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Science Fiction and Fantasy
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| World | |
| By zee666 | ||||||||||
| 06 August 2008 | ||||||||||
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This is my first thing on this site. I have been writing it for a short while, i will be releasing it in longish bits as i write them. Oh and on the topic of my incessant use of the word 'World', it is that the world is called 'The World', much like our Earth is called The Earth, i didn't run out of ideas it was an intentional choice of words.
World
The canopy seemed far higher than it had in the past, a vast expanse was now there where once there was none; a void in which the birds of the World below the World could fly freely, not needing to manoeuvre around the pinnacles and vegetation that had developed in the humid, warm and dark atmosphere of this World which existed, another World functioning and existing independently and ignorant of the Under-World below. The Under-World had, along with the Over-World changed with the geography of the World and it’s processes and workings throughout time; energy, pressure and the like, morphing it’s form to better accommodate said pressure and energies within the deeper crevasses and expanses of its mass. This was, it seemed, the reason for the canopy’s retreat into the ‘sky’, a deadly, reforming change for both Worlds; a disaster for the Over-World (South Tany more specifically) and a difference for the Under-World, difference being the only suitable word but it’s effects being far greater than the word would suggest. This change was to happen imminently at the moment of the declaring of war between the Lorddom of Cretisc and the four great cities of north Duó’kh. War had been prophesized, theorized, expected, accepted and, unsurprisingly, happened; following the three basic principles that outline all wars: Racism, the opposite sex and a male leader’s feeling of genital inferiority (Women generally not taking positions of power due to obvious reasons). The Cretiscean-Duó’khean war was because of racism, the most primal and petty of the three ‘War Principles’, also unsurprisingly to those who observed the historic irony (the irony being that the Duó’kheans had been the ones who had made contact with the Cretisceans and given them the technologies of travel in the first place). Digressing now, one of the many small villages of the Under-World was having a feast to commemorate the end of the agricultural Cycle; when food was most plentiful and the weather was becoming colder, the Dry season approaching when foodstuffs would not grow and the beasts and ‘demons’ of the Under-World would be at their most ferocious, the reason for the feast was ‘one last celebration’. The small village which was nameless had had hunting pass out of lore many generations ago and so no longer had a means to protect themselves from the teeth and claws and brutish bodies of animals and other things and so could only cower in their caked-mud hovels as they roamed free outside, raiding the stockpiles and snatching children in the night when light no longer shone down from the Over-World and the crevasses of its Earth. The people of the village sat in the clearing surrounded by hovels, a massive fire shining bright in the darkness of night, song and chant and incantation sounding against the calls of the evening and overwhelming them for the last time of the Cycle. The Wood-Lorists scattering ash in their ancestral costumes for luck, the Sound-Lorists playing spells, Earth-Lorists re-Blessing the spiritual idols that stood guard at the door of each home and the Water-Lorists rejuvenating the village with the holy dew that formed on the trees of ancient spirits. The people danced and sang and ate in the night, all the while existence continuing around them, the people oblivious to the fact that at anytime they could be beset upon by a foe taking into account this ignorance and using to an advantage. Although no such foe and no such plot was real the statement of the people’s naivety is necessary to clarify the reality of the village’s living in an isolated-from-society world and to understand the processes of their minds and how they viewed the given situation and so comprehend the collapsing of the canopy onto the Under-World and the actions of the people of the nameless village when put under those circumstances. “The sky! Tell shaman of the sky!” One had said, the first to see the falling of stone from the canopy; the fluidity of the light seeping through the cracks until it burst into the Under-World, making the man blind instantly, the shock to his system causing his death within seconds. Wales quickly sounded all around, screeches and calls of birds and beasts filling the air and the sound of the cracking sky displacing even them. There was a silence for a moment as the sounds of animals faded away into nothing and the canopy seemed to bask in its final moments of structural integrity; then falling into the World below. As stated, the people of the nameless village did not act as one would expect them to; not attempting to flee from their impending end instead kneeling to face the falling sky, as their wise shaman had instructed them to, searching into his wisdom and believing the sky was falling so as to allow the Gods to reach down and pluck their people from the World and bring them to the afterlife, his (and his people’s and their ancestors’) belief overriding his sense of fear and so assuring death to every life who had lived in the Under-World. The sound of the impact was indescribable, as any of the people of the village or animal or demon or civilian of the Cretiscean colonial city above would tell, if they could, and tolled of many deaths, and yet greater change and intrigue. Many questions and inquisitive eyes would fall over the chasm of south Tany following this disaster, as it could be called, one in particular spreading like a disease among every king and scientist and soldier and whore and priest and Cloöwn alike. As anyone would react to a statement similar to ‘South Tany has fallen down.’ the question was usually ‘What?’. Fate it would seem is cruel to those who are so and, by a stroke of ill-luck, the son of the Cretiscean Lord and much of his army were stationed in the city of Lien readying for a naval assault of the Duó’khean wall and so perished when the ground beneath them collapsed and fell into an abyss, an area the size of Dulīndaŋtæ following the wreckage of Lien, many other areas nearby also plummeting and breaking into the darkness. The ominous words of his superior echoed and displaced the noise of the crowd, even dulling his senses to the bashing shoulders of passers-by. He remembered being told of how many had been lost in the chasm of south Tany, dozens of his colleagues alone had found a death in the darkness of the Under-World, searching for answers and finding blood in turn; the death count overall numbering in the hundreds. “It is not necessary.” He remembered, The Institute judging the risks of the Under-World could only possibly be higher than the rewards; believing (very much fools in this respect) the protection of human life was more imperative than the possible discoveries. He had chuckled at their pettiness, as many others also had. Human life, bah! He whispered below a whisper to himself, the words forming on his lips but not escaping as an audible sound. He shuddered and walked on, once again Human life, bah! Many had supported his decision to go to the ruins of Lien, eager to learn of the wildlife of Under-World and the like; some hoping for medicines, others for technologies and so on. The board though, had rejected his logic and decided against arranging an exhibition, leaving Jon Maigne, lead Field Animal Biologist, without financing, supplied equipment or a team. A few of his friends and colleagues had arranged to meet him at New Klæwa port but, to his knowledge, none had come, quite unsurprisingly, few were willing to place their lives in peril for science and even fewer were willing to break protocol for it either strangely. He thought nothing of it though as false promises and last minute changes in schedule were only to be expected in the workforce of The Institute, it had been stretched for employees since its founding and would remain that way hopefully, competency of workers outweighed number of in the world of the sciences. Being one the Cretiscean colonial cities New Klæwa was incredibly overpopulated and polluted, pestilence and plague being common among the plebs and death was common among the sickly, the young and the old. Melancholy indeed. Jon thought, recalling a lecture he had observed many Cycles ago as a mound of rotting corpses passed his vision a young child resting against it clothed in the tattered rags of what was once an expensive dress-piece; death affected even the rich it seemed. It was bizarre that such an obscenity was so accepted by the people, Jon observing that there were no looks of disgust or tears shed over the fact, many going about their lives as usual, only phased by the smell it appeared, and only minimally at that. “The psychology of the Cretiscean people has been highly altered,” Each word sounded sharp in his mind. “Through gradual conditioning of the slowly decreasing living standards and thinner air, we at the Institute have agreed the people of Cretisc have undergone what we call ‘the industrial-economical inflation effect’.” Industrial-economical inflation effect, o’ the passion of the arrogant intelligence of the minority. Was a recurring thought. “Due to Cretisc’s incessant expansion the decrease in living conditions was far slower than it would be otherwise as the industrialism was far less centralized and so the IEIE, as we have agreed upon as it’s term of referral, was eased upon the people and so remained unnoticed until it could not be prevented. “This change in thought processes, we believe, is possible for all societies containing a majority of unlearned workers and could be…” He had left at this point, unable to listen to a plan on transforming the people of the World, already with little free-will as was, into working drones, indifferent to the notion of living in conditions hardly suitable for prisoners of war. What had become of intelligence, was it now just another method to find selfish, egocentric happiness. The thought was sickening, he returned his attentions to the city once more. How was it that the existence of such a city was allowed by the Gods? How could such an atrocity be allowed to live and breathe and grow and spread as a sickness, turning the nature and the peace and the real things into metal and stone and smoke and slurry, smothering the fields and forests until all that was green became grey and all that breathed ceased to do so, replaced by the grinding of industry. He put his hand to his brow and wiped the sweat away, seeking refuge on a shaded step and resting, finding solace in the city, regardless of its state and politics and stupidity; the urban lifestyle soon going beyond his foreseeable horizon and taking one final embrace of it to perhaps put any remaining anxieties to rest. Jon Maigne, of an age where his hair began to grey in places where they could be concealed and his libido becoming far easier to sate and his lust for violence as a man starting to dim quickly found himself free of the burden of society and rose to his feet, looking out over the central square of New Klæwa and making the slightest movement to step down. The minimalistic shuffle eventually getting him to the bottom step after many minutes of what would seem was procrastination but was, in reality, a simple absent mind; thoughts were numerous. Peter Ӿho, in his obscurity of psyche and motivation had been the last colleague he had spoken to and had uplifted him with his words, which still remained in his mind. Peter. The name sounded like a resonating glass in his mind; sharp with only the slightest dullness to it’s sound. Peter had always been a friend of Jon’s, despite his alcoholism, south-Duó’khean heritage and a bizarre pedanticity with time and date he had remained loyal and of high integrity, occasionally making a fool of himself as one who is partial to poison is prone to do but ever being one who could be relied upon for wisdom and a ear to bend. If anyone was to join him, it would be Peter Ӿho. The gates approached; growing taller as everything else shrank into the unnoticed and insignificant. Physically, Jon Maigne continued at the pace one would expect of a traveller, but in his mind he stopped to survey the wall of New Klæwa that stretched until it disappeared behind nearby buildings and, with even greater scrutiny, the gate into the wilderness of south Tany. What enemies do the Cretisceans have? What did they have? What could cause a city of such majesty to require such a defence? With no neighbouring enemies, why would a wall be necessary at all? Forward thinking, paranoia perhaps? All possibilities could be for such a people as the Cretisceans. What real protection does it offer? Can mortar and stone provide safety? Are these people safe? He stopped and looked to the battlements atop the wall, squinting as the sunlight attacked his eyes. He laughed and looked back down at the gate, continuing, a faster pace than before. Do these people deserve safety? He shook a chill from his neck. “No.” He spoke to himself. The gate opened with a screech of rusted metal and closed with a melancholy moan; the motherland had at last given up on its Tanian daughters, they were failed projects, sadly unknown to their peoples. Neither carts nor traffic could be seen coming in or going out of the city, it was seemingly still despite the comings and goings of its people. The noises of the city, however, were quickly muffled by it’s gates. Move on He told himself; it was strange to begin travelling again after a recess of so long, Éptu felt an eternity ago, his legs were stiff and his lungs were strained and his stomach was shrunken, seemingly in anticipation for those feelings which would eventually take him also. Jon Maigne put his right foot in front of his left and headed, as best his compass could say, North-West.
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