An Intro

Sparkles on the waves. The waves made the sparkles, and trailed them here and there among the play of the fathomless water. If you stared too long at the sparkles and the motion of the waves, none of it made sense anymore. It was like reality was only an interpretation of whatever stimulus really lies beneath. Above a careless sky weaves clouds across and through, hiding the sparkles, and the true nature of the world, in their distracting dance. Feet dangled in the air, unprecarious yet free. A ledge of light-colored rock stretching broken along a rough lake shoreline. Pebbles rising to crags, and topped with the forests and the marshes and the open lands. A northern country, rural and rugged. Metropolises are a thing far away, though there is civilization enough on these shores. Culture and local color thrive, and the land is abundant. On a particular stretch of the rocky coast, she is down the cliff a ways, on a ledge below the village square.

After some thought, it wasn't so bad the rock had fallen. Everyone in the village had known it would sooner or later, especially after the big storm a few nights ago. Over the weekend the elders had even posted a general warning not to go on that bit of land, since little was keeping it tethered to the cliff. There used to be a nice tree there too- it had gone with the rock when it fell; one of the twisty cedars that lined the local roads and protected their neighborhoods. The chunk of cliff falling to the sea hadn't been the problem. Nobody from the village was injured or lost anything of value. The problem was that it had fallen on a merchant ship from the south.

The Lake being such a grand and expansive waterway, merchants were a common sight at any port along its shores. Often traveling from the metropolises beyond the southern hills, they had always had a good relation with the smaller cities and settlements of the north. They were of a different sort though, socially. Quicker to temper and often backed by a healthy wallet, there was often a need for careful diplomacy in the trading agreements at the best of times. The recent destruction and devastation caused by a random chunk of falling rock had really muddled local affairs. The captain of the vessel (onshore at the time) demanded reparations in full for his lost ship and cargo, as well as an overwhelming additional payment for the “emotional burden” of the loss of most of his crew. He kept on to say he would take the entire village to high court for not maintaining the cliff-supports properly and endangering his life and livelihood. The college was responsible for maintaining the supports, but they had long ago announced plans to close that part of the cliff, and could not bear the demands of the captain either. The merchant talked as if it were the end of the village. If the whole town was taken to court, who would go? Tormund most likely, and how many would he take with him?

The thoughts swirled softly in the back of Ayleah's head as she gazed out at the dense fog. It was a good day for these types of thoughts, brooding and unsure. The fog had come in as thickening clouds until one could not see the shore across the lake. It was a gray day, broken only by the dark trunks of trees, black columns holding up the ceiling of the forest. Out there though, all was light. The clouds wrapped around her and the tree above her perch, embracing the whole world in a featureless gray. Below, the water stretched into that gray, until all seemed to merge into one open void; as above, so below; fog on water on fog.

She could feel the power there. There was always a feeling from the lake; that deep, ancient quality that scared her sometimes. On a day like this it was different though. The energy was quieter, and yet all-encompassing. There was no urge to jump into the void, because she was already in the void. It was full of endless possibility. The world beyond could be anything.

Ayleah's hand tightened ever so slightly on the rock. Her ledge was a stable thing. Chunks of rock stacked and built the whole shoreline, raising huge barren cliffs topped with the pleasant groves of her childhood. Thinking these big thoughts made the world seem unsteady, like none of it actually exists and if that's the case then how do we know which way is up? It helped, in the fog, to have some sort of stable ground; a touchstone for sane reality. The rock, a pale rust color, was crumbly, but spoke of an eternal solidity. It told a tale of active creation, transformation, and years of quietude. This bit of land seemed a pinnacle, bursting forth up into the primordial soup to show its occupants a glimpse behind the scenes. In this encapsulated world, the only thing that moved were the constant waves.

A small piece of rock broke off in Ayleah's hand. She felt the rawness of the earthy particles, dissolving their sharp edges into dirt. A harder chunk remained and, unable to contain the impulse, she threw it off the edge of the cliff. It arced long, and fell for an entire moment before hitting the water far below. Small ripples, the only evidence of the event, spread out into the invisible eternity.