The sacred ash, the most important symbol in the Fjerdans’ religion, represents how people can use and interpret belief systems and religious stories to serve their own purposes. The Fjerdans, for instance, see the tree, which stands at the center of the Ice Court on the White Island, as the vehicle through which they can get close to their god, Djel: legend holds that if a person stands close to the tree’s roots, they can hear Djel’s voice. Getting close to the tree, however, is a privilege primarily reserved for drüskelle soldiers, those whose entire purpose it is to hunt and kill Grisha. This suggests their righteousness to those who believe, as the drüskelle soldiers do, that the Grisha are unnatural abominations and insults to Djel.
Kaz, however, looks beyond what the Fjerdans have to say about the ash, digging deeper into the lore—he and Nina both note at various points that almost all legends (and in this case, religious stories) have some grain of truth to them. Thus, he correctly deduces that it’s not Djel’s voice that people can hear coming from the tree: it’s the great underground river that waters the tree and feeds the Ice Court’s moats and water features. Toppling the tree and escaping the Ice Court via the underground river symbolically suggests that the Fjerdans’ belief system isn’t as righteous or true as Matthias, for instance, believes it is. Indeed, it implies that the belief that Djel condones persecuting Grisha and shows favor to the drüskelle is a convenient spin on some pretty mundane truths: that water is powerful and noisy, and that even the biggest trees can fall.
The Sacred Ash Quotes in Six of Crows
“Do you want to know the best way to find Grisha who don’t want to be found?”
Jesper scrubbed the back of his neck, touched his hands to his guns, returned to his neck. He always seemed to be in motion. “Never gave it much thought,” he said.
“Look for miracles and listen to bedtime stories.” Follow the tales of witches and goblins, and unexplained happenings. Sometimes they were just superstition. But often there was truth at the heart of local legends—people who had been born with gifts that their countries didn’t understand.
Looking at Brum, she knew she didn’t just blame him for the things he’d done to her people; it was what he’d done to Matthias as well. He’d taken a brave, miserable boy and fed him on hate. He’d silenced Matthias’ conscience with prejudice and the promise of a divine calling that was probably nothing more than the wind moving through the branches of an ancient tree.
The voice of God. There was always truth in legend. Kaz had spent enough time building his own myth to know. He’d wondered where the water that fed the Ice Court’s moat and fountains came from, why the river gorge was so very deep and wide. As soon as Nina had described the drüskelle initiation ritual, he’d known: the Fjerdan stronghold hadn’t been built around a great tree but around a spring. Djel, the wellspring, who fed the seas and rains, and the roots of the sacred ash.