Journey to the Water Prologue: The Citadel

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He had been in the citadel for so long that he could not remember being anywhere else. Surely, he thought, there was a world beyond the city’s borders, past where the streets faded into fog and the marble walls turned blank and white, but no matter how far he walked, he always found himself back at the center square. Here, there was a temple he could not enter, with crystal archways that shone fiery red in the perpetual twilight and windows of many-colored glass. The stone door was far too heavy for him to move on his own, and he had been alone here for an eternity. Or, perhaps, it had only been an hour—the sun had never moved, after all, and the city stones did not change with the seasons as a forest would, or a field. 

He must have come from somewhere. He must not have always been alone, because if he had, his solitude would not ache like a wound in his chest that would not heal no matter how much time passed. 

Now, however, he was not alone. An owl alighted on the lowest archway, over the bottom of the stairs to the temple. It shook out its wings, and the black feathers shimmered in the low sunlight. Its face was round and white as a full moon. It was the first living thing that he had seen since he came to the citadel, whenever that might have been. 

“Hello,” he said. It seemed like the proper thing to do, and there was no one else here to speak to. His voice sounded like a stranger’s.

The owl turned its moon face to look at him, tilting its head slowly from one side to the other. “Hello. Is that your face that you’re wearing?”

He hadn’t expected the owl to speak, much less to ask him such a strange question. “I think so,” he said. “Whose else would it be?”

The owl ruffled its feathers in a way that was almost a shrug. “I seem to remember seeing it before, that’s all. It’s very impolite to steal another’s face, you know, though you don’t look like you’re strong enough for that. Who are you?”

“I—” He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came to his mind. Try as he might, he could not think of any names, much less one that might be his. “I don’t remember.”

“A pity,” said the owl, “but perhaps it’s for the best. Rest well, little one.” It spread its obsidian wings, blotting out the dim orange sun and reaching the full span of the arch, and moved to take flight.

“Wait!” he cried. “Who are you? Where did you come from? How do I leave this place?”

The owl folded its wings again, blinking its jewel-like eyes in annoyance. “So many questions. You’re better off staying here, little one, where you’re safe.”

“I don’t want to be here,” he said, and in speaking the words aloud, he felt his resolve strengthening. This creature must have come from somewhere else, which meant it knew of other places, and he did not know when he would get another chance. “I have to go. Please, can you help me?”

“You don’t even know your own name,” the owl scoffed. “How are you supposed to go anywhere if you don’t know who you are?”

That didn’t make much sense, but he had tried walking a hundred times, a thousand, in all different directions, and he had never left the citadel. “If I remember, will you show me the way?”

The owl folded its wings again, regarding him with an unblinking gaze, silhouetted against the vivid, unchanging sky. 

He shut his eyes. He must have had a name, and a home, and others who knew him. 

He saw a flooded field, brilliant green under a gray sky, and he felt rain kiss his skin. Then, sand under his feet, and the smell of dust, and he could hear a traveling song being sung in the distance, though he could not make out the words. A mountain loomed above him, crowned in a wreath of clouds, standing proudly against the sapphire sky of a summer’s morning.

I must have seen these places. Maybe I could go back there, if I could just remember. 

Now, it seemed the mountain was drawn in crude charcoal, smudged black on a soft, pale background. He saw a spiral pattern inked in blue, and heard a voice calling to him from the darkness, faintly at first, but growing louder and closer—

He opened his eyes. “Khalim,” he said, and this time he recognized the voice with which he spoke.  “My name is Khalim.”

“Ah,” said the owl. “Someone remembers you.”

Forward to Chapter I: The Dragon Temple

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Yes, it’s true: the sequel to Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea got the most votes in the poll, followed by Part Two of The Book of the New Moon Door, with a new story taking a close third. I’ll have more news about a posting schedule and other exciting things soon, but for now, I hope you enjoyed this little prologue.

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