Fall 83, 503 AV
From the back of his father’s wagon, Egyptus could see all the miles that stretched out behind him. Toying with the one wing necklace that bounced on his narrow breast, the boy pulled fur blankets close to ward off the chill of the Talderan air. This was going to be one of their last stops before Kalea, and the trek to Alvadas. His father mused on it, in his gruff, excitable way, that it should be fitting to stand among the city of ice before the city of illusion. His sister had smiled at that, pulling out her modest journal to immediately date an entry with her poetic excitement. His elder brother only tended to the horses with the ghost of a smile on his lips. As it stood, he had been this way before…when Egyptus was little more than a god-dream. So far, the trip had been surprisingly light. Before entering Taldera, his father had sacrificed a deer to Morwin, asking her to grant the family safe passage through the onset of winter chill. They had left Nyka toward the end of Fall and made their way up through Taldera. Were it not for his expertise in Wilderness Survival, such a trip would be foolhardy, if not entirely improbable.
In the woods they met their fair share of strange sights. Beasts that far exceeded the size Egyptus had ever seen them before in Sylira regarded their little expedition with wary interest. Once, his father had to ask the aid of his eldest son to ward away dire wolves in the long, long frosty night…the nights where smoke brought desperate prayers to hidden gods, and the howl-song of their watchers spoke unknowable messages throughout the pitch-dark evenings.
But now they were in Avanthal, a city that shone like fire when the sun hit it just right. The massive buildings of delicate sculpted ice soared like folk-tale god-homes, and dared to pierce the very height of the pale-grey sky. His father took the opportunity to open up his wagon for business, pulling in Egyptus’ half sister and brother to help with the operations. To Egyptus, he placed five gold mizas in his palm and told him to go seek out stories and adventure in the city, so long as he dressed warmly.
Swaddled in a small coat of some unknown fur, Egyptus took the coins and turned them over in his hands. The glittering circle reminded him of the Maladiction circle his father had taught him several seasons ago, and idly considered that perhaps the mizas were some kind of magic. Certainly that would be a story, would it not? The Mizas themselves emanated a kind of pulsing magic that assigned them value…not that he could corroborate it as true or false, but it comforted him to know that there was a tale even in something as small as a miza.
So the ten year old left his father’s wagon and meandered through the streets. He was captured by the way the Vantha lived…these curious human-faced northerners with their mercurial eyes. Much of him wanted to ask their trick to mimic it on his own…but then, that would ruin the mystery of it all. Philomena had always taught him to be respectful of stories. Qualaya left them to the world for a reason, and sometimes not knowing is as good as knowing…strange as that concept was. His father and brother didn’t understand, set in their ways by a merchant’s eyes and a tongue for quick wit. They maintained that all knowledge was worth knowing at some point, so Egyptus most mirrored his sister in her delicate beauty and quiet demeanor. She knew the secret language of tales, and would tell him stories of faraway lands before he slept, as if setting the stage for his dreams.
By chance, he found himself in a throng of Northeners, listening to a Vantha tell a story. Enraptured, Egyptus listened in. In his own mind, he imagined himself the daring Wrenmae, prince of the Konti isles (by marriage, naturally), blending into a new civilization to learn and perhaps one day, save from a terrible monster.
He looked out of place, too burdened by furs to be considered a northerner at all. Most of the Vantha did not dress for the cold, but seemed to defy it without any ill effects. Perhaps the folks were made of ice within, like their buildings…and Egyptus longed to reach out and tough their skin, see where the cold-slippery would be, and how much was just a cunning work of frozen art.
Instead, he listened and drew closer…at least till he mistook his steps, stumbled, and knocked a girl who was also listening sideways onto the ground.
Startled, Egyptus bent to pick her up, resembling a tiny furry bear with a hairless, pale face, than anything human. “Oh! Oh!” He said, more to himself than her, “Terribly sorry, terribly…oh, oh, let me help you up.”
From the back of his father’s wagon, Egyptus could see all the miles that stretched out behind him. Toying with the one wing necklace that bounced on his narrow breast, the boy pulled fur blankets close to ward off the chill of the Talderan air. This was going to be one of their last stops before Kalea, and the trek to Alvadas. His father mused on it, in his gruff, excitable way, that it should be fitting to stand among the city of ice before the city of illusion. His sister had smiled at that, pulling out her modest journal to immediately date an entry with her poetic excitement. His elder brother only tended to the horses with the ghost of a smile on his lips. As it stood, he had been this way before…when Egyptus was little more than a god-dream. So far, the trip had been surprisingly light. Before entering Taldera, his father had sacrificed a deer to Morwin, asking her to grant the family safe passage through the onset of winter chill. They had left Nyka toward the end of Fall and made their way up through Taldera. Were it not for his expertise in Wilderness Survival, such a trip would be foolhardy, if not entirely improbable.
In the woods they met their fair share of strange sights. Beasts that far exceeded the size Egyptus had ever seen them before in Sylira regarded their little expedition with wary interest. Once, his father had to ask the aid of his eldest son to ward away dire wolves in the long, long frosty night…the nights where smoke brought desperate prayers to hidden gods, and the howl-song of their watchers spoke unknowable messages throughout the pitch-dark evenings.
But now they were in Avanthal, a city that shone like fire when the sun hit it just right. The massive buildings of delicate sculpted ice soared like folk-tale god-homes, and dared to pierce the very height of the pale-grey sky. His father took the opportunity to open up his wagon for business, pulling in Egyptus’ half sister and brother to help with the operations. To Egyptus, he placed five gold mizas in his palm and told him to go seek out stories and adventure in the city, so long as he dressed warmly.
Swaddled in a small coat of some unknown fur, Egyptus took the coins and turned them over in his hands. The glittering circle reminded him of the Maladiction circle his father had taught him several seasons ago, and idly considered that perhaps the mizas were some kind of magic. Certainly that would be a story, would it not? The Mizas themselves emanated a kind of pulsing magic that assigned them value…not that he could corroborate it as true or false, but it comforted him to know that there was a tale even in something as small as a miza.
So the ten year old left his father’s wagon and meandered through the streets. He was captured by the way the Vantha lived…these curious human-faced northerners with their mercurial eyes. Much of him wanted to ask their trick to mimic it on his own…but then, that would ruin the mystery of it all. Philomena had always taught him to be respectful of stories. Qualaya left them to the world for a reason, and sometimes not knowing is as good as knowing…strange as that concept was. His father and brother didn’t understand, set in their ways by a merchant’s eyes and a tongue for quick wit. They maintained that all knowledge was worth knowing at some point, so Egyptus most mirrored his sister in her delicate beauty and quiet demeanor. She knew the secret language of tales, and would tell him stories of faraway lands before he slept, as if setting the stage for his dreams.
By chance, he found himself in a throng of Northeners, listening to a Vantha tell a story. Enraptured, Egyptus listened in. In his own mind, he imagined himself the daring Wrenmae, prince of the Konti isles (by marriage, naturally), blending into a new civilization to learn and perhaps one day, save from a terrible monster.
He looked out of place, too burdened by furs to be considered a northerner at all. Most of the Vantha did not dress for the cold, but seemed to defy it without any ill effects. Perhaps the folks were made of ice within, like their buildings…and Egyptus longed to reach out and tough their skin, see where the cold-slippery would be, and how much was just a cunning work of frozen art.
Instead, he listened and drew closer…at least till he mistook his steps, stumbled, and knocked a girl who was also listening sideways onto the ground.
Startled, Egyptus bent to pick her up, resembling a tiny furry bear with a hairless, pale face, than anything human. “Oh! Oh!” He said, more to himself than her, “Terribly sorry, terribly…oh, oh, let me help you up.”
