The Story of Sarafia and Hett
Once, the daughter of the king of Misi was wandering in the woods of the south. She was in exile, for war had driven her from her home. Though she sought to avenge her father, she was now being pursued through the land by a group of soldiers. Her name was Hett, and she was a great warrior, learned in the ways of magic also, and a great traveler.
Presently, she came upon a clearing in the woods, where the river slowed and she saw a maiden there dancing in the evening light and playing upon a flute of willow while twilight moths fluttered around her.
This was the goddess Sarafia, daughter of the Lord of Night, whose hair shone like midnight and whose eyes glowed silver in moonlight. Her willow flute was said to inspire those sunken in despair and make those who heard it fall desperately in love with her.
Hett did not hear the music, for she had cast a spell upon herself so that she would not hear the screams of war and would never shrink from fear. Yet still, she paused and gazed upon Sarafia in a trance. Hett let the tip of her sword fall to the ground and stood in wonder.
But while she watched, her enemies emerged and found her. They surrounded the two, and as Hett was helpless, Sarafia stood forward to shield her from the blades of her enemies. Thus, Sarafia was struck blind and stabbed through the heart. As godly blood fell to the ground, the men realized they had wounded a goddess, and they threw down their weapons and begged for forgiveness. Thus, Sarafia passed to the realm of Amariai and waited as a shade.
Hett, overcome by rage, cursed the men. They had destroyed the last great divinity, and nothing could absolve them. She cast a spell on them, and they died, but did not pass on, instead bound to the earth to wander as restless shades. Weakened by the spell and nearly dead, Hett crawled on. There, crows and carrion birds found her, and she bound them to her will. Some versions of this tale say that the men she cursed were transformed into black birds that served her.
Slowly, she followed them to the fringes of the world, where the realms lay frayed and thin. There lay the shallows of the Third River, the birthplace of humanity, where they had emerged from the mud and water and risen blinking to see the light.
There, she found an old woman, hunched and lined, who stood making reed dolls and dropping them into the river to ride down the waves.
Hett approached her and knelt, spearing her sword into the mud.
“Lady of the Third River, divine daughter of the Mother, I name you, Hira.”
Hearing her name, the old woman arose from the water.
“Who is it that disturbs the water? Surely only a god could have found this place, yet you are bent with pain. You have suffered the stings of death, which no god has the courage to feel. Tell me, who are you?”
“I am Hett, daughter of Thannes, king of Imecea and the united Micean clans. Indeed, he was a mortal man, yet of my mother – Liya, daughter of the Sun Queen. Half mortal am I, half god. I have come to seek that which can resurrect one I love.”
“You speak the truth, for I see the likeness of your mother in you. Still, mortal foolishness runs within you. No mortal can be reclaimed from the realm of my mother until their proper time. Perhaps, when the world turns and your beloved is born again you may find her. Though there is no knowing who they will be then.”
“It is not a mortal that I speak of,” said Hett. “A goddess was taken from the world by the cruel hands of men. It is not the natural order for the divine to be taken by death.”
“Then there is hope, for I have seen her pass this way. Like a pale shadow over my waters, I let her pass, for she is of the House of Dreams, not the earthly world.
"Her father, Morre, once gave me a dream. Many ages ago while I slept by the banks of my river, he came to me and showed me visions of creatures who could dream themselves like gods. Once I awoke, I found my brothers and sisters to have had the same dream, and we labored together for eons to form such a vision from the mud.
"Now you stand here, the union of a god and my creation. The Night Lord asked nothing of us in return but for a promise, that our creations would spend half of their lives within his land so that he might not be alone in his domain with his children, of which the goddess you love is one.
"Sarafia is her name, yet often she yearns to the feel the touch of the Earth beyond her father’s power. Though he dislikes her absences, she flees through the rivers now and then. It is back to the realm of her father than she has gone, and you will never see her again but in your night visions.”
“That will not be!” said Hett. “I dream nothing but pain, and I would not share it with her. I would not see something as pure as she imprisoned in the war I fight within slumber. I shall release her.”
“Then you will die, and in death, you will not dream. The guardian of the river am I, and I shall guard it from those who seek its source. Three questions I will ask of you. Should you answer rightly, I will let you pass onto the river of winter. Should you answer wrongly, the water will take you.”
“Ask what you wish. I will answer.”
And so the goddess asked her questions, and it is not told what she said. Strange and terrible words slipped through mortal minds like running water. Hett grasped at them, and for a long time, her will strove against Hira. For the crone could not harm her with blade or fist, but possessed that which mortals only gain after a life fully lived. The answers were spoken with dying breaths. The wisdom of the old, which those still in the land of youth cannot know, save the wisest who gain the bitter remembrance of past mortals who devoted themselves to the pursuit of knowledge, hungry for knowing. The wisdom of necromancers who have walked in the steps of their ancestors and the lives that proceeded them. The words of the Naldhe.
Yet, Hett answered after many days of thought by the river’s edge, and it is not known what she said, but the goddess received her words and lifted a wrinkled hand.
“Continue on. You must now face the wrath of my sister in the winter river. Arm yourself, and rally your courage.”
Thus, the great warrior found herself by the bank of the Second River, but before stepping into the water, she knelt on the bank.
“Mother, hear me at the edge of the world. I am weak from long years of war.”
Liya, the daughter of the Sun Queen, came to her, arrayed in armor and a spear with eyes flashing.
“Speak daughter. I see how the years press upon you. You will soon face a godly warrior greater than I, for she fights for something that cannot be lost, something I know, but cannot show you. Be warned, she will appear to take the form of one you cannot bear to maim. She is quick and she will test your strength. She will try to frighten you away with her screams, for she screams with the voices of the Children of War.”
“I do not fear her. I cannot hear the screams, for I deafened myself to them long ago. There is no sight more gruesome than the things I have seen men wreak upon themselves.”
“Then continue if you must, but take with you this spear, wrought on high in the palace of the Sun King, and wrap about you this robe of black, woven by Anthe The Weaver, whose wife combs wool for him and lets the stray fleeces float away across the sky. The cloth has thunder in its threads, and black will tie you to mortal life.”
Hett bowed and took these gifts, wrapping herself in the cloak and arming herself with the spear. Then she stepped into the water, colder than death, frosted with the breath of the first winter.
There, in the water, stood a woman with the likeness of Hett's mother, Liya, but no longer in armor. Instead, she was clothed in white, and her stomach was swollen with child. Hett hardened herself to the sight, for she knew her true mother was not standing before her and the figure was merely an illusion.
The Mother snarled with the sound of war iron on a whetstone and drew a sword stained with the blood of every soldier, so that it stained the water red.
Thus, they did battle, and many wounds were drawn upon mortal skin, until at last, Hett ran her sword through the stomach of the Mother and heard her scream the cry of every woman who sees their child butchered in battle. Yet Hett did not stir, for she heard it not.
So she came to the edge of the First River, untouched by mortal flesh since the dawn of time. The river which began when Hira poured out the first water from a vial and as its first drop landed on stone, and time too began to flow.
As the water caressed her skin, she felt the filth and scars of life fade and the years drift away on the current, yet so also, the memory. Like a snake sheds, so did the years lived detach and slide away. Threads of her black robe unwound, until she continued pink-skinned and alone.
She remembers not what she saw in the river, save for the trembling figure of a child. No tale tells what was said or how it broke the warrior at last. She, who had surpassed the test of mortal wisdom and the battle of flesh and courage, fell into the arms of the water. It is said she cried out the name of Sarafia as the child arrayed water lilies around her, for the true test of the river is a test of that which cannot be done. The child said nothing to her, and asked nothing of her, for there is not mortal vice or virtue that can comprehend the child.
Thus, Hett drifted in the water until she came into the arms of the Great Mother, Amariai. Her weeping shade was collected, and she wandered the gardens of that world to find the name she remembered. Until other shades forgot their sorrow and cast away their burdens to walk the earth again, to die again, and find the garden once more – yet she remained. She waits at the vine arch for new arrivals. She knows the one she waits for will not come. When you come to the arch, make sure to bring a crow feather. She says she will make herself wings to fly away. She says she will return and find the name. She hears nothing else. She will not fly away, yet, nonetheless, bring a feather for kindness.
Legends say that Sarafia, too, wanders, searching for the warrior. She crosses the dreams of men, and when she leaves, she takes the sorrow that sleepers carry with them and leaves them peace.
Summary
The story describes the quest of Hett to rejoin her lover, the goddess Sarafia, after she is slain and returns to the shadowed lands. To find her, Hett must find the source of the Third River and battle the guardians of each of the three rivers, who test her on her wisdom and strength. In the end, Hett fails, due to her mortality and the futility of human ego.
Historical Basis
Hett was a real person, claiming to be the daughter of Thannes, the king of the Misi Tribes. Thannes built the city of Imecea and fell in love with the messenger goddess of war, Liya. Their child was the demigod Hett. In stories about the House of Thannes, the daughter Hett is mentioned, and other tales mention her achievements in battle before she went missing after avenging her father. Sources say she went south, and a grave was found in 13091 containing a female warrior from that time period, who was buried with Misean armor and weapons and inscriptions naming her as the daughter of Thannes.
Spread
The story was told among many cultures and spread to become a famous story of love and loss. Though the facts of the story change, the general basis is the same. Besides the story, priests and Naldists studied the story for insight on the Three Rivers. The story tarted an obsession with finding the source of the First River, which was futile.
Variations & Mutation
Later versions of the tale written in Avaron remove mentions of Hett's ancestry or connection to the Misean throne, claiming she was the child of Liya and a local warlord. However, after Avaron's fall, scholars retranslated the original texts and re-inserted Hett's background.
Cultural Reception
The legend seeped into the fabric of Majan culture slowly and decidedly, until it became canon in most areas of the continent. Hett's heroism and courage against the will of the gods became a point of respect during the Age of Enlightenment, and it became a tradition to be buried with a crow feather, out of reverence for her.
In Literature
Countless retellings of the story can be found in literature from the Enlightened Period, especially in Avaron and Micea where it was popular. Igan rewrote the story into an epic poem, while in Micea it became the subject of theater.
In Art
"Hett Adorned With Lilies" is a famous tapestry kept in the Temple of Ria, which depicts Hett after her ultimate defeat as she floats down the river and water lilies are arrayed about her. Above the Falls of Hira stands a statue of Hett as a warrior before she faces her enemy, and it has become a place of worship and magical power over the generations. Sarafia's Lament is sung from the perspective of Serafia when she dies for Hett.
Date of First Recording
10000
Date of Setting
8000
Telling / Prose
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