Lands of Red and Gold #19: The Bones Of The Earth
Lands of Red and Gold #19: The Bones Of The Earth
Step back far enough into the vanished aeons, and you will come to a time when the continent which will someday be called Aururia [Australia] is just one portion of a much larger landmass. In that time, titanic forces moved beneath the crust of the earth, buckling the surface and pushing up rocks into a range of mountains which at their formation would have towered above the modern Andes.
Yet the forces that buckled the earth and lifted up those mountains have long since ceased. The epoch of mountain-building in Aururia ended when dinosaurs still walked the land. Geological forces still worked beneath the surface, but with different effects. Now, the currents beneath the crust worked to break apart the land, not to push up mountains.
Fragments of the ancient landmass separated one by one. Africa had started to rift away even while the mountains were still being driven up in what would become eastern Aururia. South America separated next, in a slow, drawn-out process which would not see it break away completely for tens of millions of years. Another fragment broke off from eastern Aururia, moving further east and then mostly sinking beneath the waves. Only a few elevated portions of that fragment would remain above the waves as isolated islands, the largest of which would come to be called Aotearoa and Neufranken.
The fragment that would become Aururia slowly separated from the southern remnant of the old landmass that would come to be called Antarctica. Aururia slowly drifted north toward the tropics, and most of this new island continent slowly dried out under the searing forces of the desert sun.
During the eons of continental shattering and tectonic movement, the ancient mountains in eastern Aururia were exposed to the forces of weathering. The slow but inexorable actions of ice, water and wind scoured the mountains, wearing down the once-towering peaks. Those ancient mountains, those bones of rock which had been driven to the surface, were stripped of their covering. Mighty rivers flooded east, fed by glaciers and snowmelt, and carrying immense burdens of rock and soil out to the sea to be turned into endless deposits of sand. The flesh of the mountains was stripped away. All that remained were eroded remnants, weathered and rugged. All that was left was the bones of the earth.
As Aururia drifted further north, the sea levels rose and fell in concord with the formation of colossal ice sheets on many of the world’s continents. Most of the island continent was too dry to form such large sheets of ice, although more glaciers formed in the ancient mountains, wearing down the bones even further. During one of the more recent times of tice, the first humans crossed the narrowed seas and spread across the continent.
When the sea levels rose once more, there was one place where the rising waters lapped directly against the bones of those once-mighty mountains. One place where the bones of the earth were directly exposed to the sea. The people who lived in this area called it Yuragir [Coffs Harbour], and they called themselves the Bungudjimay. They did not know about the aeons which had preceded them, but they were quick to recognise the eroded bones. In the weathered and contorted shapes of the remaining mountains, they saw their own ancestors, and named the surrounding peaks according to the names of celebrated heroes from their own legends.
For millennia, the Bungudjimay were just one group of hunter-gatherers among many. They hunted, fished and collected the bounty of the earth, just as their neighbours did. Sometimes they raided and fought with those neighbours, and sometimes they were at peace. They were fortunate enough to live beside one of the few natural harbours on the eastern coast of Aururia, but otherwise there was nothing to suggest what they would someday become.
Far to the southwest of the Bungudjimay and their lands, other peoples were learning how to control the bounty of the earth. Those distant peoples slowly bred a range of crops which let them ensure that the earth brought forth produce in its seasons. In time, those early farmers migrated across much of the continent, in most cases displacing or absorbing the peoples who had lived there before them.
The Bungudjimay were fortunate enough, or astute enough, to be spared displacement by the Gunnagalic farmers expanding across the south-eastern regions of the continent. They accepted the fist band of farmers who carried yams, wattles and flax into their lands, and mingled their blood and their learning.
A new people arose from this union, who preserved the name and the language of the Bungudjimay hunter-gatherers who had dwelt around Yuragir since time immemorial. They preserved many of their own beliefs, too. From the Gunnagalic settlers who had merged with them, they learned the arts of farming, and of working with metal. Their beliefs mingled, too, particularly those among the Bungudjimay who remembered the bones of the earth.
With a much increased population and the encouragement of immigrants who had built in stone, the early Bungudjimay farmers found a new way to honour their ancestors. With religious dedication, stubborn determination, and many thick flax ropes, they dragged large lumps of basalt into prominent positions in the mountains. These were well-chosen sites, usually overlooking cliffs or other positions where they were visible over long distances without being directly exposed to rain overhead.
From here, the Bungudjimay carved and worked the basalt into the form of heads which were meant to honour their ancestors. The basalt heads had distinctively rounded forms; the Bungudjimay masons tried to avoid anything representing a straight line on any of these heads. Carved basalt heads were created over a period of about five centuries, which started not long after the Bungudjimay took up farming. Eventually, changing religious views, a lack of nearby suitable sites, and social disruption caused by the first blue-sleep epidemic [around 365 AD] meant the abandonment of the practice.
While the knowledge of head-carving itself faded, the veneration of the early heads continued. The Bungudjimay flourished as a people, expanding both north and south along the coast. They were quick to acquire new technology; given their location just east of the first tin mines, they were among the first peoples to work with bronze. Yet through all of this development, they did not forget the looming round heads which stared down at them whenever they ventured inland into the eroded remnants of the ancient mountains.
The passage of time and the ravages of the elements would damage many of the basalt heads. Some were weathered so badly that their original carvings were difficult to discern. Some were washed out of their original positions and shattered or damaged by falls. Yet some remained nearly intact, and would still be standing in their original positions when the first Europeans visited the region over fifteen centuries after the first heads had been carved. The Bungudjimay still considered those heads sacred then, although their explanations of their origins had been woven into legend. The sons and daughters of the Bungudjimay came to view these heads themselves as their ancestors.
The basalt heads of the Bungudjimay would inspire considerable later speculation about possible contact with cultures in other parts of the world, such as the Olmecs or Easter Islanders, even though their styles were wholly distinct. These speculations were completely unfounded; the basalt heads were an independent invention, and no meaningful contact occurred between Aururian farming peoples and outside peoples until the first Maori visited the east coast in the early fourteenth century. Despite archaeological evidence which would find that the basalt heads were carved locally and long before Polynesians or other peoples could have visited the region, the speculation would never completely end.
For the Bungudjimay themselves, however, the basalt heads were simply part of their heritage, albeit an unusual one. Their veneration of these supposedly ancestral heads, and the mountains which held them, led them to draw a new conclusion about the nature of the soul. The Bungudjimay came to believe that the soul was contained entirely within the head, and that what happened to the body did not matter. From the stone head their ancestors had sprung, their own heads were what felt and saw, and only the soul contained in the head would endure beyond death.
The alien nature of their religion was only one factor which separated the Bungudjimay from their neighbours. All of their surrounding peoples spoke Gunnagalic dialects or languages which were similar enough that they could learn each others’ speech without too much effort. The Bungudjimay language was completely unrelated, as were many of their traditions and outlooks. The Bungudjimay had no equivalent to the kitjigal social divisions of their Gunnagalic neighbours, and they found that system alien and distasteful.
Of all the factors that separated the Bungudjimay from their neighbours, the most important was their own sense of independence. By 886, the Watjubaga Empire had gained control of most of south-eastern Aururia, and appeared to be at the height of its power. Its emperor commanded the conquest of the Bungudjimay lands, but his armies were utterly repulsed. This victory would become an integral part of Bungudjimay mythology; when they coalesced into a united state, they would date their calendar from the year of that great battle.
Still, while separated by barriers of language, religion and geography, the Bungudjimay were never completely isolated. Some ideas and technology inevitably penetrated from neighbouring peoples. Writing spread to them by the early tenth century, although its use would largely be confined to their priestly classes. They acquired knowledge of better bronze weapons and tactics while fighting the Empire and its successor peoples to their west, and they would put this knowledge to good use in war.
Before the attempted conquest by the Empire, the Bungudjimay were politically organised into clustered groups of city-states and related farming communities established along the coast. They had fought among themselves as much as their neighbours. After the defeat of the Empire and the introduction of writing and new military technologies, they gradually consolidated into more unified governments.
By 1020, the Bungudjimay had united into two main states. The northern state was named Yuragir, after the ancestral harbour site which became the capital. The main rival was the kingdom of Daluming further south. This kingdom was named after the major river which flowed through its territory; the River Daluming [Macleay River] was surrounded by a region of very fertile soils which allowed it to support a substantial population.
For two centuries, the northern and southern Bungudjimay kingdoms had a complex relationship which was sometimes at peace, but often at war. Their wars were often more intended for tribute, prisoners and sacrifices than they were for conquest. During this time of struggle, the northern kingdom of Yuragir became popularly called the Blue Land because it controlled the best harbour. Daluming became known as the White Land because of the abundant sand deposited by its eponymous river, both at its mouth and along its banks.
The two kingdoms were united in 1245, ostensibly by a dynastic marriage where the king of Daluming married a Yuragir princess and merged the kingdoms. In practice this was accomplished more by a military coup, with the remaining Yuragir royal family given the opportunity to find out firsthand whether their beliefs about the afterlife were correct. However, the new monarch moved his capital to Yuragir soon afterward, and while the kingdom kept the name Daluming after the old dynasty, the political and cultural capital became established at Yuragir. The old divisions were preserved in some names and symbols in the kingdom, such as the king’s staff of office, which was topped with a blue sapphire and white pearl to signify the old Blue and White Lands.
After the unification of the kingdom, the Bungudjimay became raiders and conquerors on a much larger scale. Their main cities were along the coast, although they had a few inland settlements in key areas. Their northernmost city of importance was Ngutti [Yamba], although they claimed much further north. In the south, they had a thriving city established at Tarpai [Port Macquarie], again with lands claimed further south but mostly raided rather than controlled. In the west, the mountains for long defied any long-term conquest. However, in 1592 Bungudjimay soldiers conquered the region around Anaiwal [Armidale], which they still held in 1618.
* * *
In 1618, the Daluming kingdom is the largest kingdom on the eastern seaboard of Aururia. It claims more land than it controls, but its soldiers raid even further than it claims. Daluming soldiers raid for tribute, glory, and religious satisfaction; their boldest soldiers have reached as far north as the fringes of Kiyungu territory, and as far south as the frontier with the Patjimunra.
In its geography and fertility of its soil, Daluming is a fortunate kingdom. The bones of the earth to the west are much eroded, but they still reach high enough to make clouds condense and bring an abundance of rain. Occasionally there is too much rain; Daluming is just far enough north that it is occasionally flooded by wayward cyclones. For most of the time, however, the rain is enough to water their crops and allow them to farm the soil much more intensively than their neighbours inland. They have access to spices and other plants which will not grow inland, such as myrtles and other spices which they export, and fruits such as white aspen, lemon aspen, and riberries which are consumed locally. Occasional contact with the Maori in the south-east has brought the new crops of kumara [sweet potato] and taro which grow well in their lands.
Politically, Daluming is a nearly homogenous society under a semi-divine king who has absolute control over the life and death of his subjects. They are nearly all Bungudjimay speakers, apart from a few Gunnagalic subjects in the outlying territories. The monarch is revered and lives a life of semi-seclusion; common people rarely see him except on great state or religious occasions, and then only from a distance. The monarchy is nominally elective amongst any member of the royal family, although in practice the priestly hierarchy usually decides the successor. Once crowned, though, monarchs do their best to impose their will over the priestly classes, with varying degrees of success.
In its technology, Daluming has usually been like most of the peoples on the eastern coast; most of its knowledge has been acquired through technological diffusion rather than local invention. In one area, however, they have become the premier manufacturers on the continent. For the Bungudjimay have found a use for the eroded flesh of the earth, which has been scoured from the mountains, carried out to the sea, and then washed up on their shores. For they take this sand and turn into the jewels of their world; they make glass, an art in which the Bungudjimay outmatch all others on the continent.
Glassmaking developed several centuries ago in what was then the Yuragir kingdom, and the art has improved since the Daluming conquest. The technology has diffused elsewhere, but the Bungudjimay are the most accomplished artisans. They use sand, wood ash from wattles, limestone, and a variety of other local materials to make glass of a variety of hues. In the last two centuries, they have also developed techniques for making colourless glass, although what they make is not completely transparent, and they have not discovered the techniques of glass-blowing.
The Bungudjimay make extensive use of coloured glass beads for jewellery, and this glass has also been exported widely across the continent. They shape a variety of vessels out of glass, such as beakers and bowls. They have made a few glass mirrors, although these are rare enough to be available only to the royal family and a few favoured priests. The Bungudjimay are fortunate that the sand along their coast is naturally replenished, allowing them to continue drawing from it to make ever more frequent use of glass [1].
Of all their uses for glass, though, none will amaze European visitors than the combination of glass and religion.
* * *
In the Daluming kingdom, the Bungudjimay inhabitants still hold to their old belief that the soul is contained only within the head. They think that the rest of the body is only used in this world, and that once a person is dead, the rest of the body might as well be abandoned. As such, they sever heads for separate collection and honour, and do not bother to bury the body with full rites. Headless bodies are sometimes simply interred somewhere out of the way, and sometimes cremated. If someone is killed in battle, even an enemy, the Bungudjimay will simply remove the head and let the body rest where it fell.
Their practice of head-collecting is something which their enemies often find disconcerting. Yet there is no malice involved. To the Bungudjimay, the collection of heads is an essential component of funeral rites. They collect the heads of enemies fallen in battle, and treat them with the same respect as they do those of their own kin. Having severed heads rotting around doorways is not always pleasant to newcomers, but the Bungudjimay do this both for defeated enemies and their own people.
Head-collection was an ancient Bungudjimay practice, but the priesthood of the unified Daluming kingdom built it into a dramatic representation of their religion. For one of the strangest sights in Aururia can be found in Yuragir. This is what the Bungudjimay call the Mound of Memory, but which later English explorers will call Glazkul, and it is that name by which it will become known around the world.
On the easternmost point of their mainland [just inside South Coffs Island, now reclaimed to the mainland in modern Coffs Harbour], the Bungudjimay have built a pyramid. This is a step pyramid about 100 metres high, although the staggered structure means that it contains much less rock than the Great Pyramids or Mesoamerican pyramids. This pyramid is partly built on a natural rocky outcrop which supplies much of the volume of the pyramid; the other necessary step levels have simply been built around the rock.
As a pyramid, Glazkul offers an imposing sight in itself. Built to catch the morning sun as it rises over the eastern sea, Glazkul will appear lit up and shining. The stone pyramid itself was built over a period of nearly sixty years, with rocks being transported from the nearby bones of the earth and shaped into a new pyramid. Yet that accomplishment was only the beginning of the true completion of Glazkul.
The pyramid is shaped into ten step, and each of those steps is formed into what is mostly a flat level. Except that on the outer rim, at the top of each level, niches have been left in the stone. These niches were left vacant when the pyramid was constructed; they needed to be filled in later.
Each of the niches has been built to hold a skull. A skull which has been carefully cleaned of all flesh, placed into a setting of bronze, then fitted into the niche. Each niche has then been sealed with a block of translucent glass. Here, rocks which once formed part of the bones of the earth have been eroded into sand, then melted into glass and used to seal true bones.
Not all of the niches have been filled; the uppermost levels are still empty. For the niches can not be filled merely by any available skull. The pyramid of Glazkul, the Mound of Memory, is central to the priestly rites of the Daluming. The yearly round of festivals must be observed from its summit; the equinoxes, solstices, and the celebrations each new moon.
For such a sacred site, the skulls which are placed there must be from worthy donors. There are two sorts of people considered worthy. Those who are of royal blood are automatically considered worthy, and their heads are added to Glazkul upon their deaths. The other, more common way of adding a skull to the niche is that it must come from the head of what the Bungudjimay call a meriki, a word which is usually translated as “blooded warrior.” This refers to anyone who has a military calling and who has killed at least one person in honourable combat – battle or a duel – and who has in turn died in combat. The heads of blooded warriors who died of old age are not acceptable.
To have one’s skull added to Glazkul is considered a great honour, at least by the Bungudjimay. Their neighbours may not always agree, but then the Bungudjimay have never really cared what their neighbours think. Many of their raids are fought with the objective of adding skulls to Glazkul. Of course, raids which kill meaningless people are of no use. The only acceptable skulls are those of enemies who have been observed to kill a Bungudjimay in battle first, or those of their own blooded warriors who have fallen in battle.
With no niche open to Bungudjimay warriors who die of old age, few of them opt to let themselves reach such an end. For those Bungudjimay warriors who reach a veteran age, a custom of duelling has developed. These duels are sacred events, often held in the shadow of Glazkul. It is not unknown for both duellists to wound each other so severely that they both die and have their heads added to Glazkul.
With the strict restrictions on which skulls are worthy of admittance, the pyramid of Glazkul has taken a long time to fill. Yet the priests and warriors of the Bungudjimay have been dedicated in their service. The first eight levels are completely full, the glass glistening in the morning light or reflected at night by the torches lit on solstices, equinoxes and each new moon. The ninth level is nearly full, and only the tenth level remains. Once that is finished, then it will be the time of the Closure, when the legends of the Bungudjimay say that a new world will begin.
* * *
[1] For the Bungudjimay, sand is effectively a renewable resource. Sand is continually drifting north along this area of the east coast, being accumulated across beaches and then pushed up the coast by the process of longshore drift. Modern Coffs Harbour is an artificial harbour built by connecting two offshore islands to the mainland, and this process has interfered with the natural sand drift along the coast. (The beach to the south of Coffs Harbour now has an ongoing accumulation of sand, which is causing problems with the harbour).
* * *
Thoughts?
P.S. This post marks the end of the overview posts of Australia as it is in 1618. From here, the timeline will move forward into European contact. There are a few other pre-contact peoples who will probably be covered in some detail (the Maori and Kiyungu, especially) before they are affected by Europeans, but the next few posts will be about European contact, starting with the Dutch in *Western Australia.
Step back far enough into the vanished aeons, and you will come to a time when the continent which will someday be called Aururia [Australia] is just one portion of a much larger landmass. In that time, titanic forces moved beneath the crust of the earth, buckling the surface and pushing up rocks into a range of mountains which at their formation would have towered above the modern Andes.
Yet the forces that buckled the earth and lifted up those mountains have long since ceased. The epoch of mountain-building in Aururia ended when dinosaurs still walked the land. Geological forces still worked beneath the surface, but with different effects. Now, the currents beneath the crust worked to break apart the land, not to push up mountains.
Fragments of the ancient landmass separated one by one. Africa had started to rift away even while the mountains were still being driven up in what would become eastern Aururia. South America separated next, in a slow, drawn-out process which would not see it break away completely for tens of millions of years. Another fragment broke off from eastern Aururia, moving further east and then mostly sinking beneath the waves. Only a few elevated portions of that fragment would remain above the waves as isolated islands, the largest of which would come to be called Aotearoa and Neufranken.
The fragment that would become Aururia slowly separated from the southern remnant of the old landmass that would come to be called Antarctica. Aururia slowly drifted north toward the tropics, and most of this new island continent slowly dried out under the searing forces of the desert sun.
During the eons of continental shattering and tectonic movement, the ancient mountains in eastern Aururia were exposed to the forces of weathering. The slow but inexorable actions of ice, water and wind scoured the mountains, wearing down the once-towering peaks. Those ancient mountains, those bones of rock which had been driven to the surface, were stripped of their covering. Mighty rivers flooded east, fed by glaciers and snowmelt, and carrying immense burdens of rock and soil out to the sea to be turned into endless deposits of sand. The flesh of the mountains was stripped away. All that remained were eroded remnants, weathered and rugged. All that was left was the bones of the earth.
As Aururia drifted further north, the sea levels rose and fell in concord with the formation of colossal ice sheets on many of the world’s continents. Most of the island continent was too dry to form such large sheets of ice, although more glaciers formed in the ancient mountains, wearing down the bones even further. During one of the more recent times of tice, the first humans crossed the narrowed seas and spread across the continent.
When the sea levels rose once more, there was one place where the rising waters lapped directly against the bones of those once-mighty mountains. One place where the bones of the earth were directly exposed to the sea. The people who lived in this area called it Yuragir [Coffs Harbour], and they called themselves the Bungudjimay. They did not know about the aeons which had preceded them, but they were quick to recognise the eroded bones. In the weathered and contorted shapes of the remaining mountains, they saw their own ancestors, and named the surrounding peaks according to the names of celebrated heroes from their own legends.
For millennia, the Bungudjimay were just one group of hunter-gatherers among many. They hunted, fished and collected the bounty of the earth, just as their neighbours did. Sometimes they raided and fought with those neighbours, and sometimes they were at peace. They were fortunate enough to live beside one of the few natural harbours on the eastern coast of Aururia, but otherwise there was nothing to suggest what they would someday become.
Far to the southwest of the Bungudjimay and their lands, other peoples were learning how to control the bounty of the earth. Those distant peoples slowly bred a range of crops which let them ensure that the earth brought forth produce in its seasons. In time, those early farmers migrated across much of the continent, in most cases displacing or absorbing the peoples who had lived there before them.
The Bungudjimay were fortunate enough, or astute enough, to be spared displacement by the Gunnagalic farmers expanding across the south-eastern regions of the continent. They accepted the fist band of farmers who carried yams, wattles and flax into their lands, and mingled their blood and their learning.
A new people arose from this union, who preserved the name and the language of the Bungudjimay hunter-gatherers who had dwelt around Yuragir since time immemorial. They preserved many of their own beliefs, too. From the Gunnagalic settlers who had merged with them, they learned the arts of farming, and of working with metal. Their beliefs mingled, too, particularly those among the Bungudjimay who remembered the bones of the earth.
With a much increased population and the encouragement of immigrants who had built in stone, the early Bungudjimay farmers found a new way to honour their ancestors. With religious dedication, stubborn determination, and many thick flax ropes, they dragged large lumps of basalt into prominent positions in the mountains. These were well-chosen sites, usually overlooking cliffs or other positions where they were visible over long distances without being directly exposed to rain overhead.
From here, the Bungudjimay carved and worked the basalt into the form of heads which were meant to honour their ancestors. The basalt heads had distinctively rounded forms; the Bungudjimay masons tried to avoid anything representing a straight line on any of these heads. Carved basalt heads were created over a period of about five centuries, which started not long after the Bungudjimay took up farming. Eventually, changing religious views, a lack of nearby suitable sites, and social disruption caused by the first blue-sleep epidemic [around 365 AD] meant the abandonment of the practice.
While the knowledge of head-carving itself faded, the veneration of the early heads continued. The Bungudjimay flourished as a people, expanding both north and south along the coast. They were quick to acquire new technology; given their location just east of the first tin mines, they were among the first peoples to work with bronze. Yet through all of this development, they did not forget the looming round heads which stared down at them whenever they ventured inland into the eroded remnants of the ancient mountains.
The passage of time and the ravages of the elements would damage many of the basalt heads. Some were weathered so badly that their original carvings were difficult to discern. Some were washed out of their original positions and shattered or damaged by falls. Yet some remained nearly intact, and would still be standing in their original positions when the first Europeans visited the region over fifteen centuries after the first heads had been carved. The Bungudjimay still considered those heads sacred then, although their explanations of their origins had been woven into legend. The sons and daughters of the Bungudjimay came to view these heads themselves as their ancestors.
The basalt heads of the Bungudjimay would inspire considerable later speculation about possible contact with cultures in other parts of the world, such as the Olmecs or Easter Islanders, even though their styles were wholly distinct. These speculations were completely unfounded; the basalt heads were an independent invention, and no meaningful contact occurred between Aururian farming peoples and outside peoples until the first Maori visited the east coast in the early fourteenth century. Despite archaeological evidence which would find that the basalt heads were carved locally and long before Polynesians or other peoples could have visited the region, the speculation would never completely end.
For the Bungudjimay themselves, however, the basalt heads were simply part of their heritage, albeit an unusual one. Their veneration of these supposedly ancestral heads, and the mountains which held them, led them to draw a new conclusion about the nature of the soul. The Bungudjimay came to believe that the soul was contained entirely within the head, and that what happened to the body did not matter. From the stone head their ancestors had sprung, their own heads were what felt and saw, and only the soul contained in the head would endure beyond death.
The alien nature of their religion was only one factor which separated the Bungudjimay from their neighbours. All of their surrounding peoples spoke Gunnagalic dialects or languages which were similar enough that they could learn each others’ speech without too much effort. The Bungudjimay language was completely unrelated, as were many of their traditions and outlooks. The Bungudjimay had no equivalent to the kitjigal social divisions of their Gunnagalic neighbours, and they found that system alien and distasteful.
Of all the factors that separated the Bungudjimay from their neighbours, the most important was their own sense of independence. By 886, the Watjubaga Empire had gained control of most of south-eastern Aururia, and appeared to be at the height of its power. Its emperor commanded the conquest of the Bungudjimay lands, but his armies were utterly repulsed. This victory would become an integral part of Bungudjimay mythology; when they coalesced into a united state, they would date their calendar from the year of that great battle.
Still, while separated by barriers of language, religion and geography, the Bungudjimay were never completely isolated. Some ideas and technology inevitably penetrated from neighbouring peoples. Writing spread to them by the early tenth century, although its use would largely be confined to their priestly classes. They acquired knowledge of better bronze weapons and tactics while fighting the Empire and its successor peoples to their west, and they would put this knowledge to good use in war.
Before the attempted conquest by the Empire, the Bungudjimay were politically organised into clustered groups of city-states and related farming communities established along the coast. They had fought among themselves as much as their neighbours. After the defeat of the Empire and the introduction of writing and new military technologies, they gradually consolidated into more unified governments.
By 1020, the Bungudjimay had united into two main states. The northern state was named Yuragir, after the ancestral harbour site which became the capital. The main rival was the kingdom of Daluming further south. This kingdom was named after the major river which flowed through its territory; the River Daluming [Macleay River] was surrounded by a region of very fertile soils which allowed it to support a substantial population.
For two centuries, the northern and southern Bungudjimay kingdoms had a complex relationship which was sometimes at peace, but often at war. Their wars were often more intended for tribute, prisoners and sacrifices than they were for conquest. During this time of struggle, the northern kingdom of Yuragir became popularly called the Blue Land because it controlled the best harbour. Daluming became known as the White Land because of the abundant sand deposited by its eponymous river, both at its mouth and along its banks.
The two kingdoms were united in 1245, ostensibly by a dynastic marriage where the king of Daluming married a Yuragir princess and merged the kingdoms. In practice this was accomplished more by a military coup, with the remaining Yuragir royal family given the opportunity to find out firsthand whether their beliefs about the afterlife were correct. However, the new monarch moved his capital to Yuragir soon afterward, and while the kingdom kept the name Daluming after the old dynasty, the political and cultural capital became established at Yuragir. The old divisions were preserved in some names and symbols in the kingdom, such as the king’s staff of office, which was topped with a blue sapphire and white pearl to signify the old Blue and White Lands.
After the unification of the kingdom, the Bungudjimay became raiders and conquerors on a much larger scale. Their main cities were along the coast, although they had a few inland settlements in key areas. Their northernmost city of importance was Ngutti [Yamba], although they claimed much further north. In the south, they had a thriving city established at Tarpai [Port Macquarie], again with lands claimed further south but mostly raided rather than controlled. In the west, the mountains for long defied any long-term conquest. However, in 1592 Bungudjimay soldiers conquered the region around Anaiwal [Armidale], which they still held in 1618.
* * *
In 1618, the Daluming kingdom is the largest kingdom on the eastern seaboard of Aururia. It claims more land than it controls, but its soldiers raid even further than it claims. Daluming soldiers raid for tribute, glory, and religious satisfaction; their boldest soldiers have reached as far north as the fringes of Kiyungu territory, and as far south as the frontier with the Patjimunra.
In its geography and fertility of its soil, Daluming is a fortunate kingdom. The bones of the earth to the west are much eroded, but they still reach high enough to make clouds condense and bring an abundance of rain. Occasionally there is too much rain; Daluming is just far enough north that it is occasionally flooded by wayward cyclones. For most of the time, however, the rain is enough to water their crops and allow them to farm the soil much more intensively than their neighbours inland. They have access to spices and other plants which will not grow inland, such as myrtles and other spices which they export, and fruits such as white aspen, lemon aspen, and riberries which are consumed locally. Occasional contact with the Maori in the south-east has brought the new crops of kumara [sweet potato] and taro which grow well in their lands.
Politically, Daluming is a nearly homogenous society under a semi-divine king who has absolute control over the life and death of his subjects. They are nearly all Bungudjimay speakers, apart from a few Gunnagalic subjects in the outlying territories. The monarch is revered and lives a life of semi-seclusion; common people rarely see him except on great state or religious occasions, and then only from a distance. The monarchy is nominally elective amongst any member of the royal family, although in practice the priestly hierarchy usually decides the successor. Once crowned, though, monarchs do their best to impose their will over the priestly classes, with varying degrees of success.
In its technology, Daluming has usually been like most of the peoples on the eastern coast; most of its knowledge has been acquired through technological diffusion rather than local invention. In one area, however, they have become the premier manufacturers on the continent. For the Bungudjimay have found a use for the eroded flesh of the earth, which has been scoured from the mountains, carried out to the sea, and then washed up on their shores. For they take this sand and turn into the jewels of their world; they make glass, an art in which the Bungudjimay outmatch all others on the continent.
Glassmaking developed several centuries ago in what was then the Yuragir kingdom, and the art has improved since the Daluming conquest. The technology has diffused elsewhere, but the Bungudjimay are the most accomplished artisans. They use sand, wood ash from wattles, limestone, and a variety of other local materials to make glass of a variety of hues. In the last two centuries, they have also developed techniques for making colourless glass, although what they make is not completely transparent, and they have not discovered the techniques of glass-blowing.
The Bungudjimay make extensive use of coloured glass beads for jewellery, and this glass has also been exported widely across the continent. They shape a variety of vessels out of glass, such as beakers and bowls. They have made a few glass mirrors, although these are rare enough to be available only to the royal family and a few favoured priests. The Bungudjimay are fortunate that the sand along their coast is naturally replenished, allowing them to continue drawing from it to make ever more frequent use of glass [1].
Of all their uses for glass, though, none will amaze European visitors than the combination of glass and religion.
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In the Daluming kingdom, the Bungudjimay inhabitants still hold to their old belief that the soul is contained only within the head. They think that the rest of the body is only used in this world, and that once a person is dead, the rest of the body might as well be abandoned. As such, they sever heads for separate collection and honour, and do not bother to bury the body with full rites. Headless bodies are sometimes simply interred somewhere out of the way, and sometimes cremated. If someone is killed in battle, even an enemy, the Bungudjimay will simply remove the head and let the body rest where it fell.
Their practice of head-collecting is something which their enemies often find disconcerting. Yet there is no malice involved. To the Bungudjimay, the collection of heads is an essential component of funeral rites. They collect the heads of enemies fallen in battle, and treat them with the same respect as they do those of their own kin. Having severed heads rotting around doorways is not always pleasant to newcomers, but the Bungudjimay do this both for defeated enemies and their own people.
Head-collection was an ancient Bungudjimay practice, but the priesthood of the unified Daluming kingdom built it into a dramatic representation of their religion. For one of the strangest sights in Aururia can be found in Yuragir. This is what the Bungudjimay call the Mound of Memory, but which later English explorers will call Glazkul, and it is that name by which it will become known around the world.
On the easternmost point of their mainland [just inside South Coffs Island, now reclaimed to the mainland in modern Coffs Harbour], the Bungudjimay have built a pyramid. This is a step pyramid about 100 metres high, although the staggered structure means that it contains much less rock than the Great Pyramids or Mesoamerican pyramids. This pyramid is partly built on a natural rocky outcrop which supplies much of the volume of the pyramid; the other necessary step levels have simply been built around the rock.
As a pyramid, Glazkul offers an imposing sight in itself. Built to catch the morning sun as it rises over the eastern sea, Glazkul will appear lit up and shining. The stone pyramid itself was built over a period of nearly sixty years, with rocks being transported from the nearby bones of the earth and shaped into a new pyramid. Yet that accomplishment was only the beginning of the true completion of Glazkul.
The pyramid is shaped into ten step, and each of those steps is formed into what is mostly a flat level. Except that on the outer rim, at the top of each level, niches have been left in the stone. These niches were left vacant when the pyramid was constructed; they needed to be filled in later.
Each of the niches has been built to hold a skull. A skull which has been carefully cleaned of all flesh, placed into a setting of bronze, then fitted into the niche. Each niche has then been sealed with a block of translucent glass. Here, rocks which once formed part of the bones of the earth have been eroded into sand, then melted into glass and used to seal true bones.
Not all of the niches have been filled; the uppermost levels are still empty. For the niches can not be filled merely by any available skull. The pyramid of Glazkul, the Mound of Memory, is central to the priestly rites of the Daluming. The yearly round of festivals must be observed from its summit; the equinoxes, solstices, and the celebrations each new moon.
For such a sacred site, the skulls which are placed there must be from worthy donors. There are two sorts of people considered worthy. Those who are of royal blood are automatically considered worthy, and their heads are added to Glazkul upon their deaths. The other, more common way of adding a skull to the niche is that it must come from the head of what the Bungudjimay call a meriki, a word which is usually translated as “blooded warrior.” This refers to anyone who has a military calling and who has killed at least one person in honourable combat – battle or a duel – and who has in turn died in combat. The heads of blooded warriors who died of old age are not acceptable.
To have one’s skull added to Glazkul is considered a great honour, at least by the Bungudjimay. Their neighbours may not always agree, but then the Bungudjimay have never really cared what their neighbours think. Many of their raids are fought with the objective of adding skulls to Glazkul. Of course, raids which kill meaningless people are of no use. The only acceptable skulls are those of enemies who have been observed to kill a Bungudjimay in battle first, or those of their own blooded warriors who have fallen in battle.
With no niche open to Bungudjimay warriors who die of old age, few of them opt to let themselves reach such an end. For those Bungudjimay warriors who reach a veteran age, a custom of duelling has developed. These duels are sacred events, often held in the shadow of Glazkul. It is not unknown for both duellists to wound each other so severely that they both die and have their heads added to Glazkul.
With the strict restrictions on which skulls are worthy of admittance, the pyramid of Glazkul has taken a long time to fill. Yet the priests and warriors of the Bungudjimay have been dedicated in their service. The first eight levels are completely full, the glass glistening in the morning light or reflected at night by the torches lit on solstices, equinoxes and each new moon. The ninth level is nearly full, and only the tenth level remains. Once that is finished, then it will be the time of the Closure, when the legends of the Bungudjimay say that a new world will begin.
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[1] For the Bungudjimay, sand is effectively a renewable resource. Sand is continually drifting north along this area of the east coast, being accumulated across beaches and then pushed up the coast by the process of longshore drift. Modern Coffs Harbour is an artificial harbour built by connecting two offshore islands to the mainland, and this process has interfered with the natural sand drift along the coast. (The beach to the south of Coffs Harbour now has an ongoing accumulation of sand, which is causing problems with the harbour).
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Thoughts?
P.S. This post marks the end of the overview posts of Australia as it is in 1618. From here, the timeline will move forward into European contact. There are a few other pre-contact peoples who will probably be covered in some detail (the Maori and Kiyungu, especially) before they are affected by Europeans, but the next few posts will be about European contact, starting with the Dutch in *Western Australia.
It's not a "real" wattle-ale, but more a barley-wheat one with "added" wattleseeds. While I couldn't for the life of me tell you what the wattles add (the hops and malt kinda rule the flavor), it is a very flavorful ale. Jared, you should let the company know they owe you an advert fee since LoR&G "inspired" my purchace. 