Tale of a Man [Fantasy]

[Sconderix]

TALE OF A MAN

Prologue

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Disconnection! What an odd thing to feel, as one hurtled down into the atmosphere of a vastly sized planetary body.
I held onto the yoke of my spacecraft in a death grip, even though I had already experienced this innumerable times before. The violent juddering of my cockpit skewed any sense of clear vision; the swathe of the planet's surface covered the entirety of my viewport. The burning rumble of my craft's descent grew louder. I held firm. I thought of the past, the many other thousands of worlds I had so rudely visited my burning vessel upon - each time seemed easier than the last. And upon reflection my reasons always seemed short-sighted: to escape the trappings of civilization, to find meaning, or to find conquest; refuge; pilgrimage; love; hate; sorrow or joy. In the end I found it was nothing beyond my capacity to want. I wanted this, that was all there ever was to it.
My descent grew louder, so loud that I heard nothing but the screaming rage of the planet to my cosmic invasion. The turbulence of the craft reached a peak, shaking furiously to escape my control and launch back into the void above. As I roared down further, I noticed large volumes of clouds wafting in front of my path. Gone. Before I even had a chance to notice them I was already bursting through, like an arrow puncturing walls of cotton. I ripped through the sky at savage speeds, descending down towards the surface. Below me was a vast swathe of ocean: a dark blanket ready to cushion my fall. Almost methodically, I took one arm off the steering yoke to engage the ship's front burners, practically yanking the lever in the hopes I did not leave it halfway. Above the noise of descent, I began to hear the cry of the front engines as they fired in the opposite direction to my craft. This was where my disconnection began to fade; I had always been nervous during this stage, for that was when things were most likely to go horribly wrong: just the slightest angle or trajectory too far in the wrong direction could flip the craft and send it spinning uncontrollably towards the ocean below. But this time I was spared the tragedy, as the roaring of my spacecraft slowly began to die down underneath the din of my front burners.
It was not long until I had noticed changes below. Through my viewport I noticed land creeping up over the horizon, my descent revealing mountains and forestry previously obscured by my height. I felt it was a good time to land, but as I reached to prepare my landing gears, I noticed there was something on the little screen above the panel that had activated. Error. The gears had been ripped off my craft due to the trajectory in which I had entered the atmosphere. While not in a panic, I found I was a tad concerned over the fact I had nothing with which to ground my craft with, short of a crash landing. As I came closer to the surface, I arched the craft towards a large stretch of flat land to my left. Even as I sunk dangerously close to the ground, I kept my front burners on until the very last moment, so as to keep my speed to a relatively safe descent. Finally, as the only thing in my view became the flush of grassy plains, I withdrew my engines. The craft was silent, the airtight seal of the spacecraft prevented me from hearing beyond my cockpit; I glided further below, almost gracefully as the blurring green field before me grew closer. And just as melancholy thoughts came to my mind, a powerful thunk brought me back into reality. The juddering shook my cockpit as the craft scraped along unspoiled earth, until it again died away. All was still, all was quiet. I punched the door lock, hearing the hiss of the seal give way as the hatch opened up. Almost instantly I felt a cold draft blow in, washing my face with an unfettered alpine freshness. It was glorious, I ripped off my flight mask and helmet, squirming out of the cockpit's seat and scrambled desperately out of the hatch.

"Daylight!"

The star of this strange world shone down on me with a familiar warmth that I had not felt in almost a millennia. I hopped from the craft’s hatch onto the earth, feeling the soft firmness of the grass and soil beneath my slippers. I took in a deep breath of air, savoring the cold bite in my lungs before slowly exhaling. I made it - another world, another life! And this one had a sense of nostalgia that I could not quite place. I felt a tinge of familiarity in the low yellow star, which basked the sky in a warm palette of habitual pleasantness. But whatever it was that that made me think of the past, I could not find it in myself to remember it.
I glanced back at my spacecraft. The old thing lay still in the soil, like an oxen drained to its last breath after toiling through the grass, leaving a scraping trail of defiance in the land before finally relinquishing its hold on existence. Surprisingly, everything - apart from the landing gears - were still intact: the slender build seemed reminiscent of a diving hawk, aerodynamic and viscous in it's design. And with it I was able to cross the stars in search of a new home. The navigation grid had displayed it simply as 'EA73211', but to me it was going to be home.
I climbed onto the wing of my craft, taking the coat I left in my cockpit and propping it flat to act as a blanket. I lay there on the wing for hours, resting my tired body, letting it adjust to gravity again. While I slept I dreamt of the many possibilities that might be on this world; I had no idea what existed on it, is it an outpost of some intergalactic civilization? A home world for a yet undeveloped life-system? A den of savageness holding only the most vile creations one could think of? Whatever they were, it was not long until I came to find out. I woke to the faint sound of a horn blurring in the far distance, I shot up from the wing, clambering on top of the craft to see where it had come from. In the distance I saw three tiny figures approaching on the horizon. All I could think of was what they may be, some sort of foreign species. I just hoped they were not malicious.
As I waited, I was soon able to make out the approaching figures: at first I thought they were some bizarre breed of horse, as they galloped, but I soon realized the part that grew forth from the galloping beast was not part of the beast himself. In fact, the beast was no strange life form. It was just a horse, and riding him were no strange species. To my shock I saw the three figures approaching my craft where riders.
They were men.

Chapter 1

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“Height of the Bright Fire,
bring echoes of righteous fury.
Came to us,
borne by the Sun and Two Moons.
A man.”

It had been four months since my arrival to this world. The riders who came to discover me were part of an indigenous race - nomads who had seen my spacecraft as they ventured the plains. I was taken in by them. From the craft we travelled for hours over the plains, it was an endless sea of green and perpetual wild flowers. When we reached their village, I came upon the sight of mostly tents, cattle and meandering tribesmen dressed in furs, hides and warm clothing to protect them from the chill. My arrival stopped most of them short in their tracks, as they gazed wide-eyed at my alien presence. The way they inspected my dress - a slim tracksuit, coat and slippers - with such fascination amused me. I could not help but grin despite the thought of it appearing rude to my hosts. Beyond that, all I could remember was the overwhelming need for something eat, and somewhere to rest, which - after a lengthy game of interpretation - I managed to accomplish.
I sat now in the largest tent of the tribe, where their Chief was receiving me. The Chief - an old man wreathed in fabulously decorated fur cloaks - was focused on brewing a drink for us both to enjoy. I sat before him patiently, legs crossed and arms tucked in the sleeves of a woolen coat: a gift from the tribe, fashioned in the same design as the old coat I wore on the spacecraft, which was starting to wear.

“You are starting to speak well,” said the Chief, gently stirring the brew.

“Thank you, Neyh-An,” I replied before pausing, trying to find the correct words, “I am… Glad, glad I can speak well.”

Chief Neyh-An finally stopped stirring, peering over into the small pot he had resting over his little bundle of embers. He nodded slightly in satisfaction and tapped the stirring stick on the edge of the brewing pot. He leaned over to his side for the cups, wheezing with the aches and strains of age. I accepted the cup, taking in the room’s citric smell from the brew. The Chief had been doing this ritual with me every few weeks, as a way to see my progress with his people and to personally learn what he could from me. Slowly, he poured the brew from the pot he had been boiling into our cups. I felt the sudden heat in my hands, steam wafting into the cold air of the tent. We both huddled over our cups and sipped quietly; every time he managed to make it taste different. Neyh-An was quiet for a while, staring into his cup, his forehead creased in a not-too-subtle frown, then glanced at me musingly.

“You have been here, for quite some time now,” he declared. I nodded, taking the time to glance around the small interior of his cozy tent before thinking of a reply.

“I have.”

“Have you thought of leaving?” Chief Neyh-An looked pensive as he asked this. Again, I nodded.

“I have.”

The Chief put down his cup, he looked uncomfortable, like he did not want to have this conversation with me. But I felt like I understood his intent. For him, I was an extraordinary being, I fell from the heavens onto their world, it was only natural they think of me as something more than a normal man. He had tried to ask me before about my origin, I simply told him I was from another place, another time. As cryptic as my reply was, he seemed to accept it. But at the same time he must have had obvious doubts about me staying with his people, for my presence meant something important, and that importance could be a risk to his tribe. I knew my time with them was coming to a close.

“Neyh-An, are there…” I paused to find the words, “are there other people, that are not yours?”

He nodded, “Yes, there are others.”

“Then I must find them,” I declared with mock severity, a smile slipping out on my face. I knew it was the right thing to tell the Chief, he seemed to pick up on my amiable mood, likewise smiling and picking up his cup in a gesture of toast.
While we drank I soon began to reminisce on the time I shared with the Chief and his tribe. I soon came to realize just how fortunate I was in their hospitality, for they thought of me as a god or spirit, and to them I could just have easily been one of a malevolent nature. Despite all my intents and purposes, the people of Chief Neyh-An could have sought to erase me from their world. Yet they did not. I knew my time with them was over, and that I must leave before I brought unwanted attention to them.
The focus then was on what direction I would go - Neyh-An told me of societies spread out in all corners of the land here and beyond. To the north bordering an expansive mountain range were similar tribes to his, some were passive but others were well known for their warlike traditions. In the west, along the coast were small colonies from island kingdoms over the seas; the colonials were reclusive and mistrustful of outsiders. Out east over another mountain range was an enormous inland sea, and in this sea were a multitude of small islands ruled by strange men who were said to abide in palaces of coral and keep mermaids as concubines. To the south, the Chief told me of a vast land inhabited by civilized men, who squabbled over land, money and power for the sake of their family Houses. Of all the choices I had, the Chief said the south was the most appropriate for my journey, for despite their quarrels the southern societies were the most influential of all the people to inhabit the known world. He believed at some point in time, the squabbling Houses would one day put aside their troubles to unite and conquer the world. He was almost certain they could do it. While I did enjoy the time I spent with the Chief, the prospect of discovering the southern lands did excite me somewhat.
As I started to ask about the south, our conversation was stopped short when the flap of the tent was pulled aside, letting in a horrid draft as a shape struggled into the dark interior. When the light from the burning embers shone on the figure coming to sit beside Neyh-An, I saw it was his daughter, Yaula. She was the only child of the Chief to keep him company, as most of the time his two sons were busy guiding cattle or patrolling their land. Despite the tribe being a smaller community, Yaula was not married, nor did she have any children of her own, which I thought was strange as she was not unpleasant to the eye: the Chief’s daughter was heavy set, her legs and arms thick with muscle, skin wrought rough with labour. But she had an genuine beauty to her rough exterior. What I noticed the most about her was that she always seemed to carry the stern expression of her father, although on her it did not command the same sort of respect, instead giving her a quality of endearment. During my months with the tribe, I spent most of my time with Yaula learning their language. She was most patient with my fumbling rhetoric, encouraging me to speak to anyone and everyone given the opportunity. I came to see her at least once every day to present what I had learned, and this continued to the point where I was able to hold my own in a conversation.
Yaula accepted a cup her father poured as she joined them. The Chief frowned at the sight of her: dry flecks of mud caked her body from galloping in the rain in the early morning. She noticed me as she downed the fruity mixture.

“How is our Star Man this day?” Yaula asked in between gulping the drink.

“As bright as always,” I replied cautiously. How did she drink something so fast without scolding herself?

“Ah! A new word you found?” Yaula expressed in mock surprise.

“Yes,” I grinned, “I was told the day would be bright, once rain passes.”

Although I came to add new additions to my vocabulary each day, I found that the language was still tricky to work around. Certain sentences required the same words used more than once; heavy enunciation on particular words and emphasizing certain phrases using the throat. I was quite chuffed with myself for being able to pick it up so quickly, I did not think I was ever one for language.

“So Yaula,” Neyh-An asked expectantly, “what did you find?” She put down the cup, empty of its contents and leaned in closer to her father.

“It is still there. There seems to be no damage, but I could not get close enough to inspect it. Jayh-In and Calebb would go no closer out of fear,” she gestured towards me, “they think him a god of some sorts, and that construction of his a thing of sacred origin.”
It seemed the Chief had thought to keep a check on my craft, something I had completely forgot about during my time here. Now that I came to recollect the events after my landing, I realized I had left it without so much as closing the cockpit hatch. It simply lay there in the middle of a vast plain, waiting to be discovered by any traveller curious enough to find it.
I stood up in the tent, bowing to the two of them, who gave my gesture a look of confusion.

“I thank for hospitality. But I must make trip to site, Yaula reminds me that the thing need attention.”

Yaula scrambled to her feet, “I will go with you, Father?” she turned to the Chief. He nodded reluctantly.
By the time to sun had set, I was at the sight of the crash. To my surprise, the spacecraft had not changed since I had left; four months later and it was the same fallen beast. Yaula looked pensive, leaning forward on her horse. She motioned for me to dismount, so - in a less than graceful fashion - I swung my leg over the saddle and slid off the beast, which snorted in derision at my sudden departure. Yaula waited until I was close to the craft before dismounting herself, she skittered towards me as I climbed onto the wing and leaned over into the hatch of the cockpit. The Chief’s daughter looked up at me restlessly, she seemed nervous about being so close to the alien construction. I whistled as if I was suddenly impressed at the sight of the same cockpit I had used for so many years.

“What is it?” she called.

“Nothing changed,” I climbed down into the hatch, standing by the seat in the enclosed space. I stooped over the control panel and yoke: everything was still intact. I paused momentarily, contemplating the thought of turning the craft back on for one last flight. But I felt the lack of landing gears would be unwise. So with a sigh I turned back, weaving behind the seat and opening the small hatchway into the craft’s hull. As I squirmed through the hatchway I heard clanging, Yaula cursed as she banged her arm on the way down into the cockpit. She squatted in the cockpit, eyes wide with wonder. While she was distracted with the control panel, I slipped further into the hull.
The opening in the hull was a small crawlspace where small supplies were kept. I did not have any need for the gear kept here during my flight, most of it was useless for where I was now; a flare had no use if you did not want rescuing, and an emergency communicator couldn not function without power. But I did find something of interest as I rummaged through the small lockers, a lamp. It was not a normal lamp though: it was a sphere of translucent glass, big enough to fit in your palm and so light you could balance it on your fingertips. It could float like a candle buoyant on water.
I took the lamp, climbing through the hatchway and into the cockpit. Yaula spun round to see what I had found - I hid the lamp in my cloak and gestured for her to climb out of the cockpit. As I pulled myself out over the side, I reached in to take one last look at my fallen angel, savouring the bitter sweetness of the moment. Then abruptly pulled shut the hatch.

“I find it amazing you travelled through heaven in such a thing,” Yaula murmured. The honest charm of her outspokenness struck at my heartstrings, for I was glad she saw me for what I was and not some mythical being or god.
I pulled forth the lamp, the sphere rose slowly out of my hand before calmly pausing in midair, as if anchored by an invisible tether. I clicked my fingers and the sphere sprung to life, illuminating the patch in which we stood with a warm glow. Yaula’s eyes opened wide in disbelief, she looked at me as if in shock.

“You took a star from the night sky!” she gasped.

The illusion of her understanding was then shattered, and that made me feel sad. I came to realize that despite her reservations, she was still an indigenous being to a world that knew nothing of places beyond the limit. To Yaula, I was that mythical being, that god, the thing I tried to avoid. But now I understood it was no use trying to make myself understood. I smiled wistfully.

“A gift, for accepting my trouble,” I lightly flicked the orb towards the Chief’s daughter, she sprung back in panic as it drifted lazily towards her. I gestured for her to grab it. Cautiously she reached out to touch it, and the lamp rebounded slowly off her touch, with confidence she used both hands to grab hold of it. Yaula beamed like a child as she held the glowing star in her hand. I had no worries of the light ever fading. While she was focused on the thing, I made my way over to my horse, climbing into the stirrup and up over the saddle. She broke her gaze away from the lamp, confused.

“Must we go back so soon?” she asked.

“You go back when wished, Yaula. But I go, my time now,” I swung the beast around and started off into a trot, she trailed after me on foot, leaving the lamp floating by the craft.

“Wait!” she cried, “where will you go?”

“To the south!” I laughed, and pointed towards the direction of the squabbling Houses. “I am the Star Man no longer!”

Yaula stopped in her tracks, watching dumbly as I picked up into a canter, leaving her with the craft and star. The sky was awash with blends of evening purple, and I was off to discover a new world.

Chapter 2

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“To a house of troubles,
one rides boldly.
Just blood of a lurid crimson,
retire thy banners.
A man approaches.”

Well, things had taken a strange turn since my landfall. My journey of countless weeks into the south ended the moment I entered the lands of the Houses, where I found hundreds of territories claimed by thousands of families. Many of these Houses were sub-groups in a patchwork of ethnicities that inhabited the continent. My first encounter after leaving the northern plains was with a border region owned by the House Samet, who I found whilst traversing the mountain ranges that trailed into the south.
While not as dramatic as my landfall, I was still taken aback at the first sight of civilization. From the crest of a hilltop I looked down into a bowl shaped valley, and in the center of that valley was a wooden fortress large enough to house a small army. Surrounding this fortress were fields of crops tended by pockets of farmers. I could not help but feel perplexed at the sight, for I had spent so long among the plains that I felt the influence of these people was nowhere near the possibility of proper civilization. Yet here I was, sat atop my steed looking down into the valley of men. I would have sat there all day pondering on life had I not felt the drag of hunger and exhaustion.
The journey through the mountains was hard, as most of my sustenance came in the form of handouts from benevolent nomads. So now was my chance to see if these civilized men of the south could be equal in their generosity. I abruptly yanked the reins of my horse, pulling her away from the tufts of grass she was so clearly enjoying, and steered her down the steep slope. I worked my way through the scrubland of the valley until I found a track heading towards the fortress, and continued on with a steady trot. As I rode through the valley I sometimes came across travelers, all of whom would gawk at my passing. It was only as I drew closer to the wooden walls of the fortress that the gawkers grew in number; herdsmen stood still in the fields watching my approach, soldiers whose idle chatter would trail off and children who stopped their games to stare at me in awe. Had I not been burdened by the fatigue of travel I might have even showed amusement at such a display. Yet I felt something was wrong.
I drew near the gates. Over the clomping hooves of my mount I could hear the bustle of the fortress: hammers clanging, officers barking and fishwives screeching. It was quite eery, and a little intimidating. The gate itself was wide open, and above it on the battlements two guardsmen saw my approach; both of them were dressed in chainmail, and wore open faced helmets of what I assumed to be bronze. As to what they were armed with, I soon spotted the sight of their composite bows, as they drew them on me.

“Tinchy!” One of them cried. I pulled on the reins instantly, stopping the beast. I did not recognize the word he had said to me, but I presumed it to be an order for me to halt. I felt slightly awkward as I sat atop the horse, staring up at two men with their bows now drawn slack; those outside the walls who had watched my approach were now watching the confrontation.
The guard starting yelling at me again, but the language he used was unfamiliar. Unlike the language I learned with Chief Neyh-An, this one was more assertive, I noticed certain words were pronounced in a sort of flourish and instead of enunciating with the throat, words were carried on by rolling on some letters. It was quite interesting, yet I understood none of it. Instead I tried to ask him if he understood me in the language of plains.

“Oh, you are one of those!” Cried the other guard. He turned and said something to the first one, who shook his head in irritation. The second guard turned back to me.

“Begone, Roheeki. Your kind are not welcome here.”

I shifted uncomfortably, “I am not… I am not of those kind,” I called, trying to find the words. “I come from somewhere else.”

“We don’t believe you, Roheeki. You look like dirty savage, you smell like one, I smell you from here.”

I think it was around this time I began to realize the possible danger I was in. Coming from the behavior of these two, I came to assume the Houses were certainly not welcoming of the northern tribes, and as these guards thought of me as one, I realized my chances of getting in the fortress were very low.

“I am hungry, I ride for days without food,” I called. “Is anywhere I find for food?”

“Yes Roheeki,” the guard cried, “in your own lands” he roared with laughter. The first guard started talking to him again, I sat there as they bickered for a while before turning back to me.

“Why come alone, Roheeki?” the guard asked. “Are you spy? Come to scout our land before raiding it?”

It was here that I felt the uncomfortable atmosphere began to grow too tense. I needed to leave before they came to their own conclusions. I seized at my chance to escape, seeing that their bows had relaxed as they bantered with me. I smacked my heels to the horse’s flanks, and we jolted off to the sides of the walls, racing along the perimeter. The guards bellowed in anger, their voices trailing off as I sped off and away from the walls. I rode hard through the fields, heading back towards the edges of the valley. As I galloped I looked behind me at the fortress, expecting a party of soldiers to come give chase. Yet they did not.
By the time I slowed my pace, evening had fell. Upon hearing the trickle of stream water draw closer, I stopped and dismounted the beast. The water flowed gently through an open glade, the evening’s twilight was blocked in by the canopy, making my vision murky. Both me and the horse teetered over to the stream, hoping the water was going to be at least palatable.
It tasted like piss.
I spat half of it out, wincing in disgust. The mare did not seem to mind though, so I let her drink. I stumbled over to a nearby tree, collapsing near to the base, and leaned against the trunk. The beast paused to watch me, the expression of her long face completely lacking in concern for my well-being.

“Just let me sleep,” I muttered. My eyes grew lazy, the mare snorted and continued to drink the foul tasting water. I did not care anymore, I was too tired, too hungry and too frustrated. I closed my eyes and listened to the soft rustling of leaves, letting the soggy smell of moss and dew settle into my nostrils. By then all these sensations would fade away as sleep took me, but for some reason I could not find myself drifting off. By this point it felt like I was too tired to be tired, I wanted to weep. But I did not, I simply sat there with my eyes closed.
Then I felt something light smack against my foot. My eyes shot open to the sight of two scruffy looking children standing over me.

“You fled the fortress?” Asked a girl, the lack of sunlight meant I could not distinguish anything of their appearance apart from the sounds of their voices. I felt confused, what was she saying?

“You are from the north?” The other girl asked. Another question, what do they want? Can they not see I am tired?

“No I am not from the north,” I blustered, “why?”

“You look like you come from the north, you speak the language of the north,” the first one answered. She had a fair point, I thought. They were talking to me in the language I used with Chief Neyh-An.

“I stayed with the Chief Neyh-An for some time.”

“The Wawtabi!” The girls both gasped. I assumed that was the name they gave for Neyh-An’s tribe, for I never asked the Chief myself. “You met the son of Ughur-Un?”

“Probably,” I murmured. I started to throw off their questions with abrupt answers, I just was not in the mindset to withstand such interrogation.

“Is there a place I can rest? I am very tired.”

The girls turned their heads to each other and talked in the same foreign tongue the guards spoke in, I was beginning to feel slight irritation at such exclusion. It would be wise for me to learn this language as soon as I could.

“You could stay with our family, if my father approves?” one of them pondered. It was good enough for me, I grunted as I struggled to my feet. The girls stood by as I went to retrieve the mare.
By the time we left the forest for the main tracks of the valley, night had fallen. I walked behind the girls, leading the horse by the reins. While the light from the night moon was bright enough to illuminate the path ahead, I felt a sense of caution. The girls were young, I assumed they were around thirteen years of age, it seemed strange to me that they were allowed to wander the wilderness on their own, the girls of Chief Neyh-An’s people were kept close, for they feared what lay in wait for the wandering and curious.
But our little journey was an uneventful one. The night moon was high above the sky by the time we reached the girls’ home. A hovel perched upon a hillock, far off from the main tracks of the valley, during the day it would have been an idyllic sight. For me it was just a welcome one. As the girls raced into the house, I tied the reins of the beast to the fence line near a large patch of grass, and patted her on the neck as she leaned down to munch.
Inside that thatched hovel I was welcomed with the warmth of a roaring fire, a cauldron of stew bubbling over said fire, and a squabbling family. The parents of the two children were quite angry at their late return, but with their anger turned bewilderment at the sight of a strange looking man entering their home.
However, being the charmer that I was, I soon came to explain my circumstances to the couple. As the night was well set in, they shared with me a meal of that lovely stew that had been cooking over the fire; three servings to be exact. I could not believe how famished I was until I had cleared the bowl, the family all ate together at their own pace and watched me patiently. I had been trying to make small talk with the parents of the two girls, but I soon learned they did not speak the northern language as the girls could. In fact I happened to find out the girls were not even theirs: apart from the way they showed little resemblance to their guardians, they gave an awkward pause after I asked how they learned the northern language, when their parents did not know it.
As it turned out, the couple told me through the girls that they were settlers who came to the valley for land opportunity. The whole valley once belonged to a tribe of ‘Roheeki’ called the Yokon, whom the girls called home. But the southern House of Samet soon began to encroach upon their borders, taking advantage of their surplus in population to expand her territories north. The real conflict only began when the Samet colonists arrived in the valley: delegates from the Yokon came to warn the settlers to leave their land, but the show of resistance caused the Duke of House Samet to send an army into the valley, where they quickly advanced on the Yokon and chased them out of the valley. After that came the construction of the fortress, where they would be able to quickly mobilize soldiers in case the Yokon came to take back the valley. Around the security of the fortress, the settlers were safe to take what land they needed. The couple told me that although the warriors and nobles of the Yokon had fled north to gather their numbers, they had left their young and elderly. Most of these natives were disregarded by the House Samet, and were left to wander or serve under settlers for a living. The couple had found the girls years ago, attempting to steal some of their food because they were so hungry. Yet instead of turning them in, to the soldiers of the fortress, they took them. Despite me not understanding his words, I understood the affection in the father’s voice as he explained to me, he stroked the hair of the youngest girl sat beside him, the kinship the family felt was quite heart-warming to witness.
And despite an ugly welcoming into the south, I felt hope.
Morning came, and the sun was blaring through the cracks of the doors of their shed I was sleeping in. I was strung out like a ragdoll on a sack of hay, slobber drooling out of my mouth and half of my face rough and creased from where it lay on the hay. Groaning seemed almost automatic as I struggled to sit upright. Even though I must have overslept, I still felt tired - which I owe to the ‘comfort’ of the hay. I had originally meant to leave after the meal, but the children had told the couple of where they found me, so I was insisted upon sleeping in the shed for the night.
Though today I had to leave, not because they told me so, but because I knew not to overstay my welcome.
With a quiet farewell, I left the family to their lives. The mare I also left with them as thanks - the beast seemed happy to be free of my charge.
I made for the fortress once again, but this time I would be prepared.
The land of the southern Houses was a land of conflict, the fortress stood in that valley of the peaceful as a bastion to those who rode proud with fire and sword. If there would be any place that would prepare me well for the south, it would be that fortress.
Night had fully fallen once I reached the big walls. I approached the gates, and to my misfortune I was welcomed to the ridicule of the same two guards who accosted me before. But this time I was in no mood for banter.

“Take me to your commander.”

“Why would we let you in, Roheeki?” The guards had laughed at my bluntness. I was adapting quickly to their attitudes, the Samet would have no tolerance for the northern peoples, and would just as well wipe them completely from their borders had they the power to do so. This meant I had only one way of integrating myself into the House. I folded my arms as I looked up at the guards, making for a sinister figure in the soft torchlight.

“Take me in, and I will get you the head of the one who leads the Yokon.”

Chapter 3

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“Towards the Bright Fire,
throw thy arms aloft.
Grieve and give thanks,
for thou art not forsaken in worship.
A man watches.”

Now normally, here would come the account of my great venture into the northern lands, where I came to hunt down the Yokon Chief now known to me as Chog’r-In. But to do so would falsify the reality of that situation. I would let it be known that I found Chog’r-In, nestled away safe in the refuge of Yokon sympathizers settled beneath the nose of the Samet; there was no glory in me slaying him. The man was noble, but demoralized and angry. I was an unwanted sight, but a sight he had to confront nonetheless. Our encounter did not last long, for while his mastery of the war spear was admirable, I had taken no chance with my crossbow from the Samet, and struck him down where he stood.
From there I had returned to the fortress with an empty feeling inside of me, as I realized it was the first time on this world I had come to kill someone. Not only that, it was an unjust and terrible murder. Already I found rumours had spread of my exploits; these things I began to learn as I lived at the fortress. I was accepted into their community, and while not officially part of their military force, I came to work for the commander for the majority of the time I spent there. Many months had passed, making it almost a year and a half since my landfall. I learned the language of the south soon enough, they called it Krenoan, the language of the Krenes; the founders of the first Houses.
Beyond these highlights of my time with the Samet, the rest was uneventful. Once I had become proficient enough to speak with the Krenoan tongue, I left them and ventured further south. From the Samet I began to learn more of the southern lands, of the many Houses that ruled. One that came up quite frequently was a realm on the southern coast of the continent. It belonged to a smaller House by the name of Kalendros. They were said to be one of the most tolerant Houses, accepting of almost any foreigner into their lands. But this was not the reason I wanted to go. There came words of a self-styled prophet by the name of Cainechinne. He seemed interesting, so I wished to meet him.
The journey to the Kalendros dominion was long, I felt like months were passing by, as I rode through the many dominions that inhabited the southern continent. Despite nearly all of them sharing the Krenoan language, their ethnicities and culture seemed to stand apart from each other. The House of Samet were a more rugged type than their southern brethren, for they had adjusted to the hard frontier life of their northern border and its savage occupants; I had left the fortress of the valley and travelled through their capital city of Volkyh’r, where I saw every home and building struggling to cling to the granite faces of an impregnable groundwork. The dreary climate and miserable atmosphere was enough to make me want for the warm fires behind their stone holdings. Yet once I crossed through the border gates into the dominion of House Fadel, I noticed an entirely different scene. The climate grew milder as I descended the summits of Samet mountain ranges - people who walked the highways seemed to possess a spring in their step, and the sight of vast forestry was a new and pleasant sight: the trees were of a strange design, not like the pines I had expected, but rather of a twisted and stretched look, like one would find in an umbrella thorn. These trees looked like they belonged in the sweltering prairies of a tropical frontier rather than the temperate lowlands of a civilized duchy. These forests soon came to be a constant in my journey, even as I made my way through the Fadel capital of Aderyh’r. The bright vibrancy of ceramic glazed stonework contrasted sorely with these drained and withered looking trees, which seemed to snake and worm their way into whatever patches of soil had not been covered over with pavement or gardens. My path through Aderyh’r brought many a glare to my eyes. The sight of a dirty Roheeki and his horse clopping through their grand roadways brought curses from the dejected peasantry, gasps from startled noblewomen, amused grunts from vagabonds of fortune and wary hands from armed guardsmen out in force.
I made no plans to stop, for the Kalendros dominion had been my only goal. From Aderyh’r to the Kalendros capital of Caelici the time had gone by faster than I had originally thought. The one thing I appreciated about the south was their commitment to the upkeep of extensive roadways that connected their dominions, it saved me days spent navigating the base of impassable mountains. Only two weeks had passed in the time it took for me to travel from the Fadel dominion towards the Kalendros capital.
Now Caelici, that was a sight to see! Compared to this strange port the rest of the House dominions I travelled through seemed like backwater duchies of a most reclusive nature. I entered through a checkpoint unhindered into the city, where I was welcomed to the sight of a market absolutely bustling with activity, positively teeming! It was as though they had squeezed the entire population of Volkyh’r into the marketplace. And the variety; nearly everyone I laid eyes upon had skin of a different shade than their neighbor, their clothes were fabulous blends of colors and jewelry, so much so, that it seemed to blend into an almost sickly miasma of colour. The flow of the crowd made it hard for me to steer my horse through the square, and the relentless assault on my every sense made it difficult for me to think properly: in my ears I heard a hundred people hawking wares and services, my nose was thick with the stench of pungent spices - of which I am sure I could smell tobacco, and the overpowering fragrance of amateur perfume. I felt like I was drowning in the cacophony of the square.
My struggle through the heavy crowd ended once I spotted an opening into a quieter looking street. I tugged at the reins, swinging the beast over as we headed towards the opening. People seemed to melt away from the path under me as I pushed through, some did not give me the time of day, others would glance at me with curious expressions. I began to feel more self-conscious as I came to realize I had not changed my clothing since the departure from the Samet fortress; my ragged clothwear and musty poncho - stained in a variety of browns - stood out like a sore thumb in the more lavish parts of this opulent city. But despite the dazzling wealth that imposed itself over my humble approach, I made sure not to lose sight of the thing I had came here for. I still wished to meet the prophet. The sun was still high as I rode into the center of the city, to seek lodging and shelter for the horse. There was a nearby stable located on the wharf that would accept me, I had paid the owner with what few coins I had pilfered over my travel. The old wench had made to turn her nose up at my offering, but must have swallowed her pride, knowing too well no one else would wish to stay in such a place.

“Cainechinne?”

Not long was before I had found my man. Exploring the streets and boulevards of Caelici, I spoke to many people, all of whom pointed me towards a hill where on top stood a church they called the ‘Lighting House’. It was in there, sat hunched on the floor before a great stained glass mural, I saw the Prophet Cainechinne.

“Aye?” What a reply, aye. I sort of expected a more memorable welcoming. In fact, I expected something other than this, I noticed the church was completely empty. There were not any pews or altars. It was just an empty room: hard boarded floors, featureless stone walls and that grand stained mural depicting the Sun and Two Moons that dominated the skyline of the world.

“You are the Prophet I hear?” The hunched figure turned to me, revealing an expression of certain interest. Despite my expectations of visiting a humble figure, what I saw before me was indeed something else. He had long hair wiry with age, the brows of his face bushy and unkempt, both of his ears sported bangle-like earrings, van dyke facial hair and his clothes were that of the local city folk - that is, flamboyant. But his most striking feature was the way his eyes seemed empty, lacking in focus, like that of a blind man.

“Now that’s a strange accent,” he said. The language he spoke was Krenoan, but he too had an accent that I could not place. “You’re Roheeki?”

“No, but I did stay with them.”

“Well you’re not Takayan, but you’re also not of the Roheekan territories,” the Prophet hummed like in a daze, “maybe you are from the outer island Kingdoms, Hael? Arlan? Epirum?”

“I assure you I’m not.”

“Then that is strange, as your soft pale skin marks you a Takayan. Yet your accent marks you Roheekan, however your manner marks you one with the outer islands. But you are none of these. Perhaps you came from the Far West? That strange outremer of immortality and deceit?” Cainechinne looked at me expectantly, like the excitement was brewing within him. I merely tightened my lips and shook my head, his expression dropped and he returned to hunching over himself before the mural. I made myself comfortable, and sat beside him. He glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow at how I sat cross legged in the fashion of the Wawtabi.

“So, Barabal. What may this Prophet help you with?”
Now there was an interesting question. I had spent all this time in search and flight for the man, and now that I sat next to him I found I had nothing to say.

“I just want to chat.”

“Chat away!”

I pointed towards the mural.

“My time with the northern people and the Houses showed me you worship in a similar fashion. Tell me your way.”

And so, Cainechinne - head held upwards and his eyes bright with fervour- began to recite to me the story of the Sun and Two Moons:
The story starts with Takayder, the World’s Wake; a proud warrior and explorer who journeyed across the infinite reaches of the outer heavens in search of new life. Finally he came to the world and looked down from the reaches - seeing creatures, plants and people struggling to survive in the darkness with only the twinkling light of the distant stars in the night sky to guide them. Takayder felt pity on their struggle, so he pulled out his mighty sword, and he struck the rocky face of the world to spark light. Sparks flew from it so great they shed onto his clothes, setting him ablaze; Takayder flew into a rage, the tears from his agony created rainstorms that flooded the world with oceans, his attempts to blow away the fire created vast cyclones and gales that swept the world, his stomping and rolling shook continents. The light from the fire created daylight for those who dwelled down below. While this spectacle was underway, two children who wandered the outer realms saw Takayder’s display: one child, the benevolent Nerialis, wanted to help Takayder, but her brother, the mischievous Alumerilion, wanted to tease him. Nerialis acted first, running over to the man and putting the fire out, Takayder was very grateful, offering to look after the two children if they stayed with him and watched over the world; Alumerilion then saw his chance, and stole the sword from Takayder and struck it against the world yet again, showering him in sparks and again setting him alight. Thus began an infinite cycle of Takayder: the Sun and World’s Wake, dawning with the rise of the pale moon Nerialis, and rising in bright flame with the ascension of the dark moon Alumerilion. Takayder came to be associated with the struggle of life, those in doubt are supposed to meditate or pray in direct sunlight, taking their time to appreciate Takayder’s own struggle. Nerialis is seen as the guiding light, an encouragement for those who hope to do good in their lives, people usually pray to the Pale Moon when they feel they have done a good deed, or to thank her for blessing them with fortune. Alumerilion is usually aligned with the virtues of destruction and death, an evil but necessary part of life, while worship of the Dark Moon is not common, some people occasionally pray to Alumerilion for fortune in their misdeeds; usually Alumerilion is given tribute during a funeral or after a great catastrophic event, in the hopes that he may not spread further havoc. Those who follow the Sun and Two Moons’ teaching do so out of a sense of obligation to the World’s Wake for his constant sacrifice in keeping their world alight every day, the Holy Men of the Sun and the Two Moons explain that there must be a balance between the alignment of everyone that exists in the world, for without the good people there would be no one to ascend to the Pale Moon and help her defend Takayder in the night, and if there were no evil people there would be no one to join with the Dark Moon in his torment of the Sun, keeping the cycle eternal.

“Well,” I finally replied.

“Well,” the Prophet conceded. I stood up, leaving the man before his mural.

“I have heard all I need to hear. I think I will continue on my travels.”

“You know,” Cainechinne replied, “I think I too will begin my own travels. Ever since Takayder took my vision, I spent many a night watching the way of our world as it changes in time to come. And I have predicted many a thing to be true, that it was why people claim I am a Prophet. But in order to understand these things I will have to seek them out.”

“That would be wise, Stranger,” I made to leave, but could not help myself, “but I advise you take something to aid you in your travels. The Sun doesn’t shine as bright as you might think.”

Cainechinne did not look back from the mural, but he chuckled, waving a finger in mock scorn. “Goodbye, Barabal.”

And with that, I left the Lighting House, and made for the stables. Where I could finally get the chance to rest.

Chapter 4

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“Set within the Ample Heart,
dreams of a Maiden unanchored.
Beware thy heart not yearn,
down in depths and away from the Sun.
A man courts her.”

Weeks went by after my excursion to the illustrious seaside city of Caelici. Many a day I rode under the Sun and Dark Moon, and many a night I rode under the Pale Moon. I travelled north through more of the House dominions; some - like the esteemed House Yrne, in all of its grandeur - were an assault to the senses, much like the Kalendros, but some - like the condemnable House Ourol - were a strain to the effort of tolerance and goodwill.
I spent many times thinking back to my short stay with the eccentric prophet, Cainechinne. For since my departure, word had soon spread across this Takayan continent that the strange mystic claimed to foresee a great event, one that would affect not only the good House Kalendros, but the entirety of the known world. Some days after my small audience, he had departed from the Lighting House dressed to venture towards the end of the world. First he stormed the Bellantine Palace: home to the ruling Kalendros family. There Cainechinne burst into the audience chamber, where sat the Duke, Junisater Kalendros, accompanied by his wife, the lovely Duchess Annanddra Kalendros. The regal couple were positively livid at such insolence; it was only the swift hand of the prophet - exposing the Old Brooch - that stayed the Duke’s slower hand to beckon his removal. Cainechinne had pulled forth the Brooch, a sacred artifact of the Sun God’s Ascendants, and fastened it confidently to the lapel of his lavish tunic, which was already adorned with all manners of jewelry and flamboyant decoration. The Duke jumped out of his throne, demanding to know what trickery the blind fool was about to commit. Here the indulgent mystic laughed, and threw his arms skyward.

“Takayder gave sight to these blind eyes!” Cainechinne had bellowed.

He carefully sat down, in the middle of the marble tiled floorway of the audience hall, flanked by imposing statues and basreliefs of a most striking marble. He made for a childish sight. But the Duke conceded, his anger traded for bewilderment as the Cainechinne came to share his vision.

“Takayder: The World’s Wake gives cause for these tired eyes. In a time not too far from our day, the land will become embroiled in a conflict of the likes we will have never seen before. A stranger will found an Empire, and the good Houses of the land will bend to His will. During this time I see the Kalendros - one of three - under the command of this Strange leader sent forth to conquer the Isle of Turan, home to the Huegsh. This Kalendros Duke shall be successful in his subjugation of the east, he will settle within this new territory and create a legacy that will last for many ages. The Huegsh though are unruly, they will not accept this change. And in these holy sights given to me by The World’s Wake, I see myself. I see my presence with the Huegsh, spreading the good word of the good world we have. I see my failure, my death and my canonisation by the Lion People whom your good House sires. I am Saint Cainechinne the Stranger; sunlight guide my weary way, as I set forth for Turan.”
The regal couple had stood still and quiet, stunned by his verse. The one they thought a reprehensible queer who revelled in the debauchery of their city, now stood before them with the authority of their Faith’s most respectable leaders. After Cainechinne’s revelation, he simply backed out of the chamber, as humble as a servant who had come to carry out his master’s order. The tale had become a grand one, shared between many tables and market gabbles; each story altered slightly every time I heard it, yet the event was the same.
But that seemed like a fond memory, as I sat now by the Jugen Rock. I was the solitary soul, forlorn and forsaken on the small island of which the famous stone lay. My journey here was a long and uneventful one; the horse I had so long travelled with was relinquished for the fare of sailing the great inland sea - the one they call Takayder’s Heart. We sailed for many days - the sea stretched out so far beyond the horizon, one would believe the notion of it being landlocked as a farce kept between the sailors who travelled it. And - among the many farces kept between sailors - one arose around me in the guise of superstition, as my strange appearance and address convinced them I was not of this earth. Superstition soon grew hostile, and I was finally forced to abandon the voyage over the starboard bulwark.
Days had passed since I washed upon the shore of the Jugen Rock. The art of survival was something I was quickly forced to grasp, it made me tap into parts of my mind long since buried. It was a struggle at first, but soon I was on my way to living in what one could substitute for comfort. But one issue that had crossed my mind was the state of the island itself.
The islet was the stuff of legend - a sacred place rarely visited by the dwellers of the inland sea’s many settlers. I was not sure of the details, for the sailors had briefly mentioned a story of gods and conflict, the kind of stories so common they seemed to blend into each other. However the one thing of note in this particular story was the mention of a guardian that prowled the surrounding waters. The sailors had feared to even mention her name, but told me she was a lusting and vengeful water spirit that visited doom upon any man unworthy of standing foot upon the Jungen Rock. I feel this was one of the reasons I was left here, rather than being killed outright. However, while no kelpie or jengu myself, I was keen to meet one.
And meet one I did, for during the waxing of Nerialis I had just soon begun to settle down for the next day, when I heard a subtle disturbance in the water nearby. I was resting on the raised banks of the Jungen shore, laid between the open glades of the withered trees that covered the islet; while night was dark, my ears were sensitive. I was set still in the glade, nestled in the covers of my thick cloak and a blanket of dry leaves, the gush of water was loud in the quiet night. Another splash came, quieter this time, as if whoever had emerged wished to distance themselves from it as smoothly as possible. I did not move, nor breathe. A new sound came: the soft padding of bare feet along the soil of the rising banks. The padding grew louder, until I felt the subtle sensation of impacts carried through the ground with each step taken. It was all very tense, frightening as well, but for some strange reason I felt excited. In the time I spent on Jungen Rock, and through my long periods of self contemplation, I had felt a rush of the many experiences throughout my life come flooding back into me: and at that point of epiphany in my character, the affairs of this foundred world meant nothing to the one left ungrounded. I felt excited, because I might then find what finally anchored me. So I lay there, calm as the padding finally stopped; while my eyes were open the darkness obscured the shape in front of me. It was not much taller than I, and I almost mistook it for human, that was until it slowly crouched down to peer at my face, which was partially covered beneath my cloak. By some force I deemed extraordinary, the moonlight struck through the glade, and it washed softly over the face of the thing that now peered into my eyes: and oh what eyes they were, the iris and sclera lost beneath a pool of blackness, one would normally call it horrifying, but her skin’s gentle tint of blue emitted a fragrance that dulled my sparked panic, her beauty left me almost on the verge of tears.

“You are far from home,” I spoke, in a language I had not uttered for eons. The presence above me froze: her wide eyes spreading that fraction wider, the small predatory grin that had developed during her incline vanished, I heard a gasp so faint it could have been lost to the breeze. She had paused, unmoving, those black jewels still fixed on me. The composure of the water spirit had completely disappeared - instead was this creature alone and abandoned, only now witnessing what was to her a reminder of the very thing she forgot existed. It was then I felt a sudden weight fall upon me, and a flash of panic shot through me before I realized she had fainted.
Light dawned before she woke. I sat nearby her resting body; tending to a fire with which to break the morning frost. Splayed out on my makeshift pallet, she made for an innocent sight. The light of dawn shed a brighter shade of colour to her already luminous skin, of what was a glossy azure. She was naked, apparently impassive to the biting cold of the warm god’s heart.
She soon woke, with the snapping and crackling sounds of the fire whipping through the glade. I said nothing for a while, keeping my full attention on the growing hearth. But I could sense her gaze as she had rose from the pallet to sit beside me.

“What is home?” Asked the creature. I paused for thought, my eyes never lifting from the flame. She moved in, as if in embrace, and nestled her head in my chest. Strangely enough her hair was warm - a flowing swathe of sable sweet.

“Home is the place where the wanderer becomes grounded,” my grasp of their language was faint that night, but over the morning their memories came back to me. “Just how long have you been here?”

“I do not know.”

I sighed, holding her closer, “I feel it was not as long as you remember it to be. You remember your home?”

“What is home?”

“Home is -” I paused, thinking what could possibly be the answer she wanted. “Home is the place you come to understand.”

“But I do not understand.”

I paused again, running a hand softly through her luscious hair.

“Then this is not home.”

“No,” she replied. “No it isn’t.”

It was in this moment I felt a pang of hopelessness. We two - sat before the fire of the glade, alone on an island within the great heart shaped sea. We should have felt the closest connection of anyone, yet here I cuddled with the material of lost identity; that night had brought back so many memories, the canvas upon which I wanted to paint the epic of this world was soon spoiled with the splatter of the past. And with this came the fear that I might one day again be reduced to the sorrowful sight that I now held close in my arms: a vestige of will that survived only by mantling the very things it wished to be clear of.
I was not sure how to handle her. I knew that removing her was the kindest and most responsible action to take. Yet I could not; we still sat entangled, staring at the embers. I tore my gaze away from the fire to look up, thinking about how I could leave Jungen Rock. The creature lifted her arms around from my waist, pointing at the daylight Dark of Alumerilion.

“Take it from me, I know the taste of its soil,” she said blunty. I was not sure quite what she meant, but indulged her anyways.

“What was the taste like?”

“I can’t remember, but I know I didn’t like it.”

“Well, Alumerilion is the bad one,” I had the need to retort, despite it going against the moment.

“Then why does he stand in the day?”

“You know not of local worship?” I suppose it was reasonable of me to think she may have actually left Jungen Rock. She had not, in fact, known about the great creation myth. So I took it upon myself to tell her everything I had learned so far of what was, and what was to be. I noticed in my rambling a sense of ease residing over the glade; her hold on my body was more relaxed, that it was less a clinging act of desperation, but more of an accepting intimacy in the familiar. I took time in opening my own perception to her, finding out about the mantled state of the Jungen Rock Guardian.
For the dwellers of Takayder’s Heart feared this mantle; those who ventured to Jungen Rock dare not disturb the tranquility of the lone islet, lest they bring down the ire of the alluring siren that prowled its boundary. She took many men: feasting on their naked souls and leaving them to rot upon the shoreline.
But naked and rotten I was not. So with the approaching darkness and rise of sweet Nerialis, I set about my pallet. She did not follow me into the glade, but instead stayed by the fire, sat in a tranquil and meditative state. I dared not disturb her moment, for the release was something I felt necessary for the both of us. I simply crawled into my pallet, curled under my rancid cloak and ignored the pang of hunger in my stomach, attempting what I could at slumber.
And in that slumber came visions of many a place I had been: a dry office in the haggard evening that was overtime pay, untold glory within a pantheon of stars, and the gesture of a flower offered by graceful hands most genuine. But lastly, and most vividly came the green sea of the northern people, Chief Neyh-An’s smoky tent, the Wawtabi! I saw Yaula stood by the wreckage of my spacecraft.
That was all that came by the time the day was rising. I noticed I was alone, she was not around, the fire was out. I was alone, or at least I thought so. I ventured out onto Jungen’s shore, where I was greeted by the same ship that had cast me here. They had anchored close by, and already there came a small party rowing in.
I was to leave this rock, I was certain.

Chapter 5

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“In a tread we hold new,
grasp the sparse handle.
Rise up, O Mantle!
Take on the starry eye.
A man challenges.”

“Barabal, Barabal, where’s my story!” I was asked this almost every single day.
Barabal: “One who is not where he is supposed to be.” I could not fault the sailors on their creativity. But to expect an explanation as to the events of Jungen Rock was wishful thinking. They took me back because the guardian had not wished harm upon me, which in their eyes made me special. Their prior hostility had given way to genuine intrigue, for my foreign aura had saved me from the guardian.
They were sailing home. Where home was? I did not know, but I stayed with them on this journey. We made good distance, for the waves of Takayder’s Heart were light, despite the skies looming in an overcast that flirted with the threat of thunderstorm. I was stood by the prow, watching the horizon dip and rise in a steady rhythm, I was almost hypnotised by the empty expanse of tasteless grey - that was, until the Captain snapped me to attention.

“Barabal! You listen’ t’me?”

“I am now,” I ripped my gaze from the sea and turned towards the Captain’s crusty, wind-withered face. He had a stern expression, the same since his crew had taken me back onboard.

“Listen, we’ll be makin’ land right soon, y’ear?”

“Aye.”

“So I won’t be expectin’ you t’stay on me ship,” he stood closer, slapping his palm on my shoulder, “Takayder’s Heart be no place fer’you lad, yer’ too good f’that.” I saw that he still clung to the mystery of my stay on the Rock. And as to why my presence in the vast sea was not welcome, I was not sure. But I dared not argue the opportunity to move on. I felt I had journeyed most of the civilized lands that I dared to see: much a community and vassalage I had encountered that echoed the workings of the past - that constant chiming of the receding yesteryear, never fully there but never fully gone.
The afternoon passed before we made it to the coastline, we knew when there came a howling of land from the top mast. I journeyed back onto the deck and towards the prow where I was stood before, and there the shore was visible: a strip darker than the waning overcast sky, it stretched beyond and around the horizon. Land was upon us, but what that land might be, I had yet to deduce.

"Port Hektor,” the Captain came shambling up from the main deck, noticing I had came up from my quarters.

“We’re back on the borders?”

“Aye lad, y’best keep an’ eye out fer ones who spot y’queer.”

“I will.” And I did. We arrived in Port Hektor, and the moment we did I felt the same apprehension as I had with the fortress in the House Samet lands. It was the frontier feeling.
Port Hektor was a place of half-baked dreams and false promises. It was sleazy, yet sad. The moment I had step foot on the pier of the harbourside, the rain began to fall; the locals indeed saw me as an odd man. I knew not whether to attribute that to my alien features or my warm attitude. I strode finely through alleys where instead they slunk, I drank generously in the taverns where patrons rather hugged their mugs in bitterness. This was Port Hektor, a colony of those who would yearn for the warmer fields of their home. But as I had no home yet, I was content with staying in the place for a while.
But the thing I found I was without - that I knew I must have to be with - was coin. The first of my meals were ensured through the generosity of the more curious, willing to trade the material for my immaterial. Yet I knew this could not be something which I ought to consist on for more than too long. I made an effort to find the Captain and his crew whilst the ship remained anchored; I had no answers as to when it was leaving, and strangely enough I could not find either the Captain, or his crew. It was like they had just vanished from existence, leaving the ship by the harbourside as mark of their legacy; everywhere I asked for them, the locals would only shrug or curse me away. I was in dire need of the coin.
A chance then became available to me: as I sauntered down the rain fouled tracks of the Port, I happened across a crowd stood just outside an alehouse. The crowd were gathered around something, people murmuring and snapping at each other. I pushed myself through the crowd, to see a body splayed out in the mud. It was the Captain. His body had been hacked to a bloody mess; the blood oozing out into the filth. A flicker of anger twitched a nerve in my face. I knew it was his crew, someone had done it: they had waited until the ship lay anchored; the Captain alone and drowned in drink. Most of the crowd were focused on me now - in their faces I saw disgust, fear; or nothing at all.

“I know who did this,” my fingers were stained with his blood. He had no pulse. “This man was the Captain of the very ship stored in your harbour. His killer: one of the crew that served under him, and now take refuge in the ship.” I moved out of the crowd’s center, addressing them as I made to leave. “They will not leave, not until they are brave enough to come back and plunder this place. If you want them to leave, you need only ask me.” They were silent, I made to turn my back on them, knowing full well the response.


“Wait,” one voice from the vast crowd. “What do you for it?” I could not help but smile, it was so easy, so natural - a simple gesture of give and take. They were so miserable they never once thought for their own action. I was so confident, I wanted to roar with laughter. I tried to hold back, instead producing what must have been a mad looking grin.


“Coin!” There again I saw those faces of disgust and fear, I am a vagabond to them. The one who told me to wait - a heavy set women, with sunken eyes and drooping jowls, she whipped out an empty sack. I was stood waiting, seeing what it was she intended to offer. The woman held up the sack like it was the body of a freshly killed fowl.

“Sort thrift our cry, we will have this pouch a strain come the Pale Moon,” she gestured towards the Alehouse, which I assumed to be my place of reward. I nodded, leaving the transaction complete. As I walked off from the crowd, people had already begun to arrange the removal of the bloody Captain.
Over those days on the ship, I had learned what kind of people those crew members were. The Captain did not. I assumed they were all part of a new venture, and the Captain was without luck in his choice, but I could see in the crew an exhaustion and bitterness; the seeds of betrayal. I knew not how long they had served with him, but it was clear in their character that his continued presence could no longer be tolerated. From what I observed of the Captain, he held measurable sway over his men, they followed his orders to the letter, and never over my trip did I hear the raising of his voice. Yet it was something that drove hatred in these men. Something that would cause them to mercilessly murder their own Captain. Whatever it was, I was not sure that I cared, the coin was driving me.
The overcast was waning further, clouds and fog covering what could have been a mystical evening by the Heart. I was nearing the Docks, and with it the sight of the great ship in the harbour, towering over the small town. Strangely enough, I never quite got around to asking the name of the ship, despite mine own travel with it. It seemed no one else in the town knew either, they looked upon it the same as they looked upon me: suspiciously, with contempt and sulken objection to my presence. Me and this ship, we were unwanted.

“I will not bide past the Pale Moon, whooinney.” The fisherman barely made speech in his mumbling.
It had taken longer than I wanted in finding a boat to reach the ship, for I spent much time convincing the old creature in front of me to steer me to the ship, he - like everyone in Port Hektor - disliked its presence. His slow and monotonous rowing seemed to make the stretch between the pier and the inner harbour that breadth longer than what was needed. He made conversation with me, as I stared past him at the ship. I could nary pick up a word of his disgusting dialect.

“What does whooinney mean anyways?” It was the first thing I asked him since he cut loose from the mooring.

“What make you of it?” He throws back to me, in that low mumble.

“I dare not say.”

“Whooinney! Yessir, mister. Be you of a land beyond the Heart?”
“Ah,” I concede, with pure disinterest in my own murmur.

“Nay the matter, whooinney, look will you?” He meant the ship. The mumbling fisherman was deft enough with his rowing to halt us besides the swathe of rigging which hung from the deck, reaching all the way down the side of the great hull. Without a word I sprung onto the rigging, roughly clasping the rope, hugging myself to it. The stench of the sea worn fibre and wood tore at my nostrils: sharp, like the pain of my muscles straining to keep hold of the ship. The climb was strenuous. Each time I threw my arm over the other, I slowly made my ascent. All that I could see of the world was the sheer cliff face of wooden planks, and above it the darkening sky. Creaking; creaking of the rope, creaking of the wood, creaking of my bones and my leather footwraps, as the top of the sheer cliff drew close.
The wind from the sea had pooled in the harbour, just the same as the water. It whipped and whistled past me from all directions: tearing at my hair, my clothes and shaking the rigging, forcing me to slap against the hull every now and then. Mischievous wind. Finally, with my hand reached over the rigging, I hauled myself up. And all the muscles of my body burned with the strain of reaching the deck, I lay there for a few seconds, taking in the view.
Nothing. The decks were empty, except for one person.
A man stood leaning against a stack of cargo near where I had emerged. Ragged shorts, his torso riddled with scars and crudely done tattoos, bare of anything apart from the dirty looking shawl of cloth you could call his scarf. Even though his face was obscured in the dark evening shadow, I could see he was staring at me, arms crossed, still leaning on the cargo.

“Who are you?” He asked, in an odd tone, like he was feigning surprise.

“You know who I am.”

“No I don’t, you wear Barabal’s skin, but you’re not him,” he knelt down and gave me a hand getting to my feet.

“Where are your crew?”

“Enjoying the town.”


“You are the new Captain?” I saw a momentary flicker of his cheek the instant I asked, he moved off from leaning on the cargo, closing on to me. He was younger than the Captain, but his face shared the same features of leather worn by weather and drink, there was also a nasty looking scar gouged into the bridge of his nose, which ran through his right cheek.

“I never liked you,” he growled. “That old bastard should’ve left you on that rock after we threw you you overboard.”

“You need to leave,” I crossed my own arms, squaring the rough man up. “You and your new crew, leave before you even think of testing out this town.”

“Why?”

“I am getting paid to make you.” The new Captain flashed a smirk, the sheer cheek of me confronting him such a way must have been amusing in its fullest. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but closed it again, smiling. Then I saw that his eyes twitched, glancing up from the deck.
He lunged at me, his fist arching round in a swing towards my temple. But the moment I saw his eyes move I skipped to my left, dancing away from the edge of the deck, lest his punch connect and send me plummeting into the harbour. He tore after me, his stance low down ready to dive into my body. Again I made to swipe to the side, but this time his arm connected with my waist, and he sent me crashing to the floor. The sailor was heavy, scrambling onto my body to subdue me - I used the precious seconds of my free arm to grab his throat and throw him aside. I rolled over and did what he tried with me, pinning him down with my knees. The heat of the action was making me quiver with anger: I tore from my waist a small dirk, one that he had fortunately seemed to miss when tangling with my lower body. I plunged it down into the shoulder of the arm that was trying to choke my own throat. He let go, croaking in pain as I ripped it back out. I forced the thing on the skin of his jugular, the contour of his arteries moving the dirk as he gulped.

“Leave, by the coin I make, you will leave.” The pressure on his throat subsided as I rolled off him. I got to my own feet, leaving him squirming on the deck. I did not say a word, maybe to add effect to my last utterance, or maybe because I did not know what to say. I simply left, climbing down the rigging again, and made back to Port Hektor with my slightly less mumbling companion.

“Here,” the dour woman handed me her sack, now heavy with the janking coin. The ship was gone, along with its crew. A miracle I believed, for my little showdown with the betrayer was simply that: a show.
I left the Alehouse by midnight. Walking to the edge of Port Hektor, I bought myself a modest steed, with which to ride away into the unknown outback of theHeart lands. I knew not where I was going, but through my episodes so far, I came to find that it was the most appropriate reason to move on.

Epilogue

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Disconnection! No, that was not what I felt. It was something very real.
In the bright, alpine crispness of a Roheeki morning, I sat by the ruin of my ancient spacecraft. It had been many, many years since I visited this place, I explained to the chief sat with me. He carried the old and withered visage of Neyh-An, huddled cross-legged in the grass, with a long drawn blanket keeping him snug in the cold. But in him I saw Yaula, his grandmother: the wonder, the will to venture with me alone to the site of the crash.
We talked, in that old language of theirs, of which I had barely spoken.

“The moment you walked into my home, I knew it was you,” Chief Shem-Ayn said, his voice was of the Chief, but the tone of his daughter. “My Grandmother told stories of you. The Star Man who fell from the Bright Fire, you have not aged since the day she met you.”

“There are things about myself that I still cannot know,” I shrugged. It was the truth.

“People pay homage to this,” he motions towards the ruin. I could barely see any of the hull, because of the moss and brambles that covered it. The streaks of upturned earth that made evidence of my landing were gone too, healed by time and fortunate weather. “It is a pilgrimage site. Those from lands all around, who have visited our tribe, and seen the Small Star that you blessed us with. The Wawtabi are a blessed people, we are given respect and autonomy thanks to this.”

“My pleasure.”

“To us, you are a being beyond human. Are you of Takayder’s yoke? I do not know. But for what you are, you seem not to display it.”

“I do not want the attention,” I tried to smile at him like I tried with Yaula, to convince them that I was not the mystical deity they saw me as. Yes, I fell from their heaven. Yes, I bear a unique character. But over my time with this world I have shared in their lives the same as any other. I have suffered pain, loneliness, fear and anger. And I have enjoyed excitement, happiness and affection. All this I explained to Shem-Ayn, but through his guise of an understanding Chief, I saw Yaula; I am the Star Man no longer! It was still there though, wait! Where will you go?

“I will not pretend to understand you,” said the Chief, a look of defeat spread across his weary features. “But I will make effort to sympathise with your desires.”
Not long after, we rode for the Wawtabi camp. It had not changed since the morning I had arrived, or since the decades earlier when I had discovered it.
The same can be said for the Chief’s tent. It remained unchanged by time, like the rest of the Wawtabi. I sat through the same ritual with Shem-Ayn as I had with Neyh-An. We sat opposite each other, with him stirring a small pot, of which a burning smell of citrus brewed; the tapping of the stirring stick, the wheezing of his aches and pains, accepting the scalding cup. The conversation. It all culminated in him reaching over for a small box, ornamented and engraved in Roheeki flavour.

“This is what you need.” Shem-Ayn opened the box, revealing inside the soft glowing orb - the old floating lamp I gave to Yaula so long ago. I could not help but chuckle, the Chief looked shocked.

“Has the light ever been extinguished?” I already knew the answer.

“Never,” he handed over the box to me. I grasped the lamp, smoothing my palms around the spherical surface to feel for a tiny switch. I found it, flicking off the light. Flicking off a legacy, flicking off decades of legend and answers. Chief Shem-Ayn strained to subdue the pain that was showing on his face. The fact that I could blot out such importance, such an identity of my being, was a mystery to him as much as it made complete sense to me. I handed him back the empty lamp, which he handled with the care of a newborn.

“I am the Star Man no longer.”

“That, I understand,” I thanked Shem-Ayn for his acquiescence.
But inside the box, there was something else. A roll of parchment. I raised an eyebrow, holding it up, as if demanding an explanation from the Chief.

“A legend,” he obliged. “The Wawtabi do not have written word, but I know your grasp of language. Long ago I paid a learned man from the civilized lands to write down in his tongue and style, the stories passed between our different people. A story mostly, the Tale of a Man.”

“Oh, I must see this.” There I opened the parchment, and written there was a roughly scrawled column of poetry. My legend:

Height of the Bright Fire,
bring echoes of righteous fury.
Came to us,
borne by the Sun and Two Moons.
A man.

Not a man, a God!

To a house of troubles,
one rides boldly.
Just blood of a lurid crimson,
retire thy banners.
A man approaches.

Not a man, a God!

Towards the Bright Fire,
throw thy arms aloft.
Grieve and give thanks,
for thou art not forsaken in worship.
A man watches.

Not a man, a God!

Set within the Ample Heart,
dreams of a Maiden unanchored.
Beware thy heart not yearn,
down in depths and away from the Sun.
A man courts her.

Not a man, a God!

In a tread we hold new,
grasp the sparse handle.
Rise up, O Mantle!
Take on the starry eye.
A man challenges.

Not a man, a God!


I could not help but break out into a great smile. It was utter hypocrisy, but I enjoyed it immensely.

EDIT: This is now a complete work, so I will put everything here in this first post for your viewing pleasure. There is also a link here if you wish to read or download it. Thank you so much for reading!

Also, here is the sequel, titled Savages.

[General Brewster]

Very interesting !

[Sconderix]

Chapter 1

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“Height of the Bright Fire,
bring echoes of righteous fury.
Came to us,
borne by the Sun and Two Moons.
A man.”

It had been four months since my arrival to this world. The riders who came to discover me were part of an indigenous race, nomads who had seen my spacecraft as they ventured the plains. I was taken in by them. From the craft we travelled for hours over the plains; an endless sea of green and perpetual wild flowers. When we reached their village, I came upon the sight of mostly tents, cattle and meandering tribes people dressed in furs, hides and warm clothing to protect them from the chill. My arrival stopped most of them short in their tracks, as they gazed wide-eyed at my alien presence. The way they inspected my getup (a slim tracksuit, coat and slippers) with such fascination amused me, I couldn’t help but grin despite the thought of it appearing rude to my hosts. Beyond that all I could remember was the overwhelming need for something eat, and somewhere to rest, which - after a lengthy game of interpretation - I managed to accomplish.
I sat now in the largest tent of the tribe, where their Chief was receiving me. The Chief, an old man wreathed in fabulously decorated fur cloaks, was focused on brewing a drink for us both to enjoy. I sat before him patiently, legs cross and arms tucked in the sleeves of a woolen coat: a gift from the tribe, fashioned in the same design as the old coat I wore on the spacecraft, which was starting to wear.

“You are starting to speak well,” said the Chief, gently stirring the brew.

“Thank you, Neyh-An,” I replied before pausing, trying to find the correct words, “I am… Glad, glad I can speak well.”

Chief Neyh-An finally stopped stirring, peering over into the small pot he had resting over his little bundle of embers, he nodded slightly in satisfaction and tapped the stirring stick on the edge of the brewing pot. He leaned over to his side for the cups, wheezing with the aches and strains of age. I accepted the cup, taking in the citric smell from the brew. The Chief had been doing this ritual with me every few weeks, as a way to see my progress with his people and to personally learn what he could from me. Slowly, he poured the brew from the pot he had been boiling in our cups. I felt the sudden heat in my hands, steam wafting into the cold air of the tent. We both huddled over our cups and sipped quietly; every time he managed to make it taste different. Neyh-An was quiet for a while, staring into his cup, his forehead creased in a not-too-subtle frown, then glanced at me musingly.

“You have been here, for quite some time now,” he declared.

I nodded, taking the time to glance around the small interior of his cozy tent before thinking of a reply.

“I have.”

“Have you thought of leaving?” Chief Neyh-An looked pensive as he asked this.

Again, I nodded, “I have.”

The Chief put down his cup, he looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to have this conversation with me. But I felt like I understood his intent. For him, I was an extraordinary being, I fell from the heavens onto their world, it was only natural they think of me as something more than a normal man. He had tried to ask me before about my origin, I simply told him I was from another place, another time. As cryptic as my reply was, he seemed to accept it. But at the same time he must have had obvious doubts about me staying with his people, for my presence meant something important, and that importance could be a risk to his tribe. I knew my time with them was coming to a close.

“Neyh-An, are there…” I paused to find the words, “are there other people, that are not yours?”

He nodded, “Yes, there are others.”

“Then I must find them,” I declared with mock severity, a grin breaking out on my face. I knew it was the right thing to tell the Chief, he seemed to pick up on my amiable mood, likewise smiling and picking up his cup in a gesture of toast.
While we drank I soon began to reminisce on the time I shared with the Chief and his tribe. I soon came to realize just how fortunate I was in their hospitality, for they thought of me as a god or spirit, and to them I could just have easily been one of a malevolent nature. Despite all my intents and purposes, the people of Chief Neyh-An could have sought to erase me from their world. Yet they did not. I knew my time with them was over, and that I must leave before I would come to bring unwanted attention to them.
The focus now was on what direction I should go, Neyh-An told me of societies spread out in all corners of the land here and beyond. To the north bordering an expansive mountain range were similar tribes to his, some were passive but others were well known for their warlike traditions. In the west, along the coast were small colonies from island kingdoms over the seas, the colonials were reclusive and mistrustful of outsiders. Out east over another mountain range was an enormous inland sea by the name of Takayder’s Heart, and in this sea were a multitude of small islands ruled by strange men who were said to keep mermaids as concubines and abide in palaces of coral. To the south, the Chief told me of a vast land inhabited by civilized men, who squabbled over land, money and power for the sake of their family Houses. Of all the choices I had, the Chief said the south was the most appropriate for my journey, for despite their quarrels the southern societies were the most influential of all the people to inhabit the known world. He believed at some point in time, the squabbling Houses would one day put aside their troubles to unite and conquer the world. He was almost certain they could do it. While I did enjoy the time I spent with the Chief, the prospect of discovering the southern lands did excite me somewhat.
As I started to ask about the south, our conversation was stopped short when the flap of the tent was pulled aside, letting in a horrid draft as a shape struggled into the dark interior. When the light from the burning embers shone on the figure coming to sit beside Neyh-An, I saw it was his daughter, Yaula. She was the only child of the Chief to keep him company, as most of the time his two sons were busy guiding cattle or patrolling their land. Despite the tribe being a smaller community, Yaula was not married, nor did she have any children of her own, which I thought was strange as she was not unpleasant to the eye: the Chief’s daughter was heavy set, her legs and arms thick with muscle, skin wrought rough with labour. But she had an genuine beauty to her rough exterior. What I noticed the most about her was that she always seemed to carry the stern expression of her father, although on her it didn’t command the same sort of respect, instead giving her a quality of endearment. During my months with the tribe, I spent most of my time with Yaula learning their language. She was most patient with my fumbling rhetoric, encouraging me to speak to anyone and everyone given the opportunity. I came to see her at least once every day to present what I had learned, and this continued to the point where I was able to hold my own in a conversation.
Yaula accepted a cup her father poured as she joined them. The Chief frowned at the sight of her: dry flecks of mud caked her body from galloping in the rain in the early morning. She noticed me as she downed the fruity mixture.

“How is our Star Man this day?” Yaula asked in between gulping the drink.

“As bright as always,” I replied cautiously. How did she drink something so fast without scolding herself?

“Ah! A new word you found?” Yaula expressed in mock surprise.

“Yes,” I grinned, “I was told the day would be bright, once rain passes.”

Although I came to add new additions to my vocabulary each day, I found that the language was still tricky to work around. Certain sentences required the same words used more than once; heavy enunciation on particular words and emphasizing certain phrases with the use of your throat. I was quite chuffed with myself for being able to pick it up so quickly, I don’t think I was ever one for language.

“So Yaula,” the Neyh-An asked expectantly, “what did you find?”

She put down the cup, empty of its contents and leaned in closer to her father.

“It is still there. There seems to be no damage, but I could not get close enough to inspect it. Jayh-In and Calebb would go no closer out of fear,” she gestured towards me, “they think him a god of some sorts, and that construction of his a thing of sacred origin.”
It seemed the Chief had thought to keep a check on my craft, something I had completely forgot about during my time here. Now that I came to recollect the events after my landing, I realized I had left it without so much as closing the cockpit hatch. It simply lay there in the middle of a vast plain, waiting to be discovered by any traveller curious enough to find it.
I stood up in the tent, bowing to the two of them, who gave my gesture a look of confusion.

“I thank you for your hospitality. But I must make trip to my craft, Yaula has reminded me that the thing needs my attention.”

Yaula scrambled to her feet, “I will go with you, Father?” she turned to the Chief. He nodded reluctantly.
By the time to sun had set, I was at the sight of the crash. To my surprise, the spacecraft had not changed since I had left; four months later and it was the same fallen beast. Yaula looked pensive, leaning forward on her horse. She motioned for me to dismount, so - in a less than graceful fashion - I swung my leg over the saddle and slid off the beast, which snorted in derision at my sudden departure. Yaula waited until I was close to the craft before dismounting herself, she skittered towards me as I climbed onto the wing and leaned over into the hatch of the cockpit. The Chief’s daughter looked up at me restlessly, she seemed nervous about being so close to the alien construction. I grinned and whistled as if I was suddenly impressed at the sight of the same cockpit I had used for so many years.

“What is it?” she called.

“Nothing changed,” I climbed down into the hatch, standing by the seat in the enclosed space. I stooped over the control panel and yoke: everything was still intact. I paused momentarily, contemplating the thought of turning the craft back on for one last flight. But I felt the lack of landing gears would be unwise. So with a sigh I turned back, weaving behind the seat and opening the small hatchway into the craft’s hull. As I squirmed through the hatchway I heard clanging, Yaula cursed as she banged her arm on the way down into the cockpit. She squatted in the cockpit, eyes wide with wonder. While she was distracted with the control panel, I slipped further into the hull.
The opening in the hull was a small crawlspace where small supplies were kept. I didn’t have any need for the gear kept here during my flight, most of it was useless for where I was now; a flare had no use if you didn’t want rescuing, and an emergency communicator couldn’t function without power. But I did find something of interest as I rummaged through the small lockers, a lamp. It wasn’t a normal lamp though: it was a sphere of translucent glass, big enough to fit in your palm and so light you could balance it on your fingertips. Inside of the lamp was a gas lighter than air, allowing it to float beside you like a candle buoyant on water.
I took the lamp, climbing through the hatchway and into the cockpit. Yaula spun round to see what I had found, I hid the lamp in my cloak and gestured for her to climb out of the cockpit. As I pulled myself out over the side, I reached in to take one last look at my fallen angel, savouring the bitter sweetness of the moment. Then abruptly pulled shut the hatch.

“I find it amazing you travelled through heaven in such a thing,” Yaula murmured. The honest charm of her outspokenness struck at my heartstrings, for I was glad she saw me for what I was and not some mythical being or god.
I pulled forth the lamp; the sphere rose slowly out of my hand before calmly pausing in midair, as if anchored by an invisible tether. I clicked my fingers and the sphere sprung to life, illuminating the patch in which we stood with a warm glow. Yaula’s eyes opened wide in disbelief, she looked at me as if in shock.

“You took a star from the night sky!” she gasped.

The illusion of her understanding was then shattered, and that made me feel sad. I came to realize that despite her reservations, she was still an indigenous being to a world that knew nothing of places beyond the sky’s limit. To Yaula, I was that mythical being, that god, the thing I tried to avoid. But now I understood it was no use trying to make myself understood. I smiled sadly.

“A gift, for accepting my trouble,” I lightly flicked the orb towards the Chief’s daughter, she sprung back in panic as it drifted lazily towards her. I gestured for her to grab it. Cautiously she reached out to touch it, and the lamp rebounded slowly off her touch, with confidence she used both hands to grab hold of it. Yaula beamed like a child as she held the glowing star in her hand. I had no worries of the light ever fading, as the surface of the lamp itself was capable of sustaining power through sunlight. While she was focused on the thing, I made my way over to my horse, climbing into the stirrup and up over the saddle. She broke her gaze away from the lamp, confused.

“Must we go back so soon?” she asked.

“You may go back when you wish, Yaula. But I go, it’s my time now,” I swung the beast around and started off into a trot, she trailed after me on foot, leaving the lamp floating by the craft.

“Wait!” she cried, “where will you go?”

“To the south!” I laughed, and pointed towards the direction of the squabbling Houses. “I am the Star Man no longer!”

Yaula stopped in her tracks, watching dumbly as I picked up into a canter, leaving her with the craft and star. The sky was awash with blends of evening purple, and I was off to discover a new world.

[McScottish]

I love it, not least because I love stories told from the views of 'outsiders', which I must say yours certainly seems to be.

+Rep for you, my good sir.

[Sconderix]

Thanks for the comments guys! Glad you like it. Hopefully I will try and have the second chapter done by the end of the week.

[Sconderix]

Chapter 2

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“To a house of troubles,
one rides boldly.
Just blood of a lurid crimson,
retire thy banners.
A man approaches.”

Well, things had taken a strange turn since my landfall. My journey of countless weeks into the south ended the moment I entered the lands of the Houses, where I found hundreds of territories claimed by thousands of families. Many of these Houses were sub-groups in a patchwork of ethnicities that inhabited the continent. My first encounter after leaving the northern plains was with a border region owned by the House Samet, who I found whilst traversing the mountain ranges that trailed into the south.

While not as dramatic as my landfall to this world, I was still taken aback at the first sight of civilization. From the crest of a hilltop I looked down into a bowl shaped valley, and in the center of that valley was a wooden fortress large enough to house a small army. Surrounding this fortress were fields of crops tended by pockets of farmers. I could not help but feel perplexed at the sight, for I had spent so long among the plains that I felt the influence of these people was nowhere near the possibility of proper civilization. Yet here I was, sat atop my steed looking down into the valley of men. I would have sat there all day pondering on life had I not felt the drag of hunger and exhaustion.

The journey through the mountains was hard, as most of my sustenance came in the form of handouts from benevolent nomads. So now was my chance to see if these civilized men of the south could be equal in their generosity. I abruptly yanked the reigns of my horse, pulling her away from the tufts of grass she was so clearly enjoying, and steered her down the steep slope. I worked my way through the scrubland of the valley until I found a track heading towards the fortress, and continued on with a steady trot. As I rode through the valley I sometimes came across travelers, all of whom would gawk at my passing. It was only as I drew closer to the wooden walls of the fortress that the gawkers grew in number; herdsmen stood still in the fields watching my approach, soldiers whose idle chatter would trail off and children who stopped their games to stare at me in awe. Had I not been burdened by the fatigue of travel I might have even showed amusement at such a display. Yet I felt something was wrong.

I drew near the gates. Over the clomping hooves of my mount I could hear the bustle of the fortress: hammers clanging on anvils, orders barked from loud officers, screeching fishwives. It was quite eery, and a little intimidating. The gate itself was wide open, and above it on the battlements two guardsmen saw my approach; both of them were dressed in chainmail, and wore open faced helmets of what I assumed to be bronze. As to what they were armed with, I soon spotted the sight of their composite bows, as they drew them on me.

“Tinchy!” One of them cried. I pulled on the reigns instantly, stopping the beast. I did not recognize the word he had said to me, but I presumed it to be an order for me to halt. I felt slightly awkward as I sat atop the horse, staring up at two men with their bows drawn on me; those outside the walls who had watched my approach were now watching the confrontation.The guard starting yelling at me again, but the language he used was unfamiliar. Unlike the language I learned with Chief Neyh-An, this one was more assertive, I noticed certain words were pronounced in a sort of flourish and instead of enunciating with the throat, words were carried on by rolling on some letters. It was quite interesting, yet I understood none of it. Instead I tried to ask him if he understood me in the language of plains.

“Oh, you are one of those!” Cried the other guard. He turned and said something to the first one, who shook his head in irritation. The second guard turned back to me.

“Begone, Roheeki. Your kind are not welcome here.”

I shifted uncomfortably, “I am not… I am not of those kind,” I called, trying to find the words. “I come from somewhere else.”

“We don’t believe you, Roheeki. You look like dirty savage, you smell like one, I smell you from here.”

I think it was around this time I began to realize the possible danger I was in. Coming from the behavior of these two, I came to assume the Houses were certainly not welcoming of the northern tribes, and as these guards thought of me as one, I realized my chances of getting in the fortress were very low.

“I am hungry, I ride for days without food,” I called. “Is there anywhere I can find for food?”

“Yes Roheeki,” the guard cried, “in your own lands” he roared with laughter. The first guard started talking to him again, I sat there as they bickered for a while before turning back to me.

“Why come alone, Roheeki?” the guard asked. “Are you spy? Come to scout our land before raiding it?”

It was here that I felt the uncomfortable atmosphere began to grow too tense. I needed to leave before they came to their own conclusions. I seized at my chance to escape, seeing that their bows had relaxed as they bantered with me. I smacked my heels to the horse’s flanks, and we jolted off to the sides of the walls, racing along the perimeter. The guards bellowed in anger, their voices trailing off as I sped off and away from the walls. I rode hard through the fields, heading back towards the edges of the valley. As I galloped I looked behind me at the fortress, expecting a party of soldiers to come give chase. Yet they did not.
By the time I slowed my pace, evening had fell. Upon hearing the trickle of stream water draw closer, I stopped and dismounted the beast. The water flowed gently through an open glade, the evening’s twilight was blocked in by the canopy, making my vision murky. Both me and the horse teetered over to the stream, hoping the water was going to be at least palatable.
It tasted like piss.
I spat half of it out, wincing in disgust. The mare didn’t seem to mind though, so I let her drink. I stumbled over to a nearby tree, collapsing near to the base, and leaned against the trunk. The beast paused to watch me, the expression of her long face completely lacking in concern for my well-being.

“Just let me sleep,” I muttered. My eyes grew lazy, the mare snorted and continued to drink the foul tasting water. I didn’t care anymore, I was too tired, too hungry and too frustrated. I closed my eyes and listened to the soft rustling of leaves, letting the soggy smell of moss and dew settle into my nostrils. By now all these sensations would fade away as sleep took me, but for some reason I couldn’t find myself drifting off. By this point it felt like I was too tired to be tired, I wanted to weep. But I did not, I simply sat there with my eyes closed.
Then I felt something light smack against my foot. My eyes shot open to the sight of two scruffy looking children standing over me.

“You fled the fortress?” Asked a girl, the lack of sunlight meant I couldn’t distinguish anything of their appearance apart from the sounds of their voices. I felt confused, what was she saying?

“You are from the north?” The other girl asked. Another question, what do they want? Can’t they see I’m tired?

“No I am not from the north,” I blustered, “why?”

“You look like you come from the north, you speak the language of the north,” the first one answered. She had a fair point, I thought, they were talking to me in the language I used with the Chief Neyh-An.

“I stayed with the Chief Neyh-An for some time.”

“The Wawtabi!” The girls both gasped. I assumed that was the name they gave for Neyh-An’s tribe, for I never asked the Chief myself. “You met the son of Ughur-Un?”

“Probably,” I murmured. I started to throw off their questions with abrupt answers, I just wasn’t in the mindset to withstand such interrogation.

“Is there a place I can rest? I am very tired.”

The girls turned their heads to each other and talked in the same foreign tongue the guards spoke in, I was beginning to feel slight irritation at such exclusion. It would be wise for me to learn this language as soon as I could.

“You could stay with our family, if my father approves?” one of them pondered. It was good enough for me, I grunted as I struggled to my feet. The girls stood by as I went to retrieve the mare.
By the time we left the forest for the main tracks of the valley, night had fell. I walked behind the girls, leading the horse by the reigns. While the light from the night moon was bright enough to illuminate the path ahead, I felt a sense of caution. The girls were young, I assumed they were around ten years of age, it seemed strange to me that they were allowed to wander the wilderness on their own, the girls of Chief Neyh-An’s people were kept close, for they feared what lay in wait for the wandering and curious.
But our little journey was an uneventful one. The night moon was high above the sky by the time we reached the girls’ home. A hovel perched upon a hillock, far off from the main tracks of the valley, during the day it would have been an idyllic sight. For me it was just a welcome one. As the girls raced into the house, I tied the reins of the beast to the fence line; near a large patch of grass and patted her on the neck as she leaned down to munch.
Inside the thatched hovel I was welcomed with the warmth of a roaring fire, a cauldron of stew bubbling over said fire, and a squabbling family. The parent’s of the two children were quite angry at their late return, but with their anger turned bewilderment at the sight of a strange looking man entering their home.
However, being the charmer that I am, I soon came to explain my circumstances to the couple. As the night was well set in, they shared with me a meal of that lovely stew that had been cooking over the fire; three servings to be exact. I could not believe how famished I was until I had cleared the bowl, the family all ate together at their own pace and watched me patiently. I had been trying to make small talk with the parents of the two girls, but I soon learned they did not speak the northern language as the girls could. In fact I happened to find out the girls were not even theirs: apart from the way they showed little resemblance to their guardians, they gave an awkward pause after I asked how they learned the northern language when their parents didn’t. As it turned out, the couple told me through the girls that they were settlers who came to the valley for land opportunity. This whole valley once belonged to a tribe of ‘Roheeki’ called the Yokon, whom the girls called home. But the southern House of Samet soon began to encroach upon their borders, taking advantage of their surplus in population to expand her territories north. The real conflict only began when the Samet colonists arrived in the valley: delegates from the Yokon came to warn the settlers to leave their land, but the show of resistance caused the Duke of House Samet to send an army into the valley, where they quickly advanced on the Yokon and chased them out of the valley. After that came the construction of the fortress, where they would be able to quickly mobilize soldiers in case the Yokon came to take back the valley. Around the security of the fortress, the settlers were safe to take what land they needed. The couple told me that although the warriors and nobles of the Yokon had fled north to gather their numbers, they had left their young and elderly. Most of these natives were disregarded by the House Samet, and were left to wander or serve under settlers for a living. The couple had found the girls years ago, attempting to steal some of their food because they were so hungry. Yet instead of turning them in to the soldiers of the fortress, they took them in. Despite me not understanding the words, I understood the affection in the father's voice as he explained to me, he stroked the hair of the youngest girl sat beside him, the kinship the family felt was quite heart-warming to witness.
And despite an ugly welcoming into the south, I felt hope.
Morning came, and the sun was blaring through the cracks of the doors of barn I was sleeping in. I was strung out like a ragdoll on a sack of hay, slobber drooling out of my mouth and half of my face rough and creased from where it lay on the hay. Groaning seemed almost automatic as I struggled to sit upright. Even though I must have overslept, I still felt tired - which I owe to the ‘comfort’ of the hay. I had originally meant to leave after the meal, but the children had told the couple of where they found me, so I was insisted upon sleeping in the barn for the night. Though today I had to leave, not because they told me so, but because I knew not to overstay my welcome.
With a quiet farewell, I left the family to their lives. The mare I also left with them - who seemed happy to be free of my charge. I made for the fortress once again, this time I would be prepared. The land of the southern Houses was a land of conflict, the fortress stood in that valley of the peaceful as a bastion to those who ride proud with fire and sword. If there would be any place that would prepare me well for the south, it would be that fortress.
Night had fully fallen once I reached the big walls. I approached the gates, and to my misfortune I was welcomed to the ridicule of the same two guards who accosted me before. But this time I was in no mood to banter.

“Take me to your commander.”

“Why would we let you in, Roheeki?” The guards had laughed at my bluntness. I was adapting quick to their attitudes, the Samet would have no tolerance for the northern peoples, and would just as well wipe them completely from their borders had they the power to do so. This meant I had only one way of integrating myself into the House. I folded my arms as I looked up at the guards, making for a sinister figure in the soft torchlight.

“Take me in, and I will get you the head of the one who leads the Yokon.”

[Sconderix]

Chapter 3

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“Towards the Bright Fire,
throw thy arms aloft.
Grieve and give thanks,
for thou art not forsaken in worship.
A man watches.”

Now normally, here would come the account of my great venture into the northern lands, where I came to hunt down the Yokon Chief now known to me as Chog’r-In. But to do so would falsify the reality of my situation. I will let it be known that I found Chog’r-In, nestled away safe in the refuge of Yokon sympathizers settled beneath the nose of the Samet; there was no glory in me slaying him, the man was noble, but demoralized and angry. I was an unwanted sight, but a sight he had to confront nonetheless. Our encounter did not last long, for while his mastery of the war spear was admirable, I had taken no chance with my crossbow from the Samet, and struck him down where he stood.
From there I had returned to the fortress with an empty feeling inside of me, as I realized it was the first time on this world I had come to kill someone. Not only that, it was an unjust and terrible murder. Already I found rumours had spread of my exploits; these things I began to learn as I lived at the fortress. I was accepted into their community, and while not officially part of their military force, I came to work for the commander for the majority of the time I spent there. Many months had past, making it almost a year and a half since my landfall. I learned the language of the south soon enough, they called it Krenoan, the language of the Krenes; the founders of the first Houses.
Beyond these highlights of my time with the Samet, the rest was uneventful. Once I had become proficient enough to speak with the Krenoan tongue, I once again left them and ventured further south. From the Samet I began to learn more of the southern lands, of the many Houses that ruled, one that came up quite frequently was a realm on the southern coast of the continent. It belonged to a smaller House by the name of Kalendros. They were said to be one of the most tolerant Houses, accepting almost any foreigner into their lands. But this was not the reason I wanted to go, there came words of a self-styled prophet by the name of Cainchinne. He seemed interesting, so I wished to meet him.
The journey to the Kalendros dominion was long, I felt like months were passing as I rode through the many dominions that inhabited this southern continent. Despite nearly all of them sharing the Krenoan language, their ethnicities and culture seemed to stand apart from each other. The House of Samet were a more rugged type than their southern brethren, for they had adjusted to the hard frontier life of their northern border and its savage occupants; I had left the fortress of the valley and travelled through their capital city of Volkyh’r, where I saw every home and building struggling to cling to the granite faces of an impregnable groundwork. The dreary climate and miserable atmosphere was enough to make me want for a warm fire behind stone holdings. Yet once I cross through the border gates into the dominion of House Fadel, I noticed an entirely different scene. The climate grew milder as I descended the summits of Samet mountain ranges, people who walked the highways seemed to possess a spring in their step, and the sight of vast forestry was a new and pleasant sight: the trees were of a strange design, not like the pines I had expected, but rather of a twisted and stretched look, like one would find in an umbrella thorn. These trees looked like they belonged in the sweltering prairies of a tropical frontier rather than the temperate lowlands of a civilized duchy. These forests soon came to be a constant in my journey, even as I made my way through the Fadel capital of Aderyh’r, the bright vibrancy of ceramic glazed stonework contrasted sorely with these drained and withered looking trees, which seemed to snake and worm their way into whatever patches of soil had not been covered over with pavement or gardens. My path through Aderyh’r brought many a glare to my eyes. The sight of a dirty Roheeki and his horse clopping through their grand roadways brought curses from the dejected peasantry, gasps from startled noblewomen, amused grunts from vagabonds of fortune and wary hands from armed guardsmen out in force.
I made no plans to stop, for the Kalendros dominion had been my only goal. From Aderyh’r to the Kalendros capital of Caelici the time had gone by faster than I had originally thought. The one thing I appreciated about the south was their commitment to the upkeep of extensive roadways that connected their dominions, rather than spend days circumnavigating the base of an impassable mountaintop. Only two weeks had passed in the time it took for me to travel from the Fadel dominion towards the Kalendros capital.
Now Caelici, that was a sight to see. It was certainly a sight to see. Compared to this strange port the rest of the House dominions I travelled through seemed like backwater duchies of a most reclusive nature. I entered through a checkpoint unhindered into the city, where I was welcomed to the sight of a market absolutely bustling with activity, positively teeming! It was as though they had squeezed the entire population of Volkyh’r into the marketplace. And the variety; nearly everyone I laid eyes upon had skin of a different shade than their neighbor, their clothes were fabulous blends of colors and jewelry, so much so it seemed to blend into an almost sickly miasma of colour. The flow of the crowd made it hard for me to steer my horse through the square and the relentless assault on my every sense made it difficult for me to think properly: in my ears I heard a hundred people hawking wares and services, my nose was thick with the stench of pungent spices - of which I’m sure I could smell tobacco, and the overpowering fragrance of amateur perfume. I felt like I was drowning in the cacophony of the square.
My struggle through the heavy crowd ended once I spotted an opening into a quieter looking street. I tugged at the reins, swinging the beast over as we headed towards the opening. People seemed to melt away from the path under me as I pushed through, some didn’t give me the time of day, others would glance at me with curious expressions. I began to feel more self-conscious as I came to realize I had not changed clothing since my departure from the Samet fortress; my ragged clothwear and musty poncho of a variety of brown stood out like a sore thumb in the more lavish parts of this opulent city. But despite the dazzling wealth that imposed itself over my humble approach, I made sure not to lose sight of the thing I had came here for. I still wished to meet the prophet. The sun was still high as I rode into the center of the city, to seek lodging and shelter for the horse. There was a nearby stable located on the wharf that would accept me, I had paid the owner with what few coins I had pilfered over my travel. The old wench had made to turn her nose up at my offering, but must have swallowed her pride, knowing too well no one else would wish to stay in such a place.

“Cainchinne?”

Not long was before I had found my man. Exploring the streets and boulevards of Caelici, I spoke to many people, all of whom pointed me towards a hill where on top stood a church they called the ‘Lighting House’. It was in there, sat hunched on the floor before a great stained glass mural, I saw the Prophet Cainchinne.

“Aye?” What a reply, aye. I sort of expected a more memorable welcoming. In fact, I expected something other than this, I noticed the church was completely empty. There wasn’t even any pews or altars. It was just an empty room: hard boarded floors, featureless stone walls and that grand stained mural depicting the Sun and Two Stars that dominated the skyline of this world.

“You are the Prophet I hear?” The hunched figure turned to me, revealing an expression of certain interest. Despite my expectations of visiting a humble figure, what I saw before me was indeed something else. He had long hair wiry with age, the brows of his face bushy and unkempt, both of his ears sported bangle-like earrings, van dyke facial hair and his clothes were that of the local city folk - that is, flamboyant. But his most striking feature was the way his eyes seemed empty, lacking in focus, like that of a blind man.

“Now that’s a strange accent,” he said. The language he spoke was Krenoan, but he too had an accent that I could not place. “You’re Roheeki?”

“No, but I did stay with them.”

“Well you’re not Takayan, but you’re also not of the Roheekan territories,” the Prophet hummed like in a daze, “maybe you are from the outer island Kingdoms, Hael? Arlan? Epirum?”

“I assure you I’m not.”

“Then that is strange, as your soft pale skin marks you a Takayan. Yet your accent marks you Roheekan, however your manner marks you one with the outer islands. But you are none of these. Perhaps you came from the Far West? That strange outremer of immortality and deceit?” Cainchinne looked at me expectantly, like the excitement was brewing within him. I merely tightened my lips and shook my head, his expression dropped and he returned to hunching over himself before the mural. I made myself comfortable, and sat beside him, he glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow at how I sat cross legged in the fashion of the Wawtabi.

“So, Barabal. What may this Prophet help you with?”
Now there was an interesting question. I had spent all this time in search and flight for the man, and now that I sat next to him I found I had nothing to say.

“I just want to chat.”

“Chat away!”

I pointed towards the mural.

“My time with the northern people and the Houses showed me you worship in a similar fashion. Tell me your way.”

And so, Cainchinne - head held upwards and his blind eyes bright with fervour- began to recite to me the story of the Sun and Two Moons:
The story starts with Takayder, the World’s Wake; a proud warrior and explorer who journeyed across the infinite reaches of the outer realm in search of new life, finally he came to the world and looked down from the outer realm, seeing creatures, plants and people struggling to survive in the darkness with only the twinkling light of the distant stars in the night sky to guide them: Takayder felt pity on their struggle and he pulled out his mighty sword, he struck the rocky face of the world to spark light. Sparks flew from it so great they shed onto his clothes, setting him ablaze; Takayder flew into a rage, the tears from his agony created rainstorms that flooded the world with oceans, his attempts to blow away the fire created vast cyclones and gales that swept the world, his stomping and rolling shook continents. The light from the fire created daylight for those who dwelled down below. While this spectacle was underway, two children who wandered the outer realm saw Takayder’s display: one child, the benevolent Nerialis, wanted to help Takayder, but her brother, the mischievous Alumerilion, wanted to tease him. Nerialis acted first, running over to the man and putting the fire out, Takayder was very grateful, offering to look after the two children if they stayed with him and watched over the world; Alumerilion then saw his chance, and stole the sword from Takayder and struck it against the world yet again, showering him in sparks and again setting him alight. Thus began an infinite cycle of Takayder: the Sun and World’s Wake, dawning with the rise of the pale moon Nerialis, and rising in bright flame with the ascension of the dark moon Alumerilion. Takayder came to be associated with the struggle of life, those in doubt are supposed to meditate or pray in direct sunlight, taking their time to appreciate Takayder’s own struggle. Nerialis is seen as the guiding light, an encouragement for those who hope to do good in their lives, people usually pray to the Pale Moon when they feel they have done a good deed, or to thank her for blessing them with fortune. Alumerilion is usually aligned with the virtues of destruction and death, an evil but necessary part of life, while worship of the Dark Moon isn’t common, some people occasionally pray to Alumerilion for fortune in their misdeeds, usually Alumerilion is given tribute during a funeral or after a great catastrophic event, in the hopes that he may not spread further havoc. Those who follow the Sun and Two Moon’s teaching do so out of a sense of obligation to the World’s Wake for his constant sacrifice in keeping their world alight every day, the Holy Men of the Sun and the Two Moons explain that there must be a balance between the alignment of everyone that exists in the world, for without the good people there would be no one to ascend to the Pale Moon and help her defend Takayder in the night, and if there were no neutral people there would be no one to fuse with the sparks of the Sun’s bright fire and fuel the daylight, and if there were no evil people there would be no one to join with the Dark Moon in his torment of the Sun, keeping the cycle eternal.

“Well,” I finally replied.

“Well,” the Prophet conceded. I stood up, leaving the blind man before his mural.

“I have heard all I need to hear. I think I will continue on my travels.”

“You know,” Cainchinne replied, “I think I too will begin my own travels. Ever since Takayder took my vision, I spent many a night watching the way of our world as it changes in time to come. And I have predicted many a thing to be true, that it was why people claim I am a Prophet. But in order to understand these things I will have to seek them out.”

“That would be wise, Stranger,” I made to leave, but could not help myself, “but I advise you take something to aid you in your travels. The Sun doesn’t shine as bright as you might think.”

Cainchinne did not look back from the mural, but he chuckled, waving a finger in mock scorn. “Goodbye, Barabal.”

And with that, I left the Lighting House, and made for the stables. Where I could finally get the chance to rest.

[Sconderix]

Chapter 4

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“Set within the Ample Heart,
dreams of a Maiden unanchored.
Beware thy heart not yearn,
down in depths and away from the Sun.
A man courts her.”

Weeks went by after my excursion to the illustrious seaside city of Caelici. Many a day I rode under the Sun and Dark Moon, and many a night I rode under the Pale Moon. I travelled north through more of the House dominions; some - like the esteemed House Yrne, in all of its grandeur - were an assault to the senses, much like the Kalendros, but some - like the condemnable House Ourol - were a strain to the effort of tolerance and goodwill.
I spent many times thinking back to my short stay with the eccentric prophet, Cainechinne. For since my departure, word had soon spread across this Takayan continent that the strange mystic claimed to foresee a great event, one that would affect not only the good House Kalendros, but the entirety of the known world. Some days after my small audience, he had departed from the Lighting House dressed to venture towards the end of the world. First he stormed the Bellantine Palace: home to the ruling Kalendros family. There Cainechinne burst into the audience chamber, where sat the Duke, Junisater Kalendros, accompanied by his wife, the lovely Duchess Annanddra Kalendros. The regal couple were positively livid at such insolence; it was only the swift hand of the prophet - exposing the Old Brooch - that stayed the Duke’s slower hand to beckon his removal. Cainechinne had pulled forth the Brooch, a sacred artifact of the Sun God’s Ascendants, and fastened it confidently to the lapel of his lavish tunic, which was already adorned with all manners of jewelry and flamboyant decoration. The Duke jumped out of his throne, demanding to know what trickey the blind fool was about to commit. Here the indulgent mystic laughed, and threw his arms skyward.

“Takayder gave sight to these blind eyes!” Cainechinne had bellowed.

He carefully sat down, in the middle of the marble tiled floorway of the audience hall, flanked by imposing statues and basreliefs of a most striking marble. He made for a childish sight. But the Duke conceded, his anger traded for bewilderment as the Cainechinne came to share his vision.

“Takayder: The World’s Wake gives cause for these tired eyes. In a time not too far from our day, the land will become embroiled in a conflict of the likes we will have never seen before. A stranger will found an Empire, and the good Houses of the land will bend to His will. During this time I see the Kalendros - one of three - under the command of this Strange leader sent forth to conquer the Isle of Turan, home to the Huegsh. This Kalendros Duke shall be successful in his subjugation of the east, he will settle within this new territory and create a legacy that will last for many ages. The Huegsh though are unruly, they will not accept this change. And in these holy sights given to me by The World’s Wake, I see myself. I see my presence with the Huegsh, spreading the good word of the good world we have. I see my failure, my death and my canonisation by the Lion People whom your good House sires. I am Saint Cainechinne the Stranger; sunlight guide my weary way, as I set forth for Turan.”

The regal couple had stood still and quiet, stunned by his verse. The one they thought a reprehensible queer who revelled in the debauchery of their city, now stood before them with the authority of their Faith’s most respectable leaders. After Cainechinne’s revelation, he simply backed out of the chamber, as humble as a servant who had come to carry out his master’s order. The tale had become a grand one, shared between many tables and market gabbles; each story altered slightly every time I heard it, yet the event was the same.
But that seemed like a fond memory, as I sat now by the Jugen Rock. I was the solitary soul, forlorn and forsaken on the small island of which the famous stone lay. My journey here was a long and uneventful one; the horse I had so long travelled with was relinquished for the fare of sailing the great inland sea - the one they call Takayder’s Heart. We sailed for many days: the sea stretched out so far beyond the horizon, one would believe the notion of it being landlocked as a farce kept between the sailors who travelled it. And - among the many farces kept between sailors - one arose around me in the guise of superstition, as my strange appearance and address convinced them I was not of this earth. Superstition soon grew hostile, and I was finally forced to abandon the voyage over the starboard bulwark.
Days had passed since I washed upon the shore of the Jugen Rock. The art of survival was something I was quickly forced to grasp, it made me tap into parts of my mind long since buried. It was a struggle at first, but soon I was on my way to living in what one could substitute for comfort. But one issue that had crossed my mind was the state of the island itself.
The islet was the stuff of legend - a sacred place rarely visited by the dwellers of the inland sea’s many settlers. I wasn’t sure of the details, for the sailors had briefly mentioned a story of gods and conflict, the kind of stories so common they seemed to blend into each other. However the one thing of note in this particular story was the mention of a guardian that prowled the surrounding waters. The sailors had feared to even mention her name, but told me she was a lusting and vengeful water spirit that visited doom upon any man unworthy of standing foot upon the Jungen Rock. I feel this was one of the reasons I was left here, rather than being killed outright. While no kelpie or jengu myself, I was keen to meet one.
And meet one I did, for during the waxing of Nerialis I had just soon begun to settle down for the next day, when I heard a subtle disturbance in the water nearby. I was resting on the raised banks of the Jungen shore, laid between the open glades of the withered trees that covered the islet; while night was dark, my ears were sensitive. I was set still in the glade, nestled in the covers of my thick cloak and a blanket of dry leaves, the gush of water was loud in the quiet night. Another splash came, quieter this time, as if whoever had emerged wished to distance themselves from it as smoothly as possible. I did not move, nor breathe. A new sound came: the soft padding of bare feet along the soil of the rising banks. The padding grew louder, until I felt the subtle sensation of impacts carried through the ground with each step taken. It was all very tense, frightening as well, but for some strange reason I felt excited. In the time I spent on Jungen Rock, and through my long periods of self contemplation, I had felt a rush of the many experiences throughout my life come flooding back into me: and at that point of epiphany in my character, the affairs of this foundred world meant nothing to the one left ungrounded. I felt excited, because I might then find what finally anchored me. So I lay there, calm as the padding finally stopped; while my eyes were open the darkness obscured the shape in front of me. It was not much taller than I, and I almost mistook it for human, that was until it slowly crouched down to peer at my face, which was partially covered beneath my cloak. By some force I deemed extraordinary, the moonlight struck through the glade, and it washed softly over the face of the thing that now peered into my eyes: and oh what eyes they were, the iris and sclera lost beneath a pool of blackness, one would normally call it horrifying, but her skin’s gentle tint of blue emitted a fragrance that dulled my sparked panic, her beauty left me almost on the verge of tears.

“You are far from home,” I spoke, in a language I had not uttered for eons. The presence above me froze: her wide eyes spreading that fraction wider, the small predatory grin that had developed during her incline vanished, I heard a gasp so faint it could have been lost to the breeze. She had paused, unmoving, those black jewels still fixed on me. The composure of the water spirit had completely disappeared - instead was this creature alone and abandoned, only now witnessing what was to her a reminder of the very thing she forgot existed. It was then I felt a sudden weight fall upon me, and a flash of panic shot through me before I realized she had fainted.
Light dawned before she woke. I sat nearby her resting body; tending to a fire with which to break the morning frost. Splayed out on my makeshift pallet, she made for an innocent sight. The light of dawn shed a brighter shade of colour to her already luminous skin, of what was a glossy azure. She was naked, apparently impassive to the biting cold of the warm god’s heart.
She soon woke, with the snapping and crackling sounds of the fire whipping through the glade. I said nothing for a while, keeping my full attention on the growing hearth. But I could sense her gaze as she had rose from the pallet to sit beside me.

“What is home?” Asked the creature. I paused for thought, my eyes never lifting from the flame. She moved in, as if in embrace, and nestled her head in my chest. Strangely enough her hair was warm - a flowing swathe of sable sweet.

“Home is the place where the wanderer becomes grounded,” my grasp of their language was faint that night, but over the morning their memories came back to me. “Just how long have you been here?”

“I do not know.”

I sighed, holding her closer, “I feel it was not as long as you remember it to be. You remember your home?”

“What is home?”
“Home is -” I paused, thinking what could possibly be the answer she wanted. “Home is the place you come to understand.”

“But I do not understand.”

I paused again, running a hand softly through her luscious hair.

“Then this is not home.”

“No,” she replied. “No it isn’t.”

It was in this moment I felt a pang of hopelessness. We two - sat before the fire of the glade, alone on an island within the great heart shaped sea. We should have felt the closest connection of anyone, yet here I cuddled with the material of lost identity; that night had brought back so many memories, the canvas upon which I wanted to paint the epic of this world was soon spoiled with the splatter of the past. And with this came the fear that I might one day again be reduced to the sorrowful sight that I now held close in my arms: a vestige of will that survived only by mantling the very things it wished to be clear of.
I was not sure how to handle her. I knew that removing her was the kindest and most responsible action to take. Yet I could not; we still sat entangled, staring at the embers. I tore my gaze away from the fire to look up, thinking about how I could leave Jungen Rock. The creature lifted her arms from around my waist, pointing at the daylight Dark of Alumerilion.

“Take it from me, I know the taste of its soil,” she said blunty. I was not sure quite what she meant, but indulged her anyways.

“What was the taste like?”

“I can’t remember, but I know I didn’t like it.”

“Well, Alumerilion is the bad one,” I had the need to retort, despite it going against the moment.

“Then why does he stand in the day?”

“You know not of local worship?” I suppose it was reasonable of me to think she may have actually left Jungen Rock. She had not, in fact, known about the great creation myth. So I took it upon myself to tell her everything I had learned so far of what was, and what was to be. I noticed in my rambling a sense of ease residing over the glade; her hold on my body was more relaxed, that it was less a clinging act of desperation, but more of an accepting intimacy in the familiar. I took time in opening my own perception to her, finding out about the mantled state of the Jungen Rock Guardian.
For the dwellers of Takayder’s Heart feared this mantle; those who ventured to Jungen Rock dare not disturb the tranquility of the lone islet, lest they bring down the ire of the alluring siren that prowled its boundary. She took many men: feasting on their naked souls and leaving them to rot upon the shoreline.
But naked and rotten I was not. So with the approaching darkness and rise of sweet Nerialis, I set about my pallet. She did not follow me into the glade, but instead stayed by the fire, sat in a tranquil and meditative state. I dared not disturb her moment, for the release was something I felt necessary for the both of us. I simply crawled into my pallet, curled under my rancid cloak and ignored the pang of hunger in my stomach, attempting what I could at slumber.
And in that slumber came visions of many a place I had been: a dry office in the haggard evening that was overtime pay, untold glory within the pantheon of stars, and the gesture of a flower offered by graceful hands most genuine. But lastly, and most vividly came the green sea of the northern people, Chief Neyh-An’s smoky tent, the Wawtabi! I saw Yaula stood by the wreckage of my spacecraft.
That was all that came by the time the day was rising. I noticed I was alone, she was not around, the fire was out. I was alone, or at least I thought so. I ventured out onto Jungen’s shore, where I was greeted by the same ship that had cast me here. They had anchored close by, and already there came a small party rowing in.
I was to leave this rock, I was certain.

[Sconderix]

Hey guys, sorry about the lack of updates. Life continues to get in the way of pastimes as usual, for those who may have been keeping tab, hope you enjoy the new chapter. I will try hard to complete the 5th chapter and its epilogue.

[Alwyn]

I'm enjoying discovering the places and peoples of this world alongside your protagonist. I look forward to chapter 5.

[Sconderix]

Chapter 5

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“In a tread we hold new,
grasp the sparse handle.
Rise up, O Mantle!
Take on the starry eye.
A man challenges.”

“Barabal, Barabal, where’s my story!” I was asked this almost every single day.
Barabal: “One who is not where he is supposed to be.” I could not fault the sailors on their creativity. But to expect an explanation as to the events of Jungen Rock was wishful thinking. They took me back because the guardian had not wished harm upon me, which in their eyes made me special. Their prior hostility had given way to genuine intrigue, for my foreign aura had saved me from the guardian.
They were sailing home. Where home was? I did not know, but I stayed with them on this journey. We made good distance, for the waves of Takayder’s Heart were light, despite the skies looming in an overcast that flirted with the threat of thunderstorm. I was stood by the prow, watching the horizon dip and rise in a steady rhythm, I was almost hypnotised by the empty expanse of tasteless grey - that was, until the Captain snapped me to attention.

“Barabal! You listen’ t’me?”

“I am now,” I ripped my gaze from the sea and turned towards the Captain’s crusty, wind-withered face. He had a stern expression, the same since his crew had taken me back onboard.

“Listen, we’ll be makin’ land right soon, y’ear?”

“Aye.”

“So I won’t be expectin’ you t’stay on me ship,” he stood closer, slapping his palm on my shoulder, “Takayder’s Heart be no place fer’you lad, yer’ too good f’that.” I saw that he still clung to the mystery of my stay on the Rock. And as to why my presence in the vast sea was not welcome, I was not sure. But I dared not argue the opportunity to move on. I felt I had journeyed most of the civilized lands that I dared to see: much a community and vassalage I had encountered that echoed the workings of the past - that constant chiming of the receding yesteryear, never fully there but never fully gone.
The afternoon passed before we made it to the coastline, we knew when there came a howling of land from the top mast. I journeyed back onto the deck and towards the prow where I was stood before, and there the shore was visible: a strip darker than the waning overcast sky, it stretched beyond and around the horizon. Land was upon us, but what that land might be, I had yet to deduce.

"Port Hektor,” the Captain came shambling up from the main deck, noticing I had came up from my quarters.

“We’re back on the borders?”

“Aye lad, y’best keep an’ eye out fer ones who spot y’queer.”

“I will.” And I did. We arrived in Port Hektor, and the moment we did I felt the same apprehension as I had with the fortress in the House Samet lands. It was the frontier feeling.
Port Hektor was a place of half-baked dreams and false promises. It was sleazy, yet sad. The moment I had step foot on the pier of the harbourside, the rain began to fall; the locals indeed saw me as an odd man. I knew not whether to attribute that to my alien features or my warm attitude. I strode finely through alleys where instead they slunk, I drank generously in the taverns where patrons rather hugged their mugs in bitterness. This was Port Hektor, a colony of those who would yearn for the warmer fields of their home. But as I had no home yet, I was content with staying in the place for a while.
But the thing I found I was without - that I knew I must have to be with - was coin. The first of my meals were ensured through the generosity of the more curious, willing to trade the material for my immaterial. Yet I knew this could not be something which I ought to consist on for more than too long. I made an effort to find the Captain and his crew whilst the ship remained anchored; I had no answers as to when it was leaving, and strangely enough I could not find either the Captain, or his crew. It was like they had just vanished from existence, leaving the ship by the harbourside as mark of their legacy; everywhere I asked for them, the locals would only shrug or curse me away. I was in dire need of the coin.
A chance then became available to me: as I sauntered down the rain fouled tracks of the Port, I happened across a crowd stood just outside an alehouse. The crowd were gathered around something, people murmuring and snapping at each other. I pushed myself through the crowd, to see a body splayed out in the mud. It was the Captain. His body had been hacked to a bloody mess; the blood oozing out into the filth. A flicker of anger twitched a nerve in my face. I knew it was his crew, someone had done it: they had waited until the ship lay anchored; the Captain alone and drowned in drink. Most of the crowd were focused on me now - in their faces I saw disgust, fear; or nothing at all.

“I know who did this,” my fingers were stained with his blood. He had no pulse. “This man was the Captain of the very ship stored in your harbour. His killer: one of the crew that served under him, and now take refuge in the ship.” I moved out of the crowd’s center, addressing them as I made to leave. “They will not leave, not until they are brave enough to come back and plunder this place. If you want them to leave, you need only ask me.” They were silent, I made to turn my back on them, knowing full well the response.

“Wait,” one voice from the vast crowd. “What do you for it?” I could not help but smile, it was so easy, so natural - a simple gesture of give and take. They were so miserable they never once thought for their own action. I was so confident, I wanted to roar with laughter. I tried to hold back, instead producing what must have been a mad looking grin.

“Coin!” There again I saw those faces of disgust and fear, I am a vagabond to them. The one who told me to wait - a heavy set women, with sunken eyes and drooping jowls, she whipped out an empty sack. I was stood waiting, seeing what it was she intended to offer. The woman held up the sack like it was the body of a freshly killed fowl.

“Sort thrift our cry, we will have this pouch a strain come the Pale Moon,” she gestured towards the Alehouse, which I assumed to be my place of reward. I nodded, leaving the transaction complete. As I walked off from the crowd, people had already begun to arrange the removal of the bloody Captain.
Over those days on the ship, I had learned what kind of people those crew members were. The Captain did not. I assumed they were all part of a new venture, and the Captain was without luck in his choice, but I could see in the crew an exhaustion and bitterness; the seeds of betrayal. I knew not how long they had served with him, but it was clear in their character that his continued presence could no longer be tolerated. From what I observed of the Captain, he held measurable sway over his men, they followed his orders to the letter, and never over my trip did I hear the raising of his voice. Yet it was something that drove hatred in these men. Something that would cause them to mercilessly murder their own Captain. Whatever it was, I was not sure that I cared, the coin was driving me.
The overcast was waning further, clouds and fog covering what could have been a mystical evening by the Heart. I was nearing the Docks, and with it the sight of the great ship in the harbour, towering over the small town. Strangely enough, I never quite got around to asking the name of the ship, despite mine own travel with it. It seemed no one else in the town knew either, they looked upon it the same as they looked upon me: suspiciously, with contempt and sulken objection to my presence. Me and this ship, we were unwanted.

“I will not bide past the Pale Moon, whooinney.” The fisherman barely made speech in his mumbling.
It had taken longer than I wanted in finding a boat to reach the ship, for I spent much time convincing the old creature in front of me to steer me to the ship, he - like everyone in Port Hektor - disliked its presence. His slow and monotonous rowing seemed to make the stretch between the pier and the inner harbour that breadth longer than what was needed. He made conversation with me, as I stared past him at the ship. I could nary pick up a word of his disgusting dialect.

“What does whooinney mean anyways?” It was the first thing I asked him since he cut loose from the mooring.

“What make you of it?” He throws back to me, in that low mumble.

“I dare not say.”

“Whooinney! Yessir, mister. Be you of a land beyond the Heart?”

“Ah,” I concede, with pure disinterest in my own murmur.

“Nay the matter, whooinney, look will you?” He meant the ship. The mumbling fisherman was deft enough with his rowing to halt us besides the swathe of rigging which hung from the deck, reaching all the way down the side of the great hull. Without a word I sprung onto the rigging, roughly clasping the rope, hugging myself to it. The stench of the sea worn fibre and wood tore at my nostrils: sharp, like the pain of my muscles straining to keep hold of the ship. The climb was strenuous. Each time I threw my arm over the other, I slowly made my ascent. All that I could see of the world was the sheer cliff face of wooden planks, and above it the darkening sky. Creaking; creaking of the rope, creaking of the wood, creaking of my bones and my leather footwraps, as the top of the sheer cliff drew close.
The wind from the sea had pooled in the harbour, just the same as the water. It whipped and whistled past me from all directions: tearing at my hair, my clothes and shaking the rigging, forcing me to slap against the hull every now and then. Mischievous wind. Finally, with my hand reached over the rigging, I hauled myself up. And all the muscles of my body burned with the strain of reaching the deck, I lay there for a few seconds, taking in the view.
Nothing. The decks were empty, except for one person.
A man stood leaning against a stack of cargo near where I had emerged. Ragged shorts, his torso riddled with scars and crudely done tattoos, bare of anything apart from the dirty looking shawl of cloth you could call his scarf. Even though his face was obscured in the dark evening shadow, I could see he was staring at me, arms crossed, still leaning on the cargo.

“Who are you?” He asked, in an odd tone, like he was feigning surprise.

“You know who I am.”

“No I don’t, you wear Barabal’s skin, but you’re not him,” he knelt down and gave me a hand getting to my feet.

“Where are your crew?”

“Enjoying the town.”

“You are the new Captain?” I saw a momentary flicker of his cheek the instant I asked, he moved off from leaning on the cargo, closing on to me. He was younger than the Captain, but his face shared the same features of leather worn by weather and drink, there was also a nasty looking scar gouged into the bridge of his nose, which ran through his right cheek.

“I never liked you,” he growled. “That old bastard should’ve left you on that rock after we threw you you overboard.”

“You need to leave,” I crossed my own arms, squaring the rough man up. “You and your new crew, leave before you even think of testing out this town.”

“Why?”

“I am getting paid to make you.” The new Captain flashed a smirk, the sheer cheek of me confronting him in such a way must have been amusing in its fullest. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but closed it again, smiling. Then I saw that his eyes twitched, glancing up from the deck.
He lunged at me, his fist arching round in a swing towards my temple. But the moment I saw his eyes move I skipped to my left, dancing away from the edge of the deck, lest his punch connect and send me plummeting into the harbour. He tore after me, his stance low down ready to dive into my body. Again I made to swipe to the side, but this time his arm connected with my waist, and he sent me crashing to the floor. The sailor was heavy, scrambling onto my body to subdue me - I used the precious seconds of my free arm to grab his throat and throw him aside. I rolled over and did what he tried with me, pinning him down with my knees. The heat of the action was making me quiver with anger: I tore from my waist a small dirk, one that he had fortunately seemed to miss when tangling with my lower body. I plunged it down into the shoulder of the arm that was trying to choke my own throat. He let go, croaking in pain as I ripped it back out. I forced the thing on the skin of his jugular, the contour of his arteries moving the dirk as he gulped.

“Leave, by the coin I make, you will leave.” The pressure on his throat subsided as I rolled off him. I got to my own feet, leaving him squirming on the deck. I did not say a word, maybe to add effect to my last utterance, or maybe because I did not know what to say. I simply left, climbing down the rigging again, and made back to Port Hektor with my slightly less mumbling companion.

“Here,” the dour woman handed me her sack, now heavy with the janking coin. The ship was gone, along with its crew. A miracle I believed, for my little showdown with the betrayer was simply that: a show.
I left the Alehouse by midnight. Walking to the edge of Port Hektor, I bought myself a modest steed, with which to ride away into the unknown outback of the Heart lands. I knew not where I was going, but through my episodes so far, I came to find that it was the most appropriate reason to move on.

Epilogue

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Disconnection! No, that was not what I felt. It was something very real.
In the bright, alpine crispness of a Roheeki morning, I sat by the ruin of my ancient spacecraft. It had been many, many years since I visited this place, I explained to the chief sat with me. He carried the old and withered visage of Neyh-An, huddled cross-legged in the grass, with a long drawn blanket keeping him snug in the cold. But in him I saw Yaula, his grandmother: the wonder, the will to venture with me alone to the site of the crash.
We talked, in that old language of theirs, of which I had barely spoken.

“The moment you walked into my home, I knew it was you,” Chief Shem-Ayn said, his voice was of the Chief, but the tone of his daughter. “My Grandmother told stories of you. The Star Man who fell from the Bright Fire, you have not aged since the day she met you.”

“There are things about myself that I still cannot know,” I shrugged. It was the truth.

“People pay homage to this,” he motions towards the ruin. I could barely see any of the hull, because of the moss and brambles that covered it. The streaks of upturned earth that made evidence of my landing were gone too, healed by time and fortunate weather. “It is a pilgrimage site. Those from lands all around, who have visited our tribe, and seen the Small Star that you blessed us with. The Wawtabi are a blessed people, we are given respect and autonomy thanks to this.”

“My pleasure.”

“To us, you are a being beyond human. Are you of Takayder’s yoke? I do not know. But for what you are, you seem not to display it.”

“I do not want the attention,” I tried to smile at him like I tried with Yaula, to convince them that I was not the mystical deity they saw me as. Yes, I fell from their heaven. Yes, I bear a unique character. But over my time with this world I have shared in their lives the same as any other. I have suffered pain, loneliness, fear and anger. And I have enjoyed excitement, happiness and affection. All this I explained to Shem-Ayn, but through his guise of an understanding Chief, I saw Yaula; I am the Star Man no longer! It was still there though: wait! Where will you go?

“I will not pretend to understand you,” said the Chief, a look of defeat spread across his weary features. “But I will make effort to sympathise with your desires.”
Not long after, we rode for the Wawtabi camp. It had not changed since the morning I had arrived, or since the decades earlier when I had discovered it.
The same can be said for the Chief’s tent. It remained unchanged by time, like the rest of the Wawtabi. I sat through the same ritual with Shem-Ayn as I had with Neyh-An. We sat opposite each other, with him stirring a small pot, of which a burning smell of citrus brewed; the tapping of the stirring stick, the wheezing of his aches and pains, accepting the scalding cup. The conversation. It all culminated in him reaching over for a small box, ornamented and engraved in Roheeki flavour.

“This is what you need.” Shem-Ayn opened the box, revealing inside the soft glowing orb - the old floating lamp I gave to Yaula so long ago. I could not help but chuckle, the Chief looked shocked.

“Has the light ever been extinguished?” I already knew the answer.

“Never,” he handed over the box to me. I grasped the lamp, smoothing my palms around the spherical surface to feel for a tiny switch. I found it, flicking off the light. Flicking off a legacy, flicking off decades of legend and answers. Chief Shem-Ayn strained to subdue the pain that was showing on his face. The fact that I could blot out such importance, such an identity of my being, was a mystery to him as much as it made complete sense to me. I handed him back the empty lamp, which he handled with the care of a newborn.

“I am the Star Man no longer.”

“That, I understand,” I thanked Shem-Ayn for his acquiescence.
But inside the box, there was something else. A roll of parchment. I raised an eyebrow, holding it up, as if demanding an explanation from the Chief.

“A legend,” he obliged. “The Wawtabi do not have written word, but I know your grasp of language. Long ago I paid a learned man from the civilized lands to write down in his tongue and style, the stories passed between our different people. A story mostly, the Tale of a Man.”

“Oh, I must see this.” There I opened the parchment, and written there was a roughly scrawled column of poetry. My legend:

Height of the Bright Fire,
bring echoes of righteous fury.
Came to us,
borne by the Sun and Two Moons.
A man.

Not a man, a God!

To a house of troubles,
one rides boldly.
Just blood of a lurid crimson,
retire thy banners.
A man approaches.

Not a man, a God!

Towards the Bright Fire,
throw thy arms aloft.
Grieve and give thanks,
for thou art not forsaken in worship.
A man watches.

Not a man, a God!

Set within the Ample Heart,
dreams of a Maiden unanchored.
Beware thy heart not yearn,
down in depths and away from the Sun.
A man courts her.

Not a man, a God!

In a tread we hold new,
grasp the sparse handle.
Rise up, O Mantle!
Take on the starry eye.
A man challenges.

Not a man, a God!


I could not help but break out into a great smile. It was utter hypocrisy, but I enjoyed it immensely.

And there we go, the end of my first decently sized short story. This is one I hope to add to a collection, so I hope you enjoyed it!

[Alwyn]

A creative and intriguing tale in a richly imagined world - yes, I certainly did enjoy it !

[Sconderix]

Glad you enjoyed it Alwyn, I appreciate the feedback. I'm currently starting another story in similar fashion to Tale of a Man, it features our same mysterious wanderer. It will be called 'Savages'. Hopefully I can make keen progress with it over the Christmas break, as I intended to share it as a complete work, rather than chapter by chapter as I have done with this.

[Alwyn]

I look forward to reading your new story. In the meantime, I wonder if you would be interested in entering Tale of a Man in the Monthly Creative Writing Competition.

[Sconderix]

Oh, fantastic! I'm not usually involved beyond the submission to this forum, but there's no harm in trying it out. Thanks for pointing me to it.