Souls

One of the most basic tenets of my Izan world-building is that souls do not exist. By soul or spirit I mean the generally accepted definition, essentially any sort of incorporeal entity. This includes ones that might be attached in some way to our material existence — and possibly survive it.

Perhaps I shouldn’t say they don’t exist; more accurately, there is no evidence whatsoever of them. In infinite existence, in infinite worlds, who can say? In that infinity we not only could but must exist again. Infinitely, perhaps! But that is not a soul, nor spirit nor ghost. It is solid material being.

As is everything else. Wizards do not send their spirits to other worlds. They send part of their physical self. The gods are material creatures. Even the little elementals that float among the worlds have a physical form though they are not quite ‘there’ when they come into Exura or another world and interact with its inhabitants.

We could use the old sci-fi cliché of them being ‘out of phase.’ It’s as good — and essentially as meaningless — an explanation as any.

All this does not prevent humans (and other mortals) from believing in the concept of an afterlife. But in many worlds they are knowledgeable enough of the gods and of the infinite worlds to recognize that no one knows what might await. Thus we have the Kamatian funeral rite I created for the third book of Donzalo’s Destiny, The Sign of the Arrow:

As an arrow flies my soul,
into darkness, into night;
none whom I have left behind
sees the ending of its flight.

We can, of course, use the term soul in a more general way, as when we refer to a person as a soul. It is what makes us who we are, our consciousness perhaps, that which continues however much our bodies may change. It is an abstraction, not a ‘real’ thing. Each of us is a human Ship of Theseus, every cell in our body being constantly replaced, yet this idea of us persists.

Until we go. The same with our ‘spirit,’ our spark of life if you will. They do not survive us, at least in the Izan mythos. As to our own reality, I’ll admit I cannot see the ending of my flight.

Exura

Exura (pronounced ay-ZHU-rah) means ‘new world’ in the language used on Nagi when the wizard Hurasu first arrived there, via the Ural Gate. As several other words I coined for the people of Nagi (including the name Nagi itself), I adapted usages from Basque. But in the case of Exura, I also used an element from another ancient (and extinct) non-Indo-European tongue, Hattic.

Of course, no one speaking modern Basque was likely to have ever passed through the portal in the Ural Mountains. I am working on the premise (or conceit) that Basque is a remnant of a more widespread group of languages once spoken across Europe. Hattic (or, more accurately, related tongues) and various languages of the Caucasus might well have been spoken in the Urals region before Indo-European expansion. Or speakers could have traveled into the area from the south, for trade, for hunting, even for war.

The language of Nagi is an ever-changing pidgin as new groups and individuals arrive from our world — never many at a time — and add their own usages. There might well be Neanderthal (or Denisovan) dialects if one went far enough back. Then various modern humans would have crossed over, adding their own flavor to the linguistic soup, right down to Russians before the gate was finally blocked by Hurasu.

An online search will find other meanings for ‘exura.’ I knew nothing of those when I invented my own usage, nor do I particularly care about them. In my Gods and Wizards mythos, the name was adopted by Hurasu to refer to his new home, as distinguished from all the other worlds of infinite existence, Izan, and came to be used primarily by him and other wizards.

Most people, not unexpectedly, simply referred to their world by some word meaning ‘earth’ in their own languages. In Zikem, Hurasu’s invented language which drew much of its vocabulary from Etruscan, that was Ker.

The Earth Gates

Fundamental to my tales of Izan is the existence of two gates from our world to that of Exura. One-way gates; there is no returning for those who travel to that other world. Nor can one use them anymore. The wizard Hurasu blocked both in what would be the mid-1930s here and only an exceptionally powerful magician would be able to force his bindings. None such exist in our world.

These two gates are somewhat opposite poles in both worlds. In ours, one exists in the southern Ural Mountains and and the other in the South Pacific. Their approximate locations are 55N and 60E for the Ural Gate, and 120W and 35S for the Pacific Gate. These have remained essentially stationary over millions of years though, as the magnetic poles, they might meander just a little.

But the continents and oceans would themselves have shifted. The Pacific Ocean is somewhat of a constant, and at least for the last 250 million years the Pacific Gate has been located in it or its predecessor, the Panthallasic Ocean, which formed some 750 million years ago. We needn’t concern ourselves with anything earlier than that, I suspect.

This does mean the Pacific Gate was in the ocean when the last Mosasaur lived. It is likely the Itza encountered in a couple of my stories is a descendant of that aquatic reptile. The Ural Gate has generally been on land during that same period though shallow seas may have engulfed it for periods.

Exura would have had its own extinction events, some unique, some paralleling those of Earth. The dinosaur-killing asteroid did not occur but there would certainly have been similar events. Perhaps there are in all worlds, even those of the gods. This is one reason creatures extinct in our world persist in Exura, though generally not in large numbers. Evolution goes on there too, but not necessarily at the same pace as on Earth.

Of course, the Exura continents would also have drifted. The gates there are a subject to take up another day. We can say that, in addition to the gates from Earth, there are quite a few going to and from other worlds. That is one factor in the ease of using magic there in comparison to Earth, which is practically without sorcery of any sort. Some worlds, such as Hirstel or some of the homes of the various gods, are even more connected.

Does Earth have any other gates to or from one of the infinite worlds? We have mentioned one that opens in Anatolia, one-way only from Atlantis. Hurasu came through it and was stranded here until he found the way to Exura. A few others have passed to our world and some may have never have discovered an exit. There may be a few hidden ways here and there, difficult of passage or leading to inhospitable — or even deadly — worlds. Perhaps we’ll discover one or another of them in a future tale.

The Price

The ‘price of magic’ is a phrase and idea that shows up with some regularity in fantasy literature. Its exact meaning varies considerably. In my main fantasy sequence, the stories that make up the Annals of Izan, there are two primary ‘prices.’

First, magic is hard work. It wearies the practitioner to control the forces involved. Enough so to be hazardous to one health. Magicians sometimes push too hard and very much pay that price. On the other hand, the judicious use of the art is not a drain and the only price is the need for a little extra rest.

The second, and more dangerous, price is involved with the very process of magic. That is, connecting to other worlds — the infinite worlds of existence. For the untrained, it is all too easy to become ‘lost’ in those worlds, to go mad, hearing voices and seeing things one does not understand. The trained practitioner learns ways of dealing with other worlds ever impinging on their consciousness yet they, too, can be and all too often are, driven mad. Lord Radal, the antagonist of my Donzalo’s Destiny novels, was the original example of this.

That, essentially, is it. A fairly straightforward explanation of the dangers and price of magic. It has worked fine for me in a number of novels and I take care to stick to its rules.

Coyotes

Coyotes have been mentioned in at least a couple of my novels. They are not coyotes as we know them in North America; there is no way that species could have found its way to Exura. But they are similar, being essentially small wolves.

These are a different species from the jackals I have also mentioned. That is one reason I used the coyote name, to emphasize their basic difference. The two species live on different continents and their ranges do not overlap. The jackals of Exura are related to those of our world and it is likely their ancestors passed through the Ural Gate.

What I have named coyotes, however, would be descended from larger wolves that, most likely, came through the same gate. Some of these would have passed eastward into Muradon and evolved further there. Or they could, admittedly, have come to Exura from some other world than ours. As the coyotes of our world, they are adaptable and survive in lands where the larger wolves have been eradicated or become scarce. They are found across the continent of Muradon, from Sharsh in the west to the realm of the Ani but have never spread into Neradon beyond.

Though only jackals lived in their region, the Tesrans of the time of the Wizardry novels knew of coyotes because the skins sometimes came to them as trade goods. They would have had somewhat thicker hair than a jackal, making them more desirable as a fur. I have also mentioned coyote hides being worn in the Donzalo’s Destiny novels.

Snow-Ogres

Though I did not use the name in the novel in which they appeared (Valley of Visions), the large ape-like creatures the Taona Marareta (Michael Malvern) and his party encounter in the high mountains between Hurasu’s valley of the Tez and the Mora homeland were snow-ogres. Yes, they are somewhat yeti-like, taller than men and covered with shaggy white fur. They are advanced enough to carry weapons, even if only clubs and stone blades, and are able to converse with one another (whether an outsider would ever get the chance to communicate is a whole other question).

They are indeed a variety of ogre, meaning they are of faerie and not closely related to mortal men. They could be a people who have fallen back into a primitive lifestyle, adapting culturally and physically to the harsh conditions of the high mountains, or they could be an offshoot of the early lineage of the fay. I’m inclined to the first of these choices but it need not be decided one way or the other. Being of the fay, they would have some capabilities for magic. None are at all likely to be powerful sorcerers. They should be able to ‘speak from afar’ to their fellows, and others with magical talent.

Those snow-ogres who trailed and threatened Malvern never had the opportunity to attack, turning tail when a dragon showed up. What might they have had in mind? Maybe they only wished to drive strangers from their territory. More likely, they would have eaten those strangers, given the opportunity. Perhaps, should we encounter the creatures again, we’ll learn something of their dietary habits.

Will we encounter them in some future story? There are other high mountains and, it is to be assumed, more tribes of snow-ogres. It is also likely that their numbers are few, at least in Exura. In other worlds? Who can say? They might well serve some god or another elsewhere. They are certainly waiting in the wings should I wish to use them again.

Conlangs

Tolkien invented an invented language for his stories, the ‘Black Speech’ that Sauron created for his followers in Mordor. That’s the language in which the inscription on the One Ring is written. So Sauron essentially invented a conlang (a ‘constructed language’), just as Tolkien himself did for his elves.

I did something similar for the sorcerer Hurasu, who created a language for those he ruled in the valley of the Tez, aka the Valley of Visions. Hurasu is, to be sure, a much more benevolent fellow than Sauron and primarily wanted a logical language with no historical baggage. Or he may just have been bored and was filling his time with one more project. The language he created, Zikem, has its own unique structure and grammar but most of the words are borrowed from Etruscan, which Hurasu had learned when he spent a couple centuries in our world. He preferred not to use the language of his home world, Atlantis, as he felt that might attract undesirable attention.

The people over whom he ruled were, for the most part, of Austronesian ancestry and had their own dialects coming from Melanesian and Australian roots. Some of the words from their older languages did survive and pop up here and there in my narratives.