog, yn ceisio ffoi rhag yr euogrwydd mai dim ond y ddau ohonom sydd yn gwybod amdano, wedi’i gysylltu â Gertrude Llwynlesg druan [4]. Bid a fo am hynny, roedd gan bob un ei resymau’i hun dros ddal ar eiriau’r Lleisiau Cyhoeddus, a chywilydd a phryder ymhlith y rhai mwyaf amlwg. Yr “Asiantau Afreolaidd Arbennig” oeddynt yn y cofnodion swyddogol, ond erbyn iddynt gyrraedd Calon y Cyfandir, “Y Defaid Colledig” oedd yr enw poblogaidd ar y criw brith hwn, a frasgamai wrth siantio’r cwpled: “Nawr doed y seirff a ddêl, er gwaetha’r hyn a ddwg — / Gwaethyga pethau gwael pan fo da’n troi’n ddrwg.”

 

Ar ôl dwy flynedd y byddai pob un ohonynt wedi cael eu colli, mwy neu lai, ac nid wy’n gallu peidio â holi: pa ffordd well fyddai o gael gwared ar elynion trafferthus gartref, nas gellid eu dileu trwy ddulliau mwy amlwg? Wrth ddweud “colli,” noder, rwy’n dewis fy ngeiriau’n ofalus. Rhaid dwyn mewn cof adlais y gair “diflannu,” neu, Nefoedd Gogoniant, si syniad “dianc” hefyd. Roedd cyhoeddebau’r Dad-Eglwys Oruchaf yn gwahardd rhestru enwau’r eneidiau a fuasai farw (yn y Gynnen neu fel arall), hyd yn oed â chleddyfau cyfiawnder yn eu dwylo gwaedlyd (neu â bwled saethwr cudd trwy eu hymenyddiau yn nes ymlaen). Mae hi’n parhau i wneud hynny o hyd, wrth gwrs, i ryw raddau, er bod ei nerth yn cilio a’i llais yn gwanhau bellach, wrth i’n chwiorydd a brodyr o gimerâu fethu i ddeall ei geiriau, neu’n gyndyn o falio amdanynt os gwnânt. Ond rwyf wedi hala cryn amser ar ddod i’r golwg â chynifer o fanylion ag y mae’n bosibl i fenyw ddarganfod. Ac yn awr, yma, heddiw, er nad wy’n credu mewn dim byd penodol mwyach, ac eithrio realedd unigrwydd a’r rheidrwydd arteithiol dros oroesi, rwy bron â gweddïo drostynt, yn fy ffordd fy hun.

 

Ymosododd y Fyddin Lân ar arfordiroedd y Cyfandir yn ffyrnig o bob ochr, ac fe lwyddodd i ennill cryn dir wrth wrtho yn ei blaen tuag at dirwedd arallfydol Calon y Cyfandir. Lle y daethant o hyd i’r wybodaeth angenrheidiol ynglŷn â sut i osgoi’r herwfilwyr o werinwyr, y baglau ffŵl, a’r pydewau wedi’u gwenwyno, nid oes neb yn ei wybod, er bod rhai’n honni y cefnogid gan gynghreiriaid annheyrngar o’r Gwledydd Deheuol, neu endidau annaearol ar ffurf mynachod cycyllog erchyll. Pan gipiai’r Fyddin dir mewn unrhyw Werinlywodraeth, Cymuned Gydweithredol. Parth Democrataidd, Dugiaeth, Ffederasiwn, Teyrnas, Protectoriaeth y Bobl, Tywysogaeth, Gweriniaeth, Gwladwriaeth, Tiriogaeth, neu Undeb, lladdwyd yn y fan a’r lle bawb a gyhuddasid o gyflawni “gweithredoedd anweddus” o unrhyw fath ar unrhyw adeg. Ond yno, o amgylch clymdrefi a dinasoedd y berfeddwlad, fe ddarganfuant i’r trigolion wneud penderfyniad tra llym (ond un tra chall, o edrych yn ôl), wrth ddewis i ddifrodi eu pridd eu hun, a’i droi’n rhyw fath ar Blaned Farwol yn llawn glaw asid, pelydrau mwtagenig, a chwilod cigysol yn cario heintiau. O ganlyniad, fel mae’n digwydd (byddai rhai’n chwedleua mai trwy ragluniaeth y Meddwl Annisgrifiadwy y daeth hyn i fod), wrth i’r Gynnen fynd yn ei blaen, y ddwy ochr a oedd bron yn gyfartal i’w gilydd ond mewn ffyrdd tra gwahanol. Y naill a oedd yn drech o ran nifer a grym y milwyr ynghyd â’u hufudd-dod di-gwestiwn a’u parodrwydd i’w haberthu’u hun (yn ôl y cofnodion swyddogol); y llall oblegid synnwyr cyffredin cynhenid y werin leol, greddf oroesi anfarwol, eu gwybodaeth drylwyr am y tir, a’u gallu i ddefnyddio ystrywiau twyllodrus.

 

Sylweddolodd y Fyddin ei bod wedi taro ar ei thebyg ger Pyllau Clai Gmrza, lle na allai wthio yn ei blaen nac ennill tir o achos y ffactorau oll newydd eu disgrifio. Cloddiwyd ffosydd ar hyd blaen y gad gan y preswylwyr, wedi’u hamddiffyn â weiren bigog, a ffrwydryddion, a’u cysylltu gan dwneli dyfnion. Diogelai’r rhain y brodorion rhag gynnau a chanonau’r goresgynwyr. Gwnaeth y Fyddin gropian ymlaen cyn belled ag y gallai, gan sefydlu ffrynt 200 medr o ffrynt yr Hurfilwyr Hunllefus. Rhwng y ddau ffrynt roedd tir neb, yn agored i ymosod o'r ddwy ochr. Ond er gwaethaf rhagoriaeth anwadadwy’r naill o ran arfau, hyfforddiant, a threfn, pan osodwyd y rhain yn erbyn dyfeisgarwch anniffygiol y llall, na allai’r un garfan gael y llaw drechaf ar y llall.

 

Mewn theori, yr enillydd fyddai’r ochr a oedd piau mwy o adnoddau. Ond yn ymarferol, yr amddiffynwyr brodorol a fanteisiai ar ddallineb yr ymosodwyr o ran daearyddiaeth y tir anfaddeugar, gan ymosod ar hap yn ôl pob golwg, yn debyg i gorilas gwylltion yn nharth hollbresennol y dydd, ac fel lladron treisgar dan orchudd y nos. Eto i gyd, bu’r bombardio di-baid yn achos colled sylweddol i’r brodorion a defnyddiau, a’u blinai, a’u digalonni. Arweiniai’r sefyllfa anhydrin hon i ryfel athreuliol, yn llawn seithuctod. Delwedd ddiffiniol y Gynnen Gyfandirol yw golygfa lle y mae lliaws o bobl, yn hen ac yn ieuainc, yn dlawd ac yn gyfoethog, yn ddewr ac yn llwfr, yn mynd dros ymyl y ffos er mwyn ymosod ar y gelyn ymysg crochan fel a geir yn y Pwll Diwaelod, yn llawn tân, llaid, gwaed a gweiddi. Hyd yn oed ymosodiadau llwyddiannus a olygai ladd torfol.

 

Dyma sut yr oedd hi. Mae Klvkrt (neu Le’r Benglog) ar frig tyle serth, yng nghanol tir agored yn llawn pantiau, hyd yn oed heddiw, mae’n debyg. Ac yno yr ymosododd milwyr y Fyddin Lân ar y Grymoedd Cyfandirol mewn ffordd a fyddai’n sefydlu patrwm i’r brwydro, ac arwain at y fath ddinistr i’r ddwy ochr cyn hir. Yn gyntaf oll, yn rhyfeddol, ymddangosai na fyddai unrhyw wrthsafiad. Sut bynnag, wrth i ymladdwyr y Fyddin Lân nesáu, trawsant ar ymosodiad parhaus a marwol o saethu gan ddrylliau peiriannol. Cyrcydai’r goroeswyr mewn tyllau yn y ddaear, er mwyn osgoi’r dartiau gwenwynig. Disgynnodd y Grymoedd Cyfandirol a dechreuodd ymladdfa ddryslyd â dyrnau a dagrau ymhlith y coed wedi’u difetha, y ceudyllau, y llaid, y weiren bigog, y ffosydd, a’r celanedd. Bu bron i’r Grymoedd Cyfandirol gael eu hyrddio yn eu hôl, ond wrth iddi nosi, daeth yn amhosibl penderfynu pwy oedd pwy. Bombardiai’r ddwy fyddin faes y frwydr, a saethai’r ymladdwyr gyfaill a gelyn yn ddiwahân mewn dychryn. Er hyn oll, y Fyddin Lân a drechodd yn y pendraw ar yr achlysur hwn. Mil o Gimbria a laddwyd yno, yn cynnwys cant o Aberdydd.

 

Y ffaith amdani yw na lwyddai rhyfela mewn ffosydd i gyflawni ei nodau, ond peidiwch â phoeni, does dim pall ar ddyfeisgarwch marwol y Thorlin. Dros y blynyddoedd a’r degawdau nesaf, datblygiadau mewn diwydiant a thechnoleg a ddaeth heb rybudd o’r Cyfandir Deheuol, megis magnelaeth well, nwyon mwy gwenwynig, a thanciau, a helpai i waethygu’r dinistr i’r ddwy ochr. Ar ben hynny, yr oedd cyrchoedd awyr echrydus o ddifäol, ac ymosodiadau brawychus yn erbyn y werin a’r llywodraethwyr fel ei gilydd gan yr asasiniaid anweledig. A’r Meddyliaethwyr Mecanyddol hefyd, wrth gwrs, y peiriannau bychain hynny'n cynnwys ewyllys y corfflu seicryfel a dreiddiai i bob man gan ddarlledu eu negeseuon swynol o ddeniadol ac anwrthsafadwy o hunanddinistriol. Mawr oedd rhoddion y Gynnen Gyfandirol! Ond enbytaf yn y byd y poenydiai’r Fyddin Lân Rymoedd y Gelyn Drwg, nerthaf yn y byd y brwydrent hwy yn ôl, ac arweiniodd hyn at sefyllfa annatrys. Ac wedyn ar ôl Gwarth Lladdfa’r Filiwn o Blant y digwyddodd Gwrthryfel Ystrywgar y Mamau a arweinid gan Chwaer Lygaid Cadno, a ddaeth â’r casineb anystywallt i ben (am ysbaid fach o leiaf) mewn llifogydd o laid a gwaed yn wir [5]. Ar ôl i’r dilyw lonyddu, fe ddechreuodd chwalfa wleidyddol, ysgytwol.

 

Er gwaethaf holl hanesion cyfoes, swyddogol yr EFE a’r BBB felly, mae rhaid i ddyn ofyn: ai angenfilod drygionus oedd y Grymoedd Cyfandirol i gyd mewn gwirionedd? Ac erbyn ystyried yn fanwl, a synfyfyrio uwchben y mater drwy ormod o nosweithiau hir heb gwsg, rwy wedi dod i’r casgliad pendant mai nage ddim yw’r ateb cywir. Gallwn ni gyfeirio at brofiad aelodau Corfflu Meddygol y Fyddin Lân. Er eu mawr syndod, pan aethant i gasglu clwyfedigion a oedd yn gorwedd yn nhir neb ers dyddiau, daeth rhai o’r gelynion allan o’u ffosydd a helpu i gladdu’r meirwon yn hytrach na thanio arnynt. Ni syndod adrodd nad yw hyn yn ymddangos yn fersiwn awdurdodedig y digwyddiadau sydd ar gael i’r cyhoedd diaddysg a dof y dyddiau hyn. A dyna heb sôn am y ffaith hereticaidd a grybwyllir gan sawl un, sef fod rhai ymhlith y cynorthwywyr, hynny yw, y gelynion ffiaidd o dramor, yn gwisgo cilt plod fel yn y Parth Glas; neu diwnig hesian wedi’i channu’n wyn fel y galchen, a gwregys gwyrdd am y wasg fel yn y Parth Coch; neu glogyn hir o frethyn coch a du fel yn y Parth Gwyrdd.

 

Dim ond canran fechan o’r bobl ddewr (ond, raid dweud, gwallgof) a ddeuai yn ôl o Galon y Cyfandir yn fyw ac yn iach, os dychwelsant o gwbl. Roedd y creithiau corfforol a meddyliol yn aruthrol. Gosodwyd y garreg sylfaen i Grypt yr Arwyr gan y Cadlywydd Cyffredinol, yr Yarl Challavas (enw wrth gwrs, nad yw’n rhy wahanol i Klvkrt), a oroesai’r Gynnen o leiaf, heb erioed fynd at y ffrynt ei hun. Serch hynny, fe lwyddodd i fod yn gyfrifol am adael celanedd di-rif ar hyd ac ar draws yn strydoedd y dinasoedd, y trefi, a’r pentrefi, yn ogystal ag yn y ffosydd. A oedd y Gynnen naill ai’n fenter ofer ac afradlon, ynteu’n anghenraid anochel, tybed? Erys hyn yn fater i'w drafod, medd yr Hanesion Cenedlaethol, wedi’r cwbl, sydd yn gofyn pwy all ddarganfod ewyllys anchwiliadwy'r Pŵer Cosmig? Roedd yr amgylchiadau yn y Byd Chwerthinllyd yn ymwneud â dechrau’r Gynnen Gyfandirol yn arbennig o anodd, datganant. Mae’n rhaid inni’n rhwystro’n hun rhag archwilio digwyddiadau doe â synnwyr heddiw – gan gymysgu’r gor-hanesyddol â’r ôl-ddyfodolaidd – haerant hwy. Dyma ddadl nas torrwyd gan y meddyliau gorau hyd yn hyn, a dichon na thorrir byth felly yn ôl yr arbenigwyr anhygoel yng Nghlawstrau Rhinwedd Anllygradwy [#].

 

Ond rwyf finnau wedi penderfynu drosof fy hun drwy hir ystyried mai Challavas (a anwyd yn nheulu'r Llwynlesgiaid, a adwaenid fel Llavascha ar y Cyfandir, ac a fabwysiadodd yr enw Challavas yn falch ar ôl y Galanastra yn Klvkrt) yn neilltuol, oedd cigydd didostur a anfonai “golomennod gwynion” wedi’u cethru gan “gigfrain duon” i gael eu haberthu heb resymeg, dan ymhyfrydu yn y tywallt gwaed. (Roedd yr hen Ddewiniaid yn dweud, yn eithaf hysterig yn fy nhyb i, ei fod yn ceisio ffocysu rhyw bŵer anweledig gan ddefnyddio peiriant organig dieflig, a dihuno grymoedd nas deellir gan fwyafrif y Thorlin, a fynnai gyflenwad di-dor o waed du, poeth i fyw. Wedi’r cwbl, nid yr un enillydd yn y Gynnen hon sydd wedi bod – ar wahân i’r Llwynlesgiaid tra dyfeisgar a rhyfelgar wrth gwrs – a’r arllwys gwaed yn parhau hyd heddiw, gan waethygu o ddydd i ddydd a rhwygo’r Blaned Drist yn llarpiau. Am domen o rwtsh drewllyd i chi, meddaf fi. Nid oes rhaid rhoi’r bai ar gythreuliaid anfodol o ystyried pa mor wael y gall y Ddynol-ryw ymddwyn ar ei liwt ei hun!) Ond eto i gyd, yn wir y methai’r cadlywyddion ymaddasu i’r amgylchiadau perthnasol yn ddiymdroi; na, yn waeth eto, hyd yn oed ar ôl misoedd a blynyddoedd o laddfa Ac wedyn, ar Hwyrnos Marwhad yr Ysfeydd Amhur, bedair blynedd ar ôl i’r brwydro ddechrau, y lladdwyd tua phum mil o bobl o Bretania ar dir dieithr mewn ymosodiad a gwnaethpwyd traed moch ohono.

 

Wrth gwrs, Llywodraeth Pretania a gipiodd grym dros y Fyddin Lân o’r diwedd, ond, a ba gost? Achosai’r Gynnen dlodi a chyni i’r rheiny a adawyd yn y famwlad, yn enwedig yn y Parth Coch. Erbyn diwedd y Gynnen y byddai’r mwyafrif o deuluoedd wedi colli rhyw berthynas, a difethwyd rhai cymunedau’n llwyr. Gwasgai posteri propaganda ar bobl gartref i gefnogi’r ymdrech ryfel. Roedd rhai’n gofyn, “Beth dych chi’n dal i neud yma?”, tra oedd eraill yn datgan, “Buddugoliaeth Lwyr trwy Ymostwng ac Ufuddhau.” Ar ddechrau’r Gynnen, daeth llawer o deuluoedd o’r Peuoedd Anghysbell i Bretania’n ffoaduriaid, ac aeth llawer ohonynt i Aberdydd gan ymuno â chymuned gynfodol yno dan nawdd cêl Urdd y Cyfrinachau, er nad oedd neb yn sylweddoli o gwbl mai’r sefydliad hwn a drefnodd bopeth. Croesawyd hwy, yn y pen draw, ar ôl cryn ragfarn a drwgdybiaeth i ddechrau, a’u trin yn dda iawn gan y Kimbriaid yn gyffredinol y pryd hynny, er bod yr erledigaeth answyddogol gan y Llywodraeth yn wael, yn achosi i lawer newid eu henwau a dyfeisio hanesion ffug wrth integreiddio â’r gymdeithas o’u cwmpas. Dyna’r cyfnod pan penderfynodd Hen Feistres y Mans ar y Mynydd Llwm y byddai’n gymdeithasol gyfrifol (a, gobeithiai, yn broffidiol iawn) dechrau croesawu ffoaduriaid ac ymladdwyr clwyfedig yn ein cartref simsan ond caredig ni.

 

Yr oedd canlyniadau annisgwyl eraill hefyd. Ymhlith y rhai a arhosai gartref, gofalai’r menywod am y plant ac aeth y dynion i weithio yn unol ag athrawiaeth yr Eglwys Gysegr-lân. Ond, bu bron i bob tylwyth golli rhyw aelod o’r teulu rywsut neu’i gilydd, naill ai’n ddyn neu’n fenyw (neu, rywbryd, personau o’r ddau rywedd), ac felly yr oedd, o bryd i’w gilydd, yn rhaid i rai gwŷr weithio yn y tŷ, ac i rai gwragedd wneud swyddi dynion. Ac felly mewn llawer o gartrefi y gwelid dynion yn newid clytiau, coginio, glanhau, gwnïo, a darllen storïau, tra oedd merched mewn cymunedau eraill yn gweithio mewn swyddfeydd post, ffatrïoedd, gweithleoedd arfau rhyfel, ffermydd, busnesi, a chwmnïoedd cludiant cyhoeddus. Oherwydd yr amgylchiadau neilltuol, ni allai Hierarchaeth yr EFE wrthwynebu hyn, er ei hanfodlonrwydd enfawr, a’i hanghymeradwyaeth lem. (Er na allaf fod yn hollol sicr am hyn, rwy’n dyfalu bod llawer o fenywod yn dechrau ymwneud â gweithgareddau a oedd yn amheus os nad yn anghyfreithlon y pryd hynny, er mwyn cael deupen y llinyn ynghyd.)

 

Pan ddaeth y goroeswyr adre, y clwyfedig ar draed, fe ddaethant o hyd i ddiweithdra, prinder tai, a chostau byw uchel. Mewn gwirionedd, dyma oedd Ynysoedd y Teyrnasoedd Anghytûn yn dechrau colli eu lle fel pwerdy economaidd y Byd Truenus. Wrth gwrs, dibynnai’r Fyddin Lân, a’r diwydiant arfau, ar y pyllau, a’r dechnoleg, a’r cemegion, y mwyafrif o’r rhain a gynhyrchid ym Mhretania. Fodd bynnag, fe aethai cynhyrchu copr yng Nghimbria i anterth rai blynyddoedd cyn hynny, ac wrth iddo fynd yn llai pwysig, aeth llawer o’r gweithwyr i swyddi mewn diwydiannau eraill gan ddefnyddio’r technolegau newydd a ddatblygid y pryd hwnnw. Tua dechrau’r Gynnen datblygai cryn gwynion dros gyflogau ac amodau ymhlith y technolegwyr hyn. Eto i gyd, ystyrid gan lawer ymhlith y dosbarth gweithiol fod y Gynnen yn ffrae anghyfiawn rhwng y dosbarthiadau rheoli ledled y Byd Hurt. Felly yr oedd deffro ymwybyddiaeth ynghylch hunanlywodraeth yng Nghimbria o leiaf ar ôl y Drychineb Gyfandirol, lle y dychmygid y byddai’r gweithwyr yn uno er mwyn cymryd y llyw, gan ddechrau rheoli diwydiant a chymdeithas. (Dyna obaith ofer ichi – yr hyn a gaent hwy oedd tlodi, newyn, a rheolaeth filwrol, bron, dan enw’r “Pwyllgorau Diogelwch Rhanbarthol.”)

 

Yn gyffredinol, fodd bynnag, mewn ymateb i’r Gynnen Gyfandirol, fe gododd synnwyr cenedlaetholdeb boblogaidd gynddeiriog a aeth y tu hwnt i wladgarwch, drwy’r Byd Gwrthun. Ym Mhretania ysgubodd y BBB i rym gan ddisodli ByBB, ac yn sgil y gorymdeithiau, y cyfarfodydd cyhoeddus, y terfysg, a’r anrheithio, daeth gwrthdystiadau o unrhyw fath, yn cynnwys mynd ar streic, yn dramgwydd troseddol yn fuan wedyn. Tua chwarter miliwn o dechnolegwyr cenedlaethol wedi’u hysgogi gan ymdeimlad o anghyfiawnder a heriodd y gyfraith newydd. Mae’n debyg bod llawer ohonynt yn credu eu bod yn ddewr wrth fynnu’u hawliau yn ystod cyfnod o berygl byd-eang. Yn wir, datganent yn falch ar eu baneri, eu pamffledi, ac yn eu hanerchiadau, “Nid oes bradwyr yma!” Cytunodd y Prif Weinidog a Thad y Genedl ei hun i gwrdd â dirprwyaeth gan y streicwyr, ac er iddo addo gwrando’n astud ar eu gofynion, pan symudodd y llefarydd i dynnu papurau o’i hysgrepan, rhoes deiliad swydd Gweinidog Mwyaf Gostyngedig yr arwydd i’r Gwarchodlu Pretanaidd [6] eu saethu’n syth, a honni wedyn eu bod yn llwfrgwn o fradwyr o Galon y Cyfandir a oedd ar fedr ei ladd, ac yn haeddu cael eu danfon heb oedi at y Pwll Diwaelod yn anad neb. Absennol mor aml o Dŷ'r Llywodraeth oedd y Cynghorwr Rhyfeddol fel rheol (ei enw ei hun ar y swydd oedd hwnnw), fod canran fawr o'r boblogaeth yn murmur y byddai'n well cael eu llywodraethau gan dalp o glai, neu dwb o floneg, neu gnepyn o lo, ac roedd llawer ohonynt wrth eu boddau o gael ei weld yn y cnawd fel petai, am unwaith o leiaf. 

 

Mor wyllt oedd y teimladau cenedlgarol ym Mharth Pinc Mhretania i‘r Llywodraeth gael ei chymeradwyo am y llofruddiaethau hyn, ac o hynny ymlaen y Parth Gormesol fyddai ei enw ar wefusau brodorion y Parthau eraill. Dyna pan sefydlwyd cyflwyno Anrhydeddau Cenedlaethol i Weision Haeddiannol yn flynyddol i wobrwyo cyfeillion a chefnogwyr y Llywodraeth a'r rhai a roddasai ddigon o gyllid iddi, yn ogystal â mabolgampwyr llwyddiannus, digrifwyr poblogaidd, gweision cyhoeddus, a sawl ymhlith y werin dan nawdd y bobl fawr a wnaethai ei swyddi heb gŵyn dan amgylchiadau anodd, heb sôn am atolau’r bonedd ac arnynt angen anrhydedd (ac arian)  ychwanegol. Fe fyddai, wrth gwrs, ychydig iawn a'r mwyafrif yn cytuno iddynt haeddu gwobr mewn gwirionedd, ond brwdfrydedd gwallgof y cyfryngau a ddigonai'r lluoedd ran fwyaf yr amser. Gyda threigl amser y byddai'r ysgarmes warthus hon dros enwogrwydd yn datblygu i fod y Loteri Ogoneddus (a phroffidiol iawn).

 

Cyfranogai gwerinoedd Pretania o brofiadau ingol, tebyg, a thrwy hyn y cymysgai hunaniaethau cenedlaethol, er bod y Parthau Coch, Gwyrdd, a Glas a driniwyd yn waeth fyth hyd yn oed wedyn o ran cyllid, a llywodraethu’n annibynnol. Ym myd gwleidyddiaeth, chwalwyd gafael Cynghorau Gwerinol yr Yarliaid yn un o’u cadarnleoedd, wrth i nerth y Blaid Baternalistig Biws gynyddu. Ym maes crefydd, mynnai llawer o gredinwyr anfodlon gael gwybod pam bod gwreichion y Goleuni Annirnadwy mor amlwg yn absennol yn y ffosydd, yn y Pyllau Diwaelod hynny ar ein Byd Ysig. Pan feiddiai sawl enaid dewr ddechrau ateb yn fwyfwy uchel: “Wedi’u claddu yn nhywyllwch tragwyddol Heli-hrelí maen nhw, pe mudlosgent fyth yn fud ac yn ddi-rym,” y canlynodd argyfwng ffydd, heb ddim byd i lenwi’r bwlch. Yng Nghimbria, ansicrwydd a gofid a ddisodlai hunanhyder a gobaith, a nodweddion diffiniol hunaniaeth Gimbrig, megis iaith, cymdogaeth dda, dyfeisgarwch dihysbydd, a synnwyr digrifwch tywyll iawn, a wanhâi.

 

Roedd y Kimbriaid a’r Ilkniaid yn chwedleua’n wahanol am y Gynnen Gyfandirol (yr oedd profiadau’r Skalbiaid a’r Eirwiaid yn adlewyrchu rhai’r Kimbriaid, heb os nac oni bai). Dyna gan fod paradocs yn ymwybyddiaeth gasgliadol y Kimbriaid (a’r lleill). Ar y naill law y gallent, fel deiliaid (er rhai tra anewyllysgar) o Gydffederasiwn Parthau Lliw Pretania, dderbyn eu bod wedi’u gorfodi i frwydro dros Ynysoedd y Teyrnasoedd Anghytûn. Ar y llaw arall, yr oedd llawer iawn ohonynt wedi’u dadrithio trwy gyfranogi o Ryfel y Parth Pinc Gormesol, dan sawdl yr hon a welid fel yr “Ymerodraeth Binc,” a fradychai gymuned, ffydd, heddwch, gwrth-filitariaeth a theimlad perthyn i’r Teulu Keltig. Ymhellach, synnwyr brawdoliaeth rhwng y cenhedloedd amrywiol a llwythau fyrdd a ymgodai dros y Cyfandir yr adeg honno, a fyddai’n difetha’r Ymerodraeth Binc maes o law.

 

Rhwng popeth, roedd y Gynnen yn drychineb i Gimbria, a ddioddefai’n anghyfartal o’i chymharu â gweddill Ynysoedd y Teyrnasoedd Anghytûn, ac roedd yr ôl-effeithiau’n arwyddocaol iawn yn hanes y wlad. Rhôi brawf ar ysbryd cenedlaethol Kimbria, bron hyd at ddinistriad, a chwalwyd y syniad gwrthun bod y Parth Coch (hynny yw, Kimbria) yn gydraddol â Pharthau eraill Pretania, ac ag aelodau’r Ymerodraeth Binc dros y Byd Dall. Parhaodd diwydiant trwm yng Nghimbria i ddirywio, a symudodd llawer mwy o weithwyr i’r Parth Pinc i chwilio am swyddi. Dim ond saith mlynedd ar ôl dechrau’r Gynnen, yr oedd y ffyniant cloddio tun hefyd wedi darfod. Roedd y sefyllfa gymdeithasol ym Mhretania’n waeth byth nag yng ngweddill y Byd Ffôl, wrth i’r EFE a’r BBB frwydro yn erbyn ei gilydd yn ffyrnig gartref ar y cychwyn, ac wedyn dechrau cydweithio mewn reoleiddio bywydau’r werinos gan amlaf, yn y manylion lleiaf, er mwyn cadarnhau’u nerth. O hynny ymlaen ac am byth, fe fyddai un rheol i Aelodau Tŷ’r Llywodraeth a Hierarchaeth yr EFE, a rheol arall i bawb arall. Fe fu farw trefn y gyfraith, a phob llun ar awdurdod moesol yr Eglwys

 

Nid rhyfel tebyg i un a fu o’i flaen oedd y Gynnen Gyfandirol. Yn sgil yr anghydfod, bu newidiadau ysgubol dros yr holl Ddaear Wylofus. Yn y Gynhadledd Frawychus ym Mynyddoedd Duon Kharsag, “Y Gynnen i Ddifodi Drygioni Oll” oedd yr enw a roed i’r rhyfel, a gorfodwyd cadarnhau llawer o gytundebau newydd a gormesol. Y pryd hynny, gosodwyd amodau, ail-leolwyd ffiniau, ail-ddosbarthwyd gwladfeydd, a chrëwyd a dibennwyd cenhedloedd. Fodd bynnag, fel mae’n digwydd (ac yn ôl cynllun cyfrin cabál amheus llywodraethwyr, mae’n amlwg bellach), “bradwriaeth i roi pen ar heddwch am byth” oedd y Gynhadledd hon yn wir. Canlyniadau seicolegol ac ymarferol i’r Gynnen a’r Gynhadledd, sef dirwasgiad economaidd ac ymchwydd o genedlaetholdeb oddi mewn i genedl-wladwriaethau a anrheithiasid a heuodd hadau’r Ail Gythrwfl Mawr. Ni allai’r Blaned Wan roi'r gorau i ymladd, a dechreuodd y rhyfela unwaith eto, bron yn syth wedyn. Nid oes angen dweud nad ydy’r gyflafan wedi peidio hyd yn hyn. Ac eto’r spikni a dyf yn wyllt am oesoedd ar feysydd cad y Cyfandir Gogleddol (yn enwedig yn Kalormen a Veryalat), lle mae’r pridd wedi’i staenio’n goch tywyll gan y gwaed y ddwy ochr a gollwyd yno.

 

Ar hyn o bryd y cyrhaeddwn ni ben blwydd arall eto cychwyn y Gynnen Gyfandirol. Mae’r Byd Arswydus heddiw yn wahanol o ran rhai pethau, ond mae’r un fath yn union â’r hen drefn ar lawer cyfrif pwysig arall. Bellach, yr ydym yn boddi mewn crochan o ansicrwydd gorlethol, wrth orfod brwydro rhyfeloedd ar ein tomen ein hun yn erbyn brawychiaeth feddyliol ymhobman, dirywio moesoldeb graddol ond bythol gynyddol, distryw economaidd, ac anghytgord cymdeithasol endemig – wrth i lwyodraeth oligarchaidd, ni waeth pa mor annymunol fu honno, fethu, a gangiau troseddol o wthwyr a masnachwyr cyffuriau, a budrelwyr, a masnachwyr du, a chogwyr yn meiddio gweithredu’n agored heb ofni cerydd, na chosb, na dial swyddogol.

 

A dyna heb sôn am y newidiadau amlwg a chythryblus i’w canfod yn ffurf ffisiolegol ac ymarweddiad y rhywogaeth fu’r Thorlin unwaith tra bod drychiolaeth y pla’n stelcian drwy’r strydoedd ar dân. Efallai y bydd “ymenyddiau artiffisial” y Llywodraeth, neu’i “sloganwyr proffesiynol,” neu’i “hinjans procio” yn ein hachub ni mewn gwirionedd y tro hwn (wel, rhaid i fenyw fyw mewn gobaith, debygwn i!). Wedi’r cyfan, does bron neb ar ôl a all draethu arswyd ac ehofnder y ffosydd: sawr y mannau budr lle y sgrialai chwilod ffiaidd, sŵn yr ymladd, sgrechian a gweddïo’r ymladdwyr, y gwaed wedi’i gymysgu â llaca a glaw. Erbyn hyn, pethau mud ydynt, sydd wedi’u bwrw allan o dir y byw a chysur henaint, eu llygaid dall yn colli dagrau rhewllyd, a’u bysedd glas yn crafangu pridd y bedd yn ofer. Efallai, rywbryd, y bydd hiraeth mewn distawrwydd arnom am eu lleisiau, eu cyngor, eu nerth, yr hen Filwyr Llwyd, yng Nghimbria o leiaf.

 

Wrth imi glwydo yma, ar sedd garreg, oer, gan ystyried yr olygfa’n toddi o amgylch Crypt yr Awyr mewn tawelwch sarrug (wel, ar wahân i felltithion estron, byddarol y gwylanod), mae’n fy nharo fod natur y Thorlin, hynny yw priodoleddau Dynol, yn gallu bod mor wrthnysig. Ni allwn ni benderfynu p’un ai ffeithiol neu ddyfeisgar yw hanes; p’un ai rhesymu neu chwedleua sy’n ei rheoli. Er hynny, rydym yn sôn mor uchel am ddysgu ohono. Ond dim ond talu gwasanaeth gwefusau a wnawn ni, wrth ddewis gwneud yr un camgymeriadau drosodd a throsodd, a hynny’n droseddol o hawdd. Rydym yn dathlu torri hen gelwyddau allan wrth drawsblannu rhai newydd. Rydym yn chwilio am frycheuyn sydd yn llygad ein Chwaer wrth ffaelu ystyried y trawst sydd yn ein llygad ein hun; yn ymhyfrydu mewn cam-drin, arteithio, a dileu creaduriaid, a rhywogaethau eraill; a honni ceryddu pechodau pawb arall wrth foddi mewn carthffosydd o amhurdeb (yn enwedig yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth, neno’r Duwiesau Hyfryd ond Erchyll!). A’r rhyfel, a’r lladd, a’r llosgi yn dal i greithio wyneb ein Planed Nychlyd. Ond mae’r amser i ryfela wedi mynd. Bellach y mae angen inni sydd ar ôl ddiwygio’r gorffennol, wrth gofio nad heddwch ydy'r gwrthwyneb i ddinistr, ond adnewyddiad cyson. 

 

Wrth i fysedd dyfal awel y gaeaf blagio’n ddi-baid gerflun y Rhyfelwyr Enbyd, mae geiriau’r hen swynganeuon yn galw arnaf yn gryf o hyd, er na ddeallaf yr hyn maent yn ei olygu, na sut y gall dyn eu defnyddio, am fod ffyrdd y Dduwies yn hollol wahanol. Merched y gwynt a meibion y glaw ydy'r rhai sy'n meiddio breuddwydio, wrth chwarae'r gerddoriaeth anfarwol, canu'r hen ganeuon, a dawnsio'n droednoeth ac yn wyllt ar y glaswellt gwlyb dan y Lloer Welw. Dim ond hwy bellach sy'n dweud y gwir hanesion am y dinasoedd wedi'u concro a'u chwalu, am y coronau colledig, ac am yr ymerodraethau gogoneddus wedi'u sathru dan guro taer adenydd deillion amser. Mae'n well ganddynt nentydd galarus, mynyddoedd llymion, a thonnau unig, na strydoedd byddarol wedi'u palmantu â saim, a chwys, ac ofn, y rheiny sydd wedi'u cyfradael gan wareiddiad ffug a phawb sy'n dilyn ei ffyrdd twyllodrus. Ym mynwes natur maent yn dal ati i neidio, a phrancio, ac ysgwyd y Byd Afreal hyd at ei wreiddiau. Ac yno y galarnadant dan wylo ac ochneidio uwchben tranc Nin-vethí dan lyn o dân hylifol, a darogan gyda gwên aileni Biblael oddi tan ddyfroedd gwyrddion ebargofiant. Ond nid myfi sydd yn rhan o hynny oll mwyach.

 

Rwy wedi ceisio ymgynghori â'r ymysgaroedd ac â'r llurig, ond wedi methu’n lân. Ac felly rwy'n coffáu'r hen Ddewiniaid o fri hynny a fu unwaith yn ein plith, ond sydd wedi diflannu’n llwyr bron bellach, y Defaid Colledig a ddihangodd (gan mwyaf, rhag casineb yr EFE, ofn y BBB, a llid y ddwy). Ond nid wy’n dymuno iddynt orffwys mewn hedd yn oes oesoedd. Yn lle hynny, dyma fi’n gweddïo i’r sêr di-hid uwchben iddynt ddymchwelyd cyn bo hir iawn. Nid gan fod arnom eu heisiau i wneud dim byd o bwys, wrth gwrs, ond dim ond fel y gallant benydu, a thalu'n hallt am eu hesgeulustod a'u methiannau; a'u haberth a'u colled yn gwneud tipyn bach, efallai, i ddileu'r cancr sydd yn bwydo ar y Blaned Anobeithiol.

 

Ac wedyn o bosibl y dechreuwn ni faeddu Cwmni’r Clowniaid mewn grym ar hyn o bryd, a ddychmygai y llwyddent i reoli’r Blaned Ystyfnig drwy greu firws tra heintus a’i ryddhau, dan nawdd rheibes a’i mab o dramor. Ond yr oeddynt heb sylweddoli bod Dreigiau Marwol yn bodoli, na chânt mo’u gorchymyn gan neb nad yw’n perthyn ar alluoedd anarferol iawn. A dyna pam bod y Byd Blinedig a’r Betws Melltigedig ar drengi bellach – yn ogystal â finnau’r offeiriades wedi methu, sydd bron wedi cyrraedd diwedd ei thaith hir a beichus, ond, raid dweud, boddhaus iawn.