Queer Fantasy and Weird Tales for the People
This man’s eyes, however, were a bright, metallic gold, the color of a new coin.
“Welcome home, child,” he said in Khalim’s voice. “You’ve been wandering a long time.”
Interlude Six: The White City
We’ve arrived at the last Interlude of Journey to the Water, in which Khalim returns to the citadel for answers. You can read this chapter right now on Patreon.
If I had gained nothing else from my term in the service of Deinaros the All-knowing, I had obtained several volumes of esoteric maps and the goodwill of the new master of the sorcerer’s tower. Both of these I gave to Hamilcar, in exchange for his aid on this most perilous of journeys.
We would sail west first, out of the Summer Sea and into the vast, unforgiving ocean. We would then turn south and sail as long as the Lady of Osona could withstand the wind and the waves. She was a sturdy vessel, reinforced with the best shipbuilding techniques known to all the peoples of the trade routes, but Hamilcar warned me that even she would not hold together in the waters at the end of the world. I would have to traverse the last miles over land, alone.
Bran, my faithful companion, the bravest of horses and the last gift that I still carried with me from Phyreios, would have to stay behind. He had already endured a number of sea voyages, none of them even a tenth of the length of the one I was about to undertake. He deserved solid ground beneath his hooves, green growing things to eat, and the open sky over his head. Confining him to the ship’s berth for so long would be little better than torture.
I wandered Marenni for hours in widening circles, delaying the moment of our parting. In the evening, I left the city proper and stepped out into the surrounding hills, where the late-autumn fields spread out bare and brown beneath a cloudless sky.
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter LXIII: The Last, Lonely Harbor”The timbers creaked as the sail unfurled, but I trusted my boat. It would carry me to the gate of bone.
Whether it would carry me back remained to be seen.
Chapter LXIV: The Gate of Bone
Eske is off on what might be his very last voyage. You can read this chapter right now on Patreon.
“So,” I said to Cricket, trying to appear nonchalant, “you’ve been reading.”
She regarded me with a look of utter disdain. Of course she’d been reading. “First, I read the safe books, and I learned to bind the monsters between the pages.”
As if in response, the bookshelf at her side shuddered, its heavy tomes shifting in place. I took an involuntary step back toward the stairs.
“Then I read the others,” she continued. “I didn’t sleep for four days. I know all of Deinaros’ secrets, and some he didn’t even know. He wasn’t all-knowing, after all.”
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter LXII: Farther Shores”I had walked the tundra and the steppe. I had crossed the mountains of the North, starving, mad, and alone. This would be no different.
Chapter LXIII: The Last, Lonely Harbor
We are racing to the end of Journey to the Water! You can read this latest chapter right now on Patreon, or wait until next week for it to show up here.
When Bran had healed, and warriors from other clans of the forest folk began to arrive in small bands from elsewhere, I turned south again, my hands empty. I had been unable to secure the ritual knife, and I had decided, for better or worse, not to try to take it with me back to Deinaros’ tower. I had contended with gods before, and on occasion even emerged victorious, but I did not wish to confront the god of the grove. The knife belonged to the people of the forest, whether it was being kept from them within the silver tree or not. It was their choice and their duty to take it by force, if they saw the need, and not mine.
My duty was to confront Deinaros. He had lied to me about the knife—it did not belong to him, and by all evidence, it was not the creation of his teacher Maponos. It was a gift of the god of the grove, to be given and taken away as his divine whim dictated. What other falsehoods had he told me? I had been so eager to follow his orders, to finally have someone to give me a heading on this directionless journey I had undertaken these past years, that I had swallowed his word whole. I had even received a warning from Ashoka, champion of Phyreios, reappeared after all this time. He had said not to trust Deinaros. I had dismissed him. Having been deceived by his gods, I thought, Ashoka was too wary and too willing to believe frightening stories told by superstitious townsfolk. I thought myself wiser, having seen more of the world. I had been wrong.
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter LXI: The Empty Tower”“There’s a harbor,” Cricket said, “the last harbor in the world, where the sea shatters boats upon spires of rock and ice, and the wind howls with the voices of all the lost souls slain there.”
Chapter LXII: Farther Shores
Eske is off on what might be his last adventure. You can read this chapter right now on Patreon.
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I caught up to Bran just as the last of the daylight bled from the evening sky. He was a shadow in the darkness of the woods, his movements fearful and erratic, pain driving away his accustomed calm. I tore a length from the hem of my shirt and pressed it against the spot where the arrow protruded from his skin. Without light, I did not trust myself to remove it without injuring him further.
I held his reins and spoke to him in soft words. I told him he was safe, and the pain had to be endured but would soon pass, and he had nothing to fear from the dark. I hoped everything I said was true.
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter LX: The Fire”I thought myself wiser, having seen more of the world. I had been wrong.
Chapter LXI: The Empty Tower
Eske returns to the tower of the sorcerer to find that much has happened in his absence. You can read this chapter right now on Patreon.
“If you were hoping for another chance at the knife, my friend,” Cullen said at last, “I’m afraid your luck has run out.”
He turned, his shoulder twisting away from my hand, and busied himself with striking a flint. Sparks bloomed from his fingers to die upon the mossy ground. His torch, an oily rag wrapped around a splintery fragment of wood that might have come from the palisade, flared to life and illuminated the standing stones.
My arm dropped to my side. The loss of contact was like ice in my chest, far too cold for the mild evening. I looked away. “That’s not why I’m here.”
He raised the torch, and I could feel his gaze on my face. “No?”
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter LIX: The Edge of the Forest”
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