"The World Knows My Name"
In the days of scrivening, a day of damp clouds; the Oracle of the Wood paints a picture of the world to which he is bound, into which he has awakened.
Book One: Sight Out of Time | Interlude 2
[This series is rated “Mature” for thematic elements, sensuality, and violence.]
_+ in the days of scrivening, a day of damp clouds in the sky and underfoot, mist.
The Giants said, this is a world among many. That beyond the sky are distances no man can travel in ten thousand lifetimes, and worlds like the grains of sand on the beach. Each one unique. Compared to other worlds, they told us this world was small. Perhaps it was that they were so big.
I cannot speak to this idea of being from outside this world, for I am in it. I am of it. I cannot speak of the bigness or the smallness of our world, for it is as it is, and remembering no other world, I cannot defend Her with comparison. I will not. It is enough that I am made of her. Her trees are my lungs, and the streams my blood, and the dragons from the other side, the mushrooms, they know my name: Zaouli.
The Giants told us that if you continue to walk in any direction for five years, the land will change, and then it will become the same again. They made balls of mud in their hands and drew designs and markings to show what they meant. It’s not that we didn’t believe them. It's just that they couldn’t comprehend why such ideas didn’t matter to us. Why walk to the other side of a round world, when we all belong here? The Giants were curious, and curiosity brought dragons from the other side. The Foremothers tried curiosity, but we discovered we were not made for the other side.
This land is a body with mountains at its head in the north. While covered in base dirt, they have hearts of a milky-white stone the Giants prized greatly. It is from the mountains that springs the source of the Great River, which flows south along the east side of the continent. The Great River separates the mainland from the Woods, wherein I have sojourned in solitude.
In the south, the river meets the South Sea, a salty bladder of water that takes an oared boat three days to cross. The water is full of fish who are docile and easily picked for sustenance. This is the liminal space where the Foremothers dwelled in antiquity. On the southern side of the sea, the Children of the Giants dwell in longhouses on the crests of the wide, grassy hills of the planes. They raise wooly stock, weave fine fabric, tell fortunes, and as you have hitherto been privy, make much ado of continuing their lineages. They might be great engineers if their days were not so troubled or numbered.
The Highway, a broad path east of the river, unfolds along the edge of the forest from the mountains of the north to the planes of the south where it meets the corner of the sea. This is where the Grand Longhouse of the High Chieftains stands, and where their formidable army trains and defends. Not far to the east of the Grand Longhouse lie the fjords, the border of our land. Beyond them, strange, sharp mountains. Haunted mountains. Undesirable places. My visions do not reach there, and my sight does not remember the very ancient times. For this, some laugh and call me broken mystic. I tell them no one should remember everything.
In the ancient days after the Giants came, the Foremothers built their greystone castle in the north at the foot of the mountain. Some did stay on the beaches, but with every generation, the children of the Foremothers migrated north. At the time of this writing, there are no more than 100 beach-dwellers (called The Wilder), whom I all know personally. They speak something vaguely like the ancient tongue. It is from them that I learned to cipher what is left of the old texts and know the origins of our predicament with the Giants.
Most children of the Foremothers are now coalesced in one of about fifty villages over the Midland, which are located here and there from the beaches to the castle of the north. Midlanders are common and practical, and nihilistic. They have seen too many warlords. They are cut off from their hearts and their origins. They want to live in peace, and so they have foregone whatever liberties they must to live without harassment. Their spirits are broken. The dragons and the marauding barons and warlords have left many orphans, many widows and widowers, and much suffering. Day to day, they subsist, and there is not much singing.
Eyes of the Oracle: Sight Out of Time © 2024 kmCarter (Krista M. Carter) all rights reserved. Properly-attributed quotes of less than 200 words (print, digital, etc.) may be used for criticism, reporting, or sharing to social media. Direct Message for media, publication, or collaboration inquiries.
