Foreword to the Whitehorse's Son cycle

[wiseheart]

BOOK ONE OF THE ROYAL CHRONICLES OF PENDARLON
THE TALES OF WHITEHORSE’S SON
The storyteller’s word to the listeners

Based on Hungarian folk tales - which is all that is left from our original culture. The Hungarian version is posted to hiddenrealms. This is just a raw translation and doesn't even come close to it.

Shall I tell you the tale of Whitehorse’s Son? The tale of him who had won the Lady Kaltesh, the Hunter, Mistress of the Marters and Weasels as his wife? The tale of the one who had been raised in the very nest of Símurgh, the bird of marvel who breeds the Sun of the great egg; of Whitehorse’s Son, who saw the Sun die and be reborn?

Shall I tell you of Whitehorse’s Son who fought Midnightmane, the murderous black steed of the lord of the underworld? Who was taught the art of weapons by the young Warlord himself, who overthrew the black bull of darkness and pulled the bark of the holy birch to the roots? Who’d learned the shaman-craft at the knees of Ukkó, Lord of the Fitchews, who allied himself with the giants Wood-tearer and Stone-crumbler, and with the pointy-hatted prince of the wood fairies, Hétszűnyű Kaponyányi Monyók, and who, in the end, became the mightiest shaman-prince of Uttara Kuru, the immeasurable realm of the People of the Ten Arrows, a realm that glittered for ten thousand years? They say that Kambaluk, the immense Southern realm of the Golden Khan, that is hidden behind the Great Wall, has once been but a small province of Uttara Kuru and is now but a pale memory of it.

Shall I tell you the tale of Whitehorse’s Son, whose father was already Prince over the seven tribes of the Khozar people, and whose descendant in the seventh generation finally led the people ‘til the shores of the Great Western Sea?

Very few people know the true tale of Whitehorse’s Son. Even his own name is only known among the shamans, sorcerers, bakshas, scoops, storytellers, chanters and kara-bonces of the nomadic people who lived on the great plains of the East. And when the Khozar tribes migrated to the West, they left the faith of their mothers and took on the stern Ashken faith, the Kings of Shastar officially declared the pagan past of their people as cursed, and the old tales were forgotten in their new, Western realm. Although old customs held on stubbornly in the tent cities of the Desert Fathers, those who could unlock the true meaning of tradition, to explain it to the new generations, had become rare. Thus only the outer shell of their once so rich tradition was left to the late descendants.

The Khozar people left Uttara Kuru before the black waves of the Flood would have buried the great realm at the feet of Mengkúr, the Holy Mountain. Legends say that first they lived for a while in Mázenderán, at the shores of a large, salty inner sea, forcing the former lord of that area, Prince Eveleth of the Skull into submission. From there, a magical hind led them to the far Northeast, to the rich plains of Trofaiah, the land of the two storms, encircled by high mountain chains. After the division of the people, the majority of the seven tribes remained in this country, and these kept the old faith till the ultimate fall of the black lord of the Cursed Lands.

In those late times, High King Arie, the last spawn of the Khozar shaman-clan ruled over the East of Seashore Lands, and thus over Trofaiah as well. Lord Arie was a knight-king of the Ashken faith, like all the knights and nobles of his court. There was, however, one minstrel and knight in his court, son of the eldest desert clan, by the name of Red Huon, who had listened to the old songs and legends of their cousins in Trofaiah, learning from their chanters and storytellers what had been forgotten, and he wrote them down all in his Chronicles, which, when finished, filled a whole hall in the Royal Library.

Red Huon was an attentive and patient listener. The storytellers and bakshas had told him ancient, half-forgotten legends that even them only dared to tell with their hands covering their mouths, because they were still wary of the gods and evil demons in those tales coming back to power. Red Huon himself, raised in the stern Ashken faith, didn’t believe in those gods and demons, and therefore he wasn’t afraid of them either. He didn’t hesitate to write down the old legends – with the proper runes, of course – in large, leather-bound parchment books, and we should be thankful for his work, as otherwise the Khozar oral tradition would be lost for us, irreparably.

Thus, however, thanks to the Royal Chronicles of Pendarlon, we have inherited the most wonderful tales of that great nomadic realm.

The tale of Demir, the White Khan, for example, who had a shining white star upon his brown, who shot his arrows that never missed their target with his left hand, who subjugated the magical white tiger, and he could only speak in stutters because in his youth his throat was hit by an arrow.

The tale of Ozul, the Iron Prince, of whom the songs say that his shoulders were wrought iron, his chest was thrice-forged steel, his features were like iron rods and his heart was like the enchanted black stone. Ozul, who swooped down at Eneth, the magical lady of the fairies in the shape of a black turul, although she tried to escape him by turning into a white hind, and made her his wife.

The tale of Emesh, the Lady who rode on a white steed to battle like any man, and who was visited and impregnated by the young Warlord, the heavenly Prince dispatched to the particular protection of the Khozar people, who, too, visited her in the shape of a black turul.

The tale of Prince Ménróth, the great hunter, the conqueror of Mázenderán, who dared to enter the Spider Valley to challenge the horrible Black Widow, the spider woman who was always weaving the thick cloth of darkness, and whose sons led the people from Mázenderán to Trofaiah, following the magical hind.

The tale of Prince Karaton, who first broke Midnightmane under saddle, who was called by his people Tahamtan (the Large-bodied), and who had to survive harsh tests to win the hand of Ligetszépe, the daughter of Stone-crumbler, the hill giant, and who – according to legend – is still sleeping in enchanted dream with his beloved in the Secret Caves, waiting for the day when his people would need him again.

And, last but not least, the tale of Aj-bars, the very first Shaman Prince. Because Aj-bars was Whitehorse’s Son.

Comments

[jilba.livejournal.com]

What a wonderful old tale! I love things like this, thanks for translating it.

[wiseheart.livejournal.com]

Thanks. :)

I wish I could give you more, but translating even this much was extremely hard, and it barely reminds of the original. The whole thing is too specifically Hungarian, one needs to know Hungarian folk tales to get even the barest of hints - and, as you could see, I wasn't even able to translate everything. Some names just didn't make sense in the translation, and we have mythical beings that have no equivalents in other cultures.

I might translate the adventures one day, but I don't think I'd have the language skills to try my luck with the background mythology.

[jilba.livejournal.com]

Yet, hints of a greater story come through clearly. Quite fascinating. I hope one day you do tackle the greater translation, as I think it would well worth doing!

[wiseheart.livejournal.com]

Thanks. :))

I wish I had the language skills - and classic mythology background - to translate the whole thing. But Hungarian is a language quite unlike anything else (even with Finnish, we only share the grammar structure, the vocabulary is completely different, we have what, perhaps half a dozen words that have the same roots), and I just don't think it would be possible.

Take the name Hétszűnyű Kaponyányi Monyók. the closest thing I cold come up with would be something like "goblin-skull of the seven terrors", which a) sounds utterly ridiculous, and b) would give a completely false impression about the mythological character in question. And these characters mentioned in the text are all figures from Finno-Ugric mythology, so I can't just twist them however I'd want to.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I've bought the English translation of "Eclipse of a Crescent Moon", one of our greatest historic novels, because I was curious how a foreigner would deal with it. Well... I don't doubt that the translator did a good, solid work, but - it's all hollow and dead. All the richness, the charm, the playfulness and the expressiveness of the original is lost. The book isn't even interesting in translation - and it's something generations had grown up with and loved it.

Well, perhaps I'm biased, as I've read and re-read the book uncounted times since the age of six. But I'd never dare to try my hand on a translation. I can translate my Trek stuff, because it's nothing specifically Hungarian, even though it wasoriginally written in Hungarian, but nothing like that book. Or any other from a similar era. It just wouldn't be the same book at all.

[jilba.livejournal.com]

That goblin skull person sounds terrifying! A pity about 'Eclipse of a Crescent Moon' but I guess this is language for you.

I have aboriginal friends who shake their heads in disgust over 'translations' of the Dreamtime myths, I'd say that Hungarian myth suffer the same fate from what you say. And cultural stuff, should we even go there? Nah...I must try to find a copy of 'Eclipse of a Crescent Moon' just for curiosity's sake.

[wiseheart.livejournal.com]

That goblin skull person sounds terrifying!

Yeah, but it's not all that is about him. That's why the translation is sorely misleading. Fairies of the woods are considered miscievous and sometimes even a bit evil, but not entirely so. Plus, they are really small. Oh, it's so hard to explain, since all we have left are a few vague hints in old folk tales, we don't even know ourselves.

I must try to find a copy of 'Eclipse of a Crescent Moon' just for curiosity's sake.

You should. It's a good, solid historic adventure book even so, a smooth and easy read, that is, if you're interested in medieval stuff. It just lacks the peculiar charm of the original. I'll make an entry about the book itself, soon, so that you can see what you're dealing with.

[ajmckay.livejournal.com]

You don't know me, but I found you journal through my browsing of hiddenrealms and when I saw this post I couldn't help not commenting. I just want to say thanks for translating this. I live in the US, but my heritage is a great majority of Hungarian, but through the generations so much of the traditions and such has been lost. My grandmother, who once was only fluent in Hungarian, cannot speak a word of it today. I've had uncles travel to Hungary and trace ancestory, but someday I'd like to make the trip on my own.

Thank-you again for posting this.

[wiseheart.livejournal.com]

Actually, I remember your username from one of my fandoms, I just can't tell right now which one. :))

It's always good to find a fellow Hungarian in cyberspace, even though you don't speak the language. Much of the traditions got lost generally, more than a thousand years ago, when we took up Christianity,and what little still is there, has been reconstructed by decades-long research from folk tales and stuff.

If you're interested in Hungarian events, we can befriend each other. I post about my country sometimes, but not publicly. And if you ever come over here, holler, and I'll show you around. :))

[ajmckay.livejournal.com]

Probably, QaF. Found an old link to hiddenrealms through one of the Yahoo Groups and am slowly reading.

I'd love to friend you since my knowledge of Hungary comes from small snippets from my father's family and what I can find on my own by reading.

[wiseheart.livejournal.com]

I see. Yep, QaF is a possibility. You must have found your way through the Michael&Brian group, then. Well, I hope you like what you found - my stuff is not everybody's cup of tea. Too long and too convulted, I was repeatedly told *g*

Oh, and consider yourself friended.