Journey to the Water Chapter XXVI: The House of the Weaver-Woman, Part Two

Journey to the Water cover image: three evergreen trees stand on a hillside, shrouded in bluish fog. Subtitle reads: the sequel to Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea.

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The rest of the tale of the falling star I knew already. It had landed near Phyreios, in the form of a lump of enchanted iron, and the Ascended had forged it into the Sword of Heaven, the tool of their own destruction. They could no more resist the will of Khalim’s god than he could, as much as they tried. It was only by Torr’s volition that the sword now lay safely among the other treasures beneath the mountain where the dragon made its home. 

What could I do in the face of a destiny already preordained? Seven gods had failed even to prevent the creation of the Sword of Heaven and the arrival of their former master to the city they ruled, even carried as he was by one man crossing the wastes on foot. A sandstorm, a single arrow, a knife in the dark, or some slight injury to their forge could have sent Torr back to the nether world for another thousand years. Instead, he walked the new streets of Phyreios with an iron crown on his head, and Khalim was gone. 

Taherah stared into the fire, and two burning points reflected in her eyes, but she saw nothing. It was as though she gone far away, and left her body behind to stir her copper pot and keep my sad company. 

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I came here to ask your help. One day, I will find a way to cross over, whether by magic or might. I will find Khalim. But our time together was so short, and I had not the foresight to ask him where he might go if he had all the realms of the gods to choose from.

Chapter XXVI: The House of the Weaver-Woman, Part Two

Eske’s journey continues in the latest chapter of Journey to the Water, now available on Patreon.

Journey to the Water Chapter XXV: The House of the Weaver-Woman

Journey to the Water cover image: three evergreen trees stand on a hillside, shrouded in bluish fog. Subtitle reads: the sequel to Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea.

Table of Contents

The man who greeted me at the bridge gave his name as Sala and his profession as the village smith, though Nagara had not seen a new shipment of iron for many months. I feared the great mine of Phyreios had not yet reopened, and that it perhaps never would, but Sala had no way of knowing what occurred on the other side of the rust-red desert, and I would not press him for answers that he would not possess. The less I knew of Phyreios, the better I could focus on the task before me.

Though I had sailed many miles and walked for four long weeks to reach this place, a terrible dread came over me in place of my anticipated relief. Sala’s face was grim, his brows heavy and his mouth a thin line. I had brought this quiet village the news it had feared for two long years, that their favored son would not return. 

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“I am Eske, son of Ivor, of the Clan of the Bear,” I said. “I met your son in the great city of the desert.”

Chapter XXV: The House of the Weaver-Woman

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Journey to the Water Chapter XXIV: A Vast, Green Country

Journey to the Water cover image: three evergreen trees stand on a hillside, shrouded in bluish fog. Subtitle reads: the sequel to Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea.

Table of Contents

For four weeks I journeyed through those mountains, in the shadow of the sacred peak of Abora. At its top, the villagers among the cliffs told me, was the shrine of the great serpent-god, the wisest and craftiest of all the ancient beings that had once built cities in the highest reaches, whose eyes were like rubies and whose feathered wings could blot out the sun. Each morning, sunlight blazed from behind the mountain, and I thought again of climbing it; by the time I had packed up my camp and saddled Bran again, the desire had burned away like fog. I returned to the road north and did not stop again until nightfall. 

The sun set a little earlier each evening, and as I followed the pilgrim’s road, the forest turned from deep emerald to the yellow-brown of the kelp that grew in the warm waters of the south. From the highest places of the world to the bottom of the ocean, the turn of the seasons followed me. I had allowed my quest to stretch on for two years, and I was determined not to let another pass without Khalim by my side. 

Fate, however, had other plans for me. Perhaps if I had sought the aid of the winged serpent of Mount Abora, my journey would have proceeded differently. 

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“If you’re looking to be healed, I’m afraid he is no longer here. He left for the north almost three years ago, and we yet await his return.”

Chapter XXIV: A Vast, Green Country

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Journey to the Water Chapter XXIII: The Port of Charkand

Journey to the Water cover image: three evergreen trees stand on a hillside, shrouded in bluish fog. Subtitle reads: the sequel to Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea.

Table of Contents

The Lady of Osona passed into the storm’s eye. Where there had been wailing wind and rain beating against my back, there was now an empty, yawning stillness. The ship rested lightly upon calm waters. 

My hands had contorted into stiff, aching claws, and splinters dug into my palms and the exposed skin of my legs. I climbed down from the mast, forcing my limbs to stretch. My head spun; though the ship beneath me lay as if in a deep, dreamless sleep, I felt as though it would throw me into the sea. When my rope-burned feet reached the deck, I fell to my knees and shut my eyes, forcing myself to breathe evenly until rain brushed against my shoulders and the back of my neck once again. 

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I once had a traveler in my inn, years ago, who told a story like yours. He said he met a boy in the river valley who possessed a strange talent for magic.

Chapter XXIII: The Port of Charkand

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Journey to the Water Interlude Three: The Broken Road

Journey to the Water cover image: three evergreen trees stand on a hillside, shrouded in bluish fog. Subtitle reads: the sequel to Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea.

Table of Contents

The creature clung to Khalim’s back, breathing a quick, shallow rhythm against his neck. It was light as a bird, and its fingers ended in tiny, sharp talons, black and shiny as obsidian, that clicked together as it adjusted its hold on his shoulders. It was a meat-eating creature, Khalim guessed, based on the claws and its many pointed teeth—though maybe it didn’t eat anything. He hadn’t been hungry since his still-shaky memories of the world before the citadel, and there wasn’t anything identifiable to eat in this place even if he had been. He was lost, and so very cold, but the world beyond had not been as cruel as he’d feared. 

The question remained, then, why someone would lay a trap to catch small creatures in the wood, if not to eat them. Its iron jaws could have easily closed on Khalim, had he been less fortunate. At the very least, he wouldn’t have starved to death before he freed himself.

“So,” he said. His voice was flat and muffled to his own ears, swallowed up by the forest. “Where are we going?”

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“Other places.” The creature’s bone mask found a spot in the crook of his shoulder, left bare by his ragged clothing, and came to rest there, sending a chill through his chest and down his back. When it spoke, its teeth brushed against his skin. “Places with people. Gods’ places. You’ll see.”

Interlude Three: The Broken Road

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