Episode 43
Travelling Light E43S02 Transcript
H.R. Owen
Hello friends, Hero here, introducing a new podcast for your listening pleasure. Into the Wanderer's Library is an anthology podcast based in the collaborative story universe of SCP and the Wanderer's Library. It features a not-so-human host, an anomalous member of the militant resistance group, the Serpent's Hand, and an all-knowing scientific director. Stay tuned after the credits to hear their trailer and see the show notes for more details.
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Forty Three.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
19th Savna 850
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
I realise my last missive painted a rather strained portrait of my first brushes with the community here. I wish I could tell you that these concerns have passed but unfortunately, I am still not yet fully at my ease.
I feel a restlessness in me, almost as if I am forgetting to do something. But there is nothing to do. Nothing, that is, but the important work of building community here.
To that end, I attended worship earlier this week – the first time since I visited the community on Varriel. While I have been keeping up with my personal meditations as I travelled, there is no substitute for worshipping among others.
I still felt some of that strangeness I experienced at the party last week. A sense of being almost but not quite one with those around me. Some of the songs were unknown to me, some of the forms of address unusual to my ears.
But the Light shines upon us all the same, and there was enough familiarity in the rhythms of the service to soothe my homesick heart, at least a little.
And there was some joy in the newness too. It is a very new thing, after all, to have Óli beside me in the temple.
They made it very clear before attending that they would not be converting, and it took a great many assurances to convince them that ours is not an evangelical faith, and that they would be welcome among us regardless of their beliefs.
“If it suits you, you are welcome,” I insisted. “If not, you need not stay.”
“I cannot walk out in the middle!” they objected. “I would offend your god!”
It is moments like this that I remember just how different our perspectives on the world have been.
“You cannot offend the Light,” I tried to explain. “It is only a presence, a-a sort of energy. The foundation of the universe. Not a person.”
Óli wrinkled their nose. “It does not sound like much of a god at all to me. How is it supposed to help you if it is not a person?”
Theology has never really been my strong suit. I tried to explain that we do not really have that expectation, that our worship is a recognition and connection with something that is already there, not a request for intervention.
[sighs] They did not seem convinced. Perhaps one of you would have explained it better.
Still, they came along with me to the service and I think enjoyed it. They enjoyed the singing, certainly. They have a lovely voice. And they were in no hurry to leave afterwards, happy to stay and chat a while to Paridhra and the others.
And then, when we did come home, they showed me how to make an offering at the little shrine in their room. They had it in their cabin aboard the Tola, too, but I suppose they had not felt comfortable sharing it with me before now.
I lit the incense, poured a little wine, and thanked one of their gods – the one named Tonirsa – for the generous bounty of the universe.
Later that evening, Óli tried to explain the full pantheon to me. Unfortunately, we had both had something to drink with dinner – and something more after – and it all got rather muddled. I shall have to ask them to explain it again sometime when we are both sober enough to concentrate.
We have fallen into a pleasant sort of rhythm here. I get up quite a bit before they do and spend some time pottering about the cottage, getting on with things. When they wake, we take breakfast together and discuss our plans for the day.
Óli is looking for work, but the community has generously offered to cover our living costs for the time being so there is no great rush. Their biggest concern right now seems to be winning the trust of Poki, the stray of indeterminate species who visits our garden on occasion.
Clanagh High Street does for most of our needs, with a butcher, a communications office and a baker all within walking distance of the cottage. There is a pub, too, and even a little bookshop, though its opening hours are so erratic, I have yet to step foot indoors.
There is a greengrocer's, as well. We went in for the first time the other day, and Óli let out a little noise of delight.
“Hello again!” they said, their eyes dancing with a smile for the man behind the counter.
“Hello, you,” said Ranaí. Then he saw me, and nodded. “Morning.”
I said good morning, and got to picking out some fruit and vegetables. But Óli fell into an easy conversation with Ranaí that soon had them both laughing. I missed the joke, distracted by a punnet of orange berries.
“Would these be good in a crumble?” I asked, holding them up.
Ranaí gave me a rather cool look. “Depends how good your crumble is.”
“Oh, they are an excellent cook,” said Óli with more fondness than truth. “They have been teaching me a little, but I think I prefer eating to cooking.”
“I must have you for dinner some time. Both of you,” he added, as an afterthought.
Óli's face grew bright. “We would love to! And we shall have you over, too.”
“I look forwards to it,” Ranaí answered.
I paid for our groceries and we left, Óli looking over their shoulder to wave Ranaí goodbye.
They have been back twice since, though we have had little enough need for more food. They say they like the way the shop smells, and have made a habit of stopping in for a piece of fruit or a packet of nuts whenever they pass by.
They also ate three helpings of my berry crumble, and have declared their intention to have me teach them how to knit.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry 850SV19-1. Concerning godhars and their role in the local ecosystem.
Key words: Clanagh; food and eating; godhar; Kerrin; natural world; táslabh.
Notes:
At the north end of Clanagh High Street, just a short walk from my accommodation, is the local bakery. Those of you who know me well will not be surprised to hear that I have become something of a regular customer there.
I am particularly taken with a pastry they make called the táslabh turnover. It is made of flaky pastry sprinkled with sugar and filled with a sweet, nutty paste. The main ingredient of the paste is a type of lichen – the eponymous táslabh.
I fell into conversation one morning with Sinséar, the baker, who told me about the unusual manner in which the lichen is harvested. On seeing my evident interest, they invited me out with them on their next harvesting trip.
A few days later, Sinséar and I set out together into the large stretch of boggy land known as the Moss.
From it's borders, the bog is deceptively peaceful. Birds flit across the water, dipping and darting to snatch at clouds of insects. Huddles of flowering plants break suddenly through the murk, their little faces turned up to catch the sun.
Before we went any further, Sinséar gave me a protective suit to match their own. The material of the suits was thick and rubbery, at once well worn and well cared for. As I clambered into mine, Sinséar explained that these suits were a basic necessity for anyone venturing deeper into the Moss.
In its border regions, the Moss is as acidic as any other bog. But further in, the acidity rises until it is nigh on uninhabitable. Nothing but the hardiest plants live here, eking an existence out of tarry mud and bleak water.
If a person were to dip their hand in one of the pools, or be splashed with mud as they walked, their skin would burn in seconds. Longer exposure can cause open wounds that even the finest healers struggle to keep closed.
And here, in this near wasteland, the godhars dwell.
I could not see them at first. Partly this was because of the mist rising thick and soupy from the bog itself. But part of the issue was that strange paradox that sometimes, a thing might simply be too large to be seen.
After a few minutes, Sinséar pointed to a dark lump in the mist. My eyes slowly adjusted, and the mass, which I had taken for a rise in the land, resolved into the silhouette of a huge animal.
The godhar must have been 10 feet tall at least, with four drooping eyes and curved horns peeking out behind drooping ears, its thick, grey hide not dissimilar to the material of our suits.
It is this remarkable skin, combined with an astonishingly robust digestive system, that makes the godhar uniquely suited to life in the corrosive waters of the Moss. Few other species can survive in this hostile environment.
But simply by living here, the godhar serves to counteract some of that hostility. Their long legs mean the majority of their massive bulk is kept out of the water itself, making its very body something of a refuge.
A godhar in the Moss is a kind of ambulatory oasis. Birds and lizards make their homes on their slow-moving backs, feeding on the insects that fill the air.
There are even certain species of plant that would otherwise be unable to live in the bog, but who are able to root themselves in the nooks and crannies of the godhar's craggy hide.
For the most part, the godhar appears to, if not precisely enjoy its visitors, at least not to mind them too terribly. But the táslabh lichen is another matter.
It is a persistent pest, irritating the skin wherever it grows, and disrupting the growth of new skin cells, leaving the godhar vulnerable to the corrosive waters.
Fortunately for the godhar, there is a solution to their problem: the humble táslabh turnover.
Or, rather, the fact that somehow – I can hardly imagine how – some adventurous Kerrinite discovered that táslabh is not just edible, but delicious.
And so began yet another mutually beneficial relationship between the godhar and its neighbours.
The godhar seemed quite placid creatures, grazing on grey tufts of grass and flicking their ears, quite unconcerned. But it is no small thing to approach a creature so large, however calm they may appear.
As soon as the godhar nearest to us laid eyes on Sinséar and me, it began to close the space between us. It lumbered over, sending the birds that rode it flapping up, twittering their displeasure.
I started to back away, hands held in a reconciliatory gesture – but Sinséar was quite unperturbed. Once the godhar was in reach, they stretched up and scratched its broad, flat nose, thick gloves squeaking over wet skin.
A specialised scraping tool made short work of the lichen, which Sinséar collected in a pocket in the waist of their suit. In that time, more of the creatures had noticed us and wandered over to wait their turn.
I cannot say I stopped feeling intimidated by them. But by the time they were harvesting lichen from the third animal, I felt able to come a little closer and even try my hand at the task myself.
It was a strange experience. The actual harvesting was not so difficult, though there is certainly a knack to it. It was more that I do not think I have ever felt at once so small, and yet so particularly and specifically useful.
The godhar I worked on made a low, rumbling noise, clearly a sound of pleasure and relief, and the sound of it – the feel of it, vibrating through its massive body – filled me with a sense of profound kinship.
I will never be able to communicate with this animal any more clearly than this. But it knew I was safe, and that I wanted to help it, and it let me.
Once we returned to Clanagh, Sinséar showed me how the lichen is processed and made ready to eat. And, while I understand some people's distaste at the idea of eating something harvested in such a way, I found it all the sweeter for knowing where it came from.
[Title music: rhythmic instrumental folk. It plays throughout the closing credits.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light was created by H.R. Owen and Matt McDyre, and is a Monstrous Productions podcast. This episode was written and performed by H.R. Owen.
This week’s entry to the archives was based on a submission by Resfeber. You can see Matt's illustration for the entry on our social media accounts.
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[Fade to silence. Into the Wanderer's Library trailer begins with the sound of footsteps]
Professor Harken
So they’ve bought it…they’ve accepted the podcast idea. They’re treating it as an educational series as a way of advertising the library to investors, to other students, other lecturers. Perhaps as a way to get more captives – I mean “academics”, quote unquote.
[string music fades in as the Professor speaks]
Which is good. It’s great. All I have to do is read out a few passages here and there on a fairly regular basis. It’s not as if I’m going to run out of material in an infinite library.
And I’ll be able to keep in contact with you as my editor. I have told them that you’re acting as my editor here. I’ve said that you’re one of my students which isn’t technically wrong, husband, dearest.
Through this I’ll be able to keep in contact with you. I’ll be able to message you, hopefully keep in contact with the kids as well.
And given enough time, patience and planning we can use this as our method of escape. Very soon, my love… Very soon, I’ll get out of here. And I’ll make the bastards pay for what they’ve done.
They took me away from you. They locked me in here and pretended it wasn’t a prison or a cage for me. But I’ll be back… I’ll make them pay… We’ll make them pay. Be patient my love. I’ll see you soon.
Jacki Smith
Into the Wanderers’ Library. [the music cuts out] A podcast series, by Theodore Powers. Read by Jacklyn Smith as Professor Artyom Harken. Available now on the Quantum Rhythm YouTube channel. Thanks for listening, see you soon.
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