wouldn’t know,” Morris replied, looking over once. “More horse shit! Boy, you should watch where you’re goin’.”
“Norman isn’t the brightest crayon in the box,” said Tsaeb who walked a few feet ahead of us. “That’s why he almost got me killed.” Tsaeb swatted mosquitoes above his head, cursing them under his breath.
I ignored the insults entirely.
“Morris ain’t never seen Queen Illian, or any of the others, but really they all the same spirit.”
“I don’t understand.”
Tsaeb stopped in front of us and gave us no choice but to stop as well. Crickets and toads and the stench of swampy water polluted the forest. Mosquitoes were relentless, swarming like a miniature plague of locusts, but thankfully, they didn’t seem to like my blood as much as Tsaeb’s. The great, dark moon was not as bright here, leaving the land black, laced by a faint blue hue. The Cypress trees with their great protruding roots grabbed deep underneath the swamp.
“They believe when she dies she just comes back in another form,” Tsaeb said. “Then the people of Creation name her all over again. Been Livvy, Aislinn, Agrippine, Maryn...you get the picture.”
“There ain’t never been no Maryn.”
“Yes there has,” Tsaeb argued, “A long time ago — you were too young; no I doubt you were born then.”
“Morris would know; he keeps up with the histories. Ain’t been no Maryn.”
“Queen Maryn,” said Tsaeb, “was the one who bit the dust in just a week’s time.”
“Assassinated?” I said.
I watched my footing religiously now.
“Yep,” Tsaeb answered, stepping over a branch in the road, “I heard she was burned alive in her room on the top floor of the fortress.”
“Does anyone have any stories with evidence to back them up?” I said. “Seriously. Is anything about any of these queens, witches, or whatever you want to call them, anything more than just hearsay?”
It was evident that Fiedel City seemed a place of unfounded information, plagued by greed and filth and rumormongers.
“Sure,” Tsaeb began, looking over with a smile. “Everyone believes everything they hear about them.”
I grumbled quietly.
“There’s Big Creek,” said Morris, pointing. “Jus’ up ahead.”
I thought it all sounded odd, but then nothing was exactly normal in this place, either. And when we made it to Big Creek, I knew that nothing in Creation was ever going to be normal. Ever.
What in the hell is that?
Big Creek wasn’t a creek at all. We stood on a cliff overlooking a vast valley of rocks and dead trees, withered brush and a small cave in the distance. The landscape was of cracked earth like the bed of a lake that had not seen rain in years. Ravens and vultures flew over the corpses of dead animals and perhaps even people. Carcasses, enormous and amazing lay out upon the ground; the skeletons of long ago mammoths, their great ivory tusks jutting up from generations of earth and weather. On the other side of the valley, a wreckage of two ancient ships buried half inside the mountain. They proudly told their story of a long ago storm or great sea battle, which sent them on their last daring sail. But there was life on these ships. Firelight moved past the ships rotted windows. Clothes hung on lines stretching from one broken mast to another. Children ran across the decks and men stood in watch high in the topmasts.
The smaller ship had two masts. A colossal sail tattered and almost entirely rendered useless dangled by its last threads. Enormous oars, still intact, were thrust into the ground, keeping the ship from crashing onto its side.
The larger ship was massive at more than three stories; a scale so grand it seemed unfeasible for the hands of man to build. Its body was made like a galleon, pregnant in size and far too enormous for a thousand men to row across the sea. I had only seen one ship up close in my life: the Carnival Conquest during a seven-day cruise of the Western Caribbean on
“Norman isn’t the brightest crayon in the box,” said Tsaeb who walked a few feet ahead of us. “That’s why he almost got me killed.” Tsaeb swatted mosquitoes above his head, cursing them under his breath.
I ignored the insults entirely.
“Morris ain’t never seen Queen Illian, or any of the others, but really they all the same spirit.”
“I don’t understand.”
Tsaeb stopped in front of us and gave us no choice but to stop as well. Crickets and toads and the stench of swampy water polluted the forest. Mosquitoes were relentless, swarming like a miniature plague of locusts, but thankfully, they didn’t seem to like my blood as much as Tsaeb’s. The great, dark moon was not as bright here, leaving the land black, laced by a faint blue hue. The Cypress trees with their great protruding roots grabbed deep underneath the swamp.
“They believe when she dies she just comes back in another form,” Tsaeb said. “Then the people of Creation name her all over again. Been Livvy, Aislinn, Agrippine, Maryn...you get the picture.”
“There ain’t never been no Maryn.”
“Yes there has,” Tsaeb argued, “A long time ago — you were too young; no I doubt you were born then.”
“Morris would know; he keeps up with the histories. Ain’t been no Maryn.”
“Queen Maryn,” said Tsaeb, “was the one who bit the dust in just a week’s time.”
“Assassinated?” I said.
I watched my footing religiously now.
“Yep,” Tsaeb answered, stepping over a branch in the road, “I heard she was burned alive in her room on the top floor of the fortress.”
“Does anyone have any stories with evidence to back them up?” I said. “Seriously. Is anything about any of these queens, witches, or whatever you want to call them, anything more than just hearsay?”
It was evident that Fiedel City seemed a place of unfounded information, plagued by greed and filth and rumormongers.
“Sure,” Tsaeb began, looking over with a smile. “Everyone believes everything they hear about them.”
I grumbled quietly.
“There’s Big Creek,” said Morris, pointing. “Jus’ up ahead.”
I thought it all sounded odd, but then nothing was exactly normal in this place, either. And when we made it to Big Creek, I knew that nothing in Creation was ever going to be normal. Ever.
What in the hell is that?
Big Creek wasn’t a creek at all. We stood on a cliff overlooking a vast valley of rocks and dead trees, withered brush and a small cave in the distance. The landscape was of cracked earth like the bed of a lake that had not seen rain in years. Ravens and vultures flew over the corpses of dead animals and perhaps even people. Carcasses, enormous and amazing lay out upon the ground; the skeletons of long ago mammoths, their great ivory tusks jutting up from generations of earth and weather. On the other side of the valley, a wreckage of two ancient ships buried half inside the mountain. They proudly told their story of a long ago storm or great sea battle, which sent them on their last daring sail. But there was life on these ships. Firelight moved past the ships rotted windows. Clothes hung on lines stretching from one broken mast to another. Children ran across the decks and men stood in watch high in the topmasts.
The smaller ship had two masts. A colossal sail tattered and almost entirely rendered useless dangled by its last threads. Enormous oars, still intact, were thrust into the ground, keeping the ship from crashing onto its side.
The larger ship was massive at more than three stories; a scale so grand it seemed unfeasible for the hands of man to build. Its body was made like a galleon, pregnant in size and far too enormous for a thousand men to row across the sea. I had only seen one ship up close in my life: the Carnival Conquest during a seven-day cruise of the Western Caribbean on
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