Interlude 2
Interlude 2
Notes by Nicholas Carter, observing from the Museum
Whereas humans are entirely biological, their every psychological and physiological attribute more or less explicable through traditional science, the daimon possess a dual nature: biology and McFinnium—which I will henceforth refer to as arda. (And thank god we can finally stop calling it McFinnium.) They have DNA, blood, and respiratory and nervous systems and many other biological features similar to humans. However, even an extreme state of exsanguination may not prove fatal to a daimon, provided that their arda remains intact. They are capable of sustaining themselves on the energy of their arda in place of, or in some cases in addition to, their normal biological processes. Extensive study would be required to understand how or why this is the case. Where does one side of their dual nature end, and the other begin? Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the ability to directly conduct such research. I am only able to communicate with them, and to observe at a distance. Not to mention, I’m hardly a biologist.
Their arda manifests not only in the traditional crystalline form with which Riley and I are so familiar, but also as chitinous spines which are more organic in appearance yet remain functionally identical. This is the chief, or possibly the sole, differentiation between genders. Their arda grows naturally from their bodies and acts as a reservoir of energy. Some amount of this energy appears to generate passively, or through creative acts such as music. Alternately, the arda can be charged by an outside source of energy, such as the auroral sweeps which regularly wash around Icarus. The daimon can utilize this energy through a variety of methods, chiefly through music or other forms of art. In some cases, the energy may be channeled through simple mental exertion. The nature of the manifestation is dependent upon the coloration of the arda, which is linked to its peculiar molecular composition, as I have already covered extensively in my notes with Riley. The one peculiarity is that no daimon are equipped with pure, or clear, arda. That distinction appears to be reserved for the Bright World and its stars.
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Now the colors are interesting, and it is here that my observations take me far beyond the realm of my prior research. There are ten colors: white, brown, blue, green, red, yellow, grey, orange, purple, black. They are almost always listed in this order, though I have not been able to discover why. The crucial point is that the colors are inseparable from the daimon themselves. Their arda, much like their Song and their unique constellations of stars, is a construct of the Narrative such that it is more imaginative than rational in nature, and thus resistant to comprehensive empirical understanding.
For example, colors carry significance within their culture to such an extent that a special priestly class of painters has developed, and it is they alone who are permitted to mix and combine colors. This is because their identity is closely linked to their color, as it is to their Song and their stars. It also has to do with mingling—an activity which is also referred to as melding, fusing, mixing, coalescing, and other such similar words. To my understanding, this is most closely analogous to sexual intercourse, minus the reproductive aspect as they are asexual creatures. In essence, two (or possibly more?) daimon are able to briefly commingle their colors. This implies a similar commingling of Songs. I compare it to sexual coupling only because it serves a similar social function, and represents the height of intimacy between two individuals. I do not know much more than this, for they are generally unwilling to explain it to me.
Many other aspects of their culture and society intrigue me, perhaps because of how closely related they are to my research. But I am no ethnologist, and I believe this is enough for now.
