pilgrimage. The entire crew, one pirate after another, stopped in to see Sennar and thank him personally. The most eager to shower him in gratitude was Dodi, who now considered him a hero. He brought lunch and dinner to Sennar’s bedside, gazed at him with admiration, served him as if he were his master.
The only one who never came to visit was Benares. According to Dodi, he’d blown up at Aires more than once, but Sennar paid no mind. He’d managed to hold off an apocalyptic storm, after all; he could handle a jealous boyfriend.
Once he’d regained enough strength, the sorcerer decided it was time to finish what he’d started. He got to his feet and made for the deck. The Vaneries awaited him.
The island where they’d docked was cloaked in a thick forest. There was only one large village, clinging to the side of a dead volcano that rose at the island’s center. Sennar had done his share of traveling, but he’d never seen any place like it. In the middle of the village was a tower, much like the towers in the Land of the Wind, while the massive, ornate governor’s palace seemed to have come from the Land of the Sun. Yet another part of the village, extending down to the edge of a small lake, bore stilt houses identical to those in the Land of Water. Up toward the volcano’s peak, a peculiar series of buildings had been carved into the rock face.
As a whole, the village was something of a mosaic, and yet it seemed to have its own, unique style. To take a walk through its streets was like traversing the entire Overworld. And the people, too, were as various as the village itself, all coexisting in peace. The equilibrium they’d managed to establish seemed perfect and serene.
Sennar was on the lookout for information. He needed all the help he could get to carry out his mission.
In the end, it was Rool who led him to the person who could help him most. He took him to a tavern, whose host pointed them toward the house of Moni, the village elder.
Sennar was expecting to meet an old, wrinkled lady with a fading memory, but instead found himself standing before a woman with golden skin as smooth as a baby’s and in complete control of her faculties. A single band of grey hair was all that betrayed her age.
The woman asked them to take a seat at a table just behind her small stone house, under the shade of an arbor. The kind expression on her face won Sennar’s confidence immediately.
“So this is the young man who wants to die,” Moni commenced as she took Sennar’s hand in hers.
The language she spoke was familiar, but with an ancient-sounding accent. The way she pronounced her words, the cadence of her sentences, reminded Sennar of the ancient ballads sung by storytellers on festival days. It was the language of the Overworld, but as it had been spoken two centuries prior.
“It’s not that I want to die. I have a mission to complete,” Sennar responded, somewhat ashamed.
The woman smiled. “I know. I see. Your heart is an open book, young sorcerer.”
“What makes you think I’m a sorcerer?”
She let go of his hand. “I have the gift of clairvoyance. Or, perhaps I should say, the curse. For as long as I can remember, time and space have opened their doors to me, revealing traces of the past and future as they please.” Moni leaned toward Sennar and looked intently into his eyes. “When we arrived on this island, three hundred years ago, the horrors we’d witnessed were still vivid in our eyes. But hope led us onward.”
“Were you among those who abandoned the Overworld?” Sennar asked, stunned.
“We
are
the ones who abandoned the Overworld. You’re young, too young to know how it was in those years—a living hell, every Land consumed by greed for power. We were still children. The war drained our will to live, robbed us of our youth. The struggle for power nauseated us. We were sick of battle, sick of seeing others die. We came from different Lands, divided by race, by war, and yet
The only one who never came to visit was Benares. According to Dodi, he’d blown up at Aires more than once, but Sennar paid no mind. He’d managed to hold off an apocalyptic storm, after all; he could handle a jealous boyfriend.
Once he’d regained enough strength, the sorcerer decided it was time to finish what he’d started. He got to his feet and made for the deck. The Vaneries awaited him.
The island where they’d docked was cloaked in a thick forest. There was only one large village, clinging to the side of a dead volcano that rose at the island’s center. Sennar had done his share of traveling, but he’d never seen any place like it. In the middle of the village was a tower, much like the towers in the Land of the Wind, while the massive, ornate governor’s palace seemed to have come from the Land of the Sun. Yet another part of the village, extending down to the edge of a small lake, bore stilt houses identical to those in the Land of Water. Up toward the volcano’s peak, a peculiar series of buildings had been carved into the rock face.
As a whole, the village was something of a mosaic, and yet it seemed to have its own, unique style. To take a walk through its streets was like traversing the entire Overworld. And the people, too, were as various as the village itself, all coexisting in peace. The equilibrium they’d managed to establish seemed perfect and serene.
Sennar was on the lookout for information. He needed all the help he could get to carry out his mission.
In the end, it was Rool who led him to the person who could help him most. He took him to a tavern, whose host pointed them toward the house of Moni, the village elder.
Sennar was expecting to meet an old, wrinkled lady with a fading memory, but instead found himself standing before a woman with golden skin as smooth as a baby’s and in complete control of her faculties. A single band of grey hair was all that betrayed her age.
The woman asked them to take a seat at a table just behind her small stone house, under the shade of an arbor. The kind expression on her face won Sennar’s confidence immediately.
“So this is the young man who wants to die,” Moni commenced as she took Sennar’s hand in hers.
The language she spoke was familiar, but with an ancient-sounding accent. The way she pronounced her words, the cadence of her sentences, reminded Sennar of the ancient ballads sung by storytellers on festival days. It was the language of the Overworld, but as it had been spoken two centuries prior.
“It’s not that I want to die. I have a mission to complete,” Sennar responded, somewhat ashamed.
The woman smiled. “I know. I see. Your heart is an open book, young sorcerer.”
“What makes you think I’m a sorcerer?”
She let go of his hand. “I have the gift of clairvoyance. Or, perhaps I should say, the curse. For as long as I can remember, time and space have opened their doors to me, revealing traces of the past and future as they please.” Moni leaned toward Sennar and looked intently into his eyes. “When we arrived on this island, three hundred years ago, the horrors we’d witnessed were still vivid in our eyes. But hope led us onward.”
“Were you among those who abandoned the Overworld?” Sennar asked, stunned.
“We
are
the ones who abandoned the Overworld. You’re young, too young to know how it was in those years—a living hell, every Land consumed by greed for power. We were still children. The war drained our will to live, robbed us of our youth. The struggle for power nauseated us. We were sick of battle, sick of seeing others die. We came from different Lands, divided by race, by war, and yet
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