Bakker XXVII: Shimeh by way of Momemn

[Larry of the Lawn]

WLW was just some caste menial that Yatwer marked and who then was ceremonially fucked by Psatma, the ritual of which completed his transition into the WLW of myth, right?

[Happy Ent]

Was there a different Narinder that was killed and replaced by the WLW?

Yes.

[Rhom]

Yes.

Also my understanding.

[Rhom]

You all needed to see this... only the Westerosi have enough indulgent, black-hearted, masochistic, and self-flagellating humour to appreciate it :).

Another good one from him.

[Kalbear]

Huh. That's not at all how I pictured the inchie clamskull. It's kinda neat though. I was thinking it was more with the head in a clam, as the center of the clam. Interesting.

Also thought of them as, well, way more massive. Not lithe and skinny.

[Rhom]

I think he has a pencil drawing of an Inchie somewhere on his site that looks more like that.

[Wise Fool]

You all needed to see this... only the Westerosi have enough indulgent, black-hearted, masochistic, and self-flagellating humour to appreciate it :).

And people say the Bakkerverse is devoid of love or joy. Ha!

[Madness]

Open invite to join myself and mrganondorf in the second TSACast. Topic to be decided. We're aiming for 4pm Eastern time.

[Sci-2]

You all needed to see this... only the Westerosi have enough indulgent, black-hearted, masochistic, and self-flagellating humour to appreciate it :).

Nice. I thought the head opened sideways?

[Madness]

Topic is hearts and Moenghus the Elder.

[Rhom]

Topic is hearts and Moenghus the Elder.

Like, hearts with eyes in them? Or hearts in body cavities?

[Callan S.]

yeah, glanton gang invades moria, but

brings own balrog, kid has superpowers, gandalf survives

As well as

Gandalf enbodying the balrog

[Anatúrinbor]

I think he has a pencil drawing of an Inchie somewhere on his site that looks more like that.

I'm guessing that that's where this idea came from. A head inside a clam doesn't fit with the descriptions anyway.

[Diziet]

WLW was just some caste menial that Yatwer marked and who then was ceremonially fucked by Psatma, the ritual of which completed his transition into the WLW of myth, right?

I'm more baffled by how she turned out younger in book five. Is it that copulating with TWLW makes one younger because he experiences all of time at once, the same reason that his chapters are written in the present tense?

[Larry of the Lawn]

Dunno, but remember that its during the fuck scene in TJE that psatma and the wlw warrior change; he becomes older and she becomes younger.

[Diziet]

He gets older? Didn't even notice.

I wondered if he replaced the Narindar how come Esmenet didn't notice any difference between them. But if the ritual gave him the Narindar's appearance then could it be that Psatma is going to impersonate someone?

[Happy Ent]

Esmi never meets the original Narindar.

[Diziet]

Ahh. Finally, the greatest mystery for me has been solved.

[Happy Ent]

The important parts are both from Chapter XI:

In the following excerpt, the White-Luck Warrior murders the Narindar, from the perspective of the former. (He refers to himself as Gift-of-Yatwer.):

"I gutted a dove in the old way," the long-haired man said, "with a sharpened stone. And when I drew out the entrails, I saw you."

"Then you know."

The Narindar assassin nodded. "Yes… But do you?"

"I have no need of knowing."

The Gift-of-Yatwer leaned against the door he had already entered. The way was not barred.

The room was little more than a cellar, even though it hung some four storeys above the alleyway. The plaster had sloughed from the walls, leaving bare stretches of cracked brick. Near the slot that served as a window, he saw himself speaking with a man, his tunic grimed about the armpits. A cloak of road-beaten leather lay crumpled upon the spare bed. His hair was waist long, a peculiarity among the Ketyai. The only thing extraordinary about his dress was his war-girdle: a wide belt stamped with the images of bulls. A variety of knives and tools gleamed from holsters along the back.

"I gutted a dove in the old way," the long-haired man was saying, "with a sharpened stone. And when I drew out the entrails, I saw you."

"Then you know."

"Yes… But do you?"

"I have no need of knowing."

The Narindar frowned and smiled. "The Four-Horned Brother… Do you know why he is shunned by the others? Why my Cult and my Cult alone is condemned by the Tusk?"

The White-Luck Warrior saw himself shrug.

He glanced back, saw himself climbing stairs that had crumbled into a narrow slope.

He glanced back, saw himself pressing through packed streets, faces hanging like bulbs of garlic in shifting fields of cloth, soldiers watching from raised stoops, slave-girls balancing baskets and urns upon their heads, teamsters driving mules and oxen. He glanced back, saw the immensity of the gate climbing above him, engulfing sun and high blue sky.

He glanced back, one pilgrim among others braiding the roadway, watching Momemn's curtain walls wandering out to parse the hazy distances. A monumental fence.

He looked forward, saw himself rolling the long-haired man through his blood into the black slot beneath the bed rack. He paused to listen through the booming of the streets, heard tomorrow's prayer horns yaw deep across the Home City.

"The Four-Horned Brother…" the long-haired man was saying. "Do you know why he is shunned by the others? Why my Cult and my Cult alone is condemned in the Tusk?"

"Ajokli is the Fool," he heard himself reply.

The long-haired man smiled. "He only seems such because he sees what the others do not see… What you do not see."

"I have no need of seeing."

The Narindar lowered his face in resignation. "The blindness of the sighted," he murmured.

"Are you ready?" the Gift-of-Yatwer asked, not because he was curious, but because this was what he had heard himself say.

"I told you… I gutted a dove in the old way."

The White-Luck Warrior glanced back, saw himself standing upon a distant hill, looking forward.

The blood was as sticky as he remembered.

Like the oranges he would eat fifty-three days from now.

OK? WLW approaches Momemn, presses through streets, climbs stairs, encounters Narindar (who has gutted a dove and knows about the encounter as well), kills the Narindar (this is the only part not shown to us), rolls his body through his blood beneath the bed rack.

The Narindar is Ketyai and has long hair.

Here is Esmi’s encounter with the creature she thinks of “the Narindar”, a little later in the chapter.

The assassin stood staring out the window, but from the centre of the room, where he could scarce hope to see anything of interest. Indirect light bathed his profile. Aside from a certain solemn density in his manner, nothing about him suggested deceit and murder. The line of his nose and jaw was youthful to the point of appearing effeminate, yet his skin possessed the year-brushed coarseness of someone hard beyond his years. His jet hair was cropped short, which surprised her, since she had thought the assassin-priests always wore their hair long, as long as an Ainoni caste-noble's, but without the braids. His beard was trim, as was the present fashion among certain merchants-something she knew only because fanatical interests in the Ministrate had petitioned her to pass beard laws. His clothing was nondescript. Brown stains marred his earlobes.

Esmi particularly notes that “the Narindar’s” hair is cropped short, where she had expected long hair.

The body inhabited by the White-Luck Warrior we meet first in Judging Eye, chapter IX. He is married and has a child. He suddenly leaves his home, which collapses because of cheap bricks bought 57 years before. Next time we meet him he’s sitting in a chair and performs a Yatwerian ritual with Psatma Nannaferi, trading youth for experience. Neither of these passages gives us any description of his face, though. (We only learn about his callouses.)

Did this clear it up for you?

[Francis Buck]

Hah, I never picked up on the oranges reference before.