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The Journal of Ocarina 18643
The night before last, I was given a strange dream : I dreamt that we Triboldies left this dreary place we call Coldermost (on the upper right arm of the Man) and returned to Netagrednik, our long-forgotten ancestral homeland on the banks of the navel. It was a warm and comfortable place, in my dream ; I was overwhelmed by sensations of intertwining verdancy, of verdant fecundity, and of fecund intertwiningness. But when I awoke, though I had already forgotten most details of the dream, burned into my memory was a vision of a grey rectangular rock, projecting straight up from the earth. Somehow I knew that on the far side of it, the following words were carved:
Rest in pieces.
I mentioned my dream to Cantilever, who became immediately enthusiastic. The words expressed on the opposite face of the rock, he said excitedly, symbolize the fate of our people : on the near face there is, by contrast, neither rest nor peace. He suggests that I should transform the dream into a song, and declaim it at this week's festival.I did so ; my song was received without noisy acclaim, but thoughtfully. After the festival, Sparadrap asked that the song be declaimed once more, to those who had not heard it. I felt greatly honoured by such a request from our Triboldissimus, the wisest of us all. After my singing (again received in silence) Sparadrap was helped into the great tree, whence he addressed the several hundred faces gathered patiently below. He said:
"Long I have mused in the manner of Ocarina's dream.
"Last night, I dreamt that we were travelling towards
"our former home. There are none among us now who
"remember our flight and retreat to this desolate spot,
"but my great-great-grandfather's great-grandfather's
"grandfather's father, among those gallant hundred and
"twenty three who arrived at our present safe but mean
"abode, spoke of our stay here as purely temporary,
"saying that we should return when we had gathered our
"wits, regained our senses, consolidated our magic, and
"had been purified by our stay in this coolest of climes."Immediately a loud humming broke out, as our citizens showed their appreciation of Sparadrap's noble speech.
18644
Over the last moon there has been a plethora of dreams concerning the land of our forebears. Some suspect these dreams have been caused by a practical joke on the part of the philosophers, perhaps using our precious remains of Uunuur. Consequently there is much talk of return. This of course swells every autumn: nobody looks forward to their enforced hibernation. Perhaps before this winter we shall go. The winter before last, it was only the death of Ockeghemp that prevented us, and last winter the early onset of the snows. Sparadrap evidently thinks we may leave ; he has asked me, as chronicler-historian, to keep a detailed record of these events. Once more I am honoured.
18645
There has been an earthquake. Many of us have been trapped in our caves ; I fear that some of us are lost. The molephants are at the point of exhaustion, after chewing away so much rock. This unfortunate event will settle all arguments about leaving. Now, we must go: all our winter stores are lost in an abyss. All our crubs are crushed, and most of the last flask of Uunüur has been spilled.We shall leave before the first blizzard. It will be a long and arduous journey, since we do not know where to look, except eastward. All other indication of the whereabouts of the homeland has been lost ; many false starts can be expected, and if we venture onto the Man's head he will surely extirpate us, mistaking us for lice. We shall all have to become travellers, perhaps for scores of moons.
I am filled with a violent hatred for this dreary clime. I am too familiar with every stone, every clump of grass, every ugly shrub, and every other excrescence upon the landscape, for leagues around. I despise them all.
* * * Already we are in the midst of preparations. The larger animals are being brought up from their caves, so that their eyes may become accustomed to the daylight. We are using all our remaining wood, metal, and licorice-dough in building 100 thatched wagons with soft wheels. Unfortunately our pteraneagle is ill after having impaled itself on a sharp stick, and may die before we leave: a pity, because of that bird's great fortitude. However the rocatross is now old enough to make long flights ; with one of us on its back, it can fly for hours without landing. Little Buxtehude is to take it tomorrow, to find the best route out of these barren despicable mountains.
Buxtehude has returned. His chosen route is over the pass to the north, then along the riverside to cross the great River Xlx (which we cannot mistake, it being the Man's only river with purple waters), then to make our way across the plateau on the far side of the cliffs. Across that river is where the danger will begin, if any of our enemies are still waiting for us, lacking as they are in the magic - or the girapotami - necessary to cross the raging river.
Whirligig has drawn up a plan of leaving. Since there will be nobody to farewell us, half of us will go first, fondly farewelled by the remaining half. The first half will then secretly return, in time to farewell the second half. Those who leave later will travel by a slightly longer route, in order that those who remain will be able to overtake them easily. Each half will then welcome the other with glad greetings. In this way, every one of us will twice be made to feel happy. Whirligig is a genius! Whirligig is a genius!
A date has been set: half a moon ahead. Even that seems an infinite time. Buxtehude has flown more, and confirmed that no body of enemies awaits us to the east. All the ground over which he flew is utterly uninhabited.
18646
The wagons are all thatched, and the animals acclimatized. We shall hold a gigantic festival, lasting from tomorrow till the time we leave, to empty our minds of the sadness of Coldermost. Our band will comprise:¶ 100 large wagons (three made of entirely of bronze, to protect against magnetism, so that the magicians may continue with their experiments as we travel)
¶ drawn by 55 girapotami,
¶ and 11 cameloceroses,
¶ and 11 giant ants,
¶ and 3 gryphodiles (for the bronze wagons),
¶ and 20 myrmecoleons,
¶ followed by the beasts of burden (too numerous to list here)
¶ followed by the beasts of non-burden but some danger, such as the Great Seal, amphisboenæ, and the giant tortelostrophe (though the basilisk, being particularly dangerous) must travel within its own velvet-shrouded wagon.
¶ all followed by the pteraneagle (if it lives) on a cart drawn by 1089 squeasels.
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