My Grandfather’s Eyes

“Just watching the rain,” my grandfather answered.

I scanned the dry field in front of his uncured wooden porch. “It’s sunny.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. I suppose it is. Here.” His lips stretched into a grin. “But I never said I was watching the rain here.”

I looked from the withering tomato stalks to his eyes. “You dreaming again, grandpa?”

“Deseret, do I look like I been dreaming, girl?”

I shook my head. He looked as awake as my pa when he was working the soil.

His eyes slid from the field to my face. “Child, you need to know. Your grandfather, well, I’ve always had a hard time seeing what was right before me. My mother would yell at me, ‘Clarence Bartholomew Freeman! You get your head outta the clouds!’ But my head, it’s never in the clouds, child. You remember that. I never see what’s right before me, but I always see what’s right before me.”

I scratched my head in the way that only a young child can scratch her head when she’s confused by some impossible statement like, “The Father is God, but so is Jesus, and so is the Holy Spirit,” and “Your room ain’t clean yet.”

“Here,” his deep voice called to me. “You can, too, you know. Not as good as me. No one’s as good as your grandfather, but I know you’ve done it before. Look out at the field.”

I obeyed. My brothers were working on the far end, pulling weeds and sweating like the pigs they were.

Grandfather put his heavy hand on top of my head. “Look. See what’s before you.”

“What happened to the tomatoes?” I asked.

“They’re dead. That’s what’s right before us.”

“I thought you was looking at rain.”

“I was, child. I was. I like looking on it on days like this. But I ain’t never going to see that rain again, I think. I hope you will.”

I turned away from the cracked field empty of my brothers. “Why?”

“Because sometimes before the Lord blesses us with the rain, he teaches us to appreciate it. Always the Law before the Gospel, child. Always teach the lesson so it can be learned and appreciated.”

“What about you, grandfather?”

“Just like that? You just accept I’m gonna be gone before the rains come again?”

“You never lie.”

The big, stretching grin, the white teeth popping out of his face like polar bears on blacktop. I loved that grin back in those days. I wish I could see it again. I could see all the love of God in that grin. “Child, I lie plenty. Just like every other deceitful son-of-a. But the Lord will take care of me. He’s let me see what’s before me. I ain’t worried.”

“Will I always see what’s before me?”

“I don’t know child. But for now, why don’t you look with me at the rain?” He gestured out to the blue sky and the withering tomato plants and my stinky brothers. “Just sit with me a while. Let’s see the waters. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll see the rainbow after.”

Just another fifteen-minute write. The opening line came to me as I was walking through the fields my in-laws own, and I wanted to see what would happen with it. I think I might return to these two. I like them. 

A Lesson of Law

The blackened bark of the sundered faetree accused Alathea. She denied nothing. She knelt at its dead roots and wept.

Parthenos placed a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me,” his deep voice intoned.

“I danced,” she choked out between sobs. “I danced and the thunder danced with me. I laughed. And then the thunder went to dance here.” She placed her hands against the rough bark. Alathea looked up among the darkened branches. “They’re all gone now, aren’t they?”

Parthenos did not answer. The comforting weight of his hand lifted from her shoulder. His robes swished the long green grass as he circled the tree. “Fae do not continue to reside in a dead tree.”

“And without the guardians, this forest will die.”

“Should the fae leave, yes, the woods will wither.”

Alathea drew a deep breath. “What must I do?”

“Do?”

“I did this. My reckless dance. I need to fix it.”

Parthenos smiled at the girl. “You can do nothing.”

“You’re training me to be a paladin! We fight for justice! I have to be able to do something!”

The old man shook his head with a chuckle. “We do not fight for justice, and be glad of it. If we fought for justice, what would happen to you?”

Alathea sank back to her knees.

Parthenos nodded. “Justice sounds good when you can do something to right your wrongs and balance the scales yourself. But if you indeed slew the fae here… there is nothing you can do. And a soul for a soul would leave you very dead indeed.” He paused. “And Alathea, it is what you have earned.” His voice grew very quiet in the still glade. “You should die.”

A tear trickled down her cheek. “I can’t do anything?”

Parthenos shook his shaggy head.

“It’s my fault.”

“It is.”

“What will my punishment be?”

The old man groaned as he knelt down beside the young girl. “It will be more than you can bear.”

Alathea drew a shuddering breath.

“Your punishment has already been given.” Parthenos drew his breath in quickly, peering at the girl for a beat, and then hurled a hearty roar of laughter to the sky.

“No! I should be punished! I did something wrong! I did something horrible!”

“Of course you did, girl. Of course you did! And you can never fix it! Why do you think our God came?” He couldn’t keep the mirth in.

“I killed the woods!”

Parthenos offered a shallow nod. “Perhaps. You have done damage that cannot be undone. The faetree will likely never grow again. But look!”

A door in the bark split open toward Alathea. Fae flooded out of it, their green dresses and vests blackened by soot. They flowed from the tree, fluttering on translucent wings.

And then came the dead. So many dead, carried on charred leaves. The faeries set the dead at Alathea’s knees, looked up at her, and darted away, forming a great sphere of fluttering shapes around her. She counted the dead. Twenty-four lives snuffed out by her carelessness.  By her joy. Her joy had led to death.

A fae in a marred snow-white dress darted toward her face and placed a miniscule hand on Alathea’s nose. It hovered for a moment, and then shot away. The entire circle vanished into the wood.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“The fae serve the Creator, Alathea. They know what grace is. They have shown you the weight of your guilt, and forgiven you.”

“They should be mad at me! They should punish me!”

“Of course, if they followed the ways of the world. I say it again: They serve the Creator.”

“How can they forgive?”

“Long ago, these fae would prey on every human riding through the woods. It was a dark time. Then, a paladin rode forth to defend the humans. He captured every single fae. All of them. He discovered their tree. He held aloft a torch, ready to burn it down. But he set aside the flame. He showed them what forgiveness is. It changed them.” Parthenos grinned. “Grace always changes a person, Alathea, once they grasp what it is.”

Alathea rubbed her tears with her wrist. “So that’s it? No punishment?”

“No. Your punishment, like your guilt, is gone.” Parthenos gestured to the assembled dead. “But, if you would honor your sin, honor these dead. Do you know the burial rites of the fae?”

“I do.”

“Then sing them and dance them in honor. Do not let your sin end your dance. Let grace lift you up and move to its rhythm, Alathea. And learn from the fae. Let grace change you.”

Here’s a fifteen-minute write about Alathea long before the events of The Graveyard at the Bottom of the World.

Tree of Life

Air filled his lungs: crisp, clean, perfect. Water tumbled down the waterfall, releasing a fine mist that prickled the skin. Bright blue skies shone down on him. A green dolphin-like creature on long scaly legs cocked its head sideways at him across the shallow lagoon.

Ted Murphey sighed. He ran his hand over the pale green grass, thick like a carpet.

Angela stepped beside him, reading the text displayed on her iris. “It’s this good all over, according to the probes.” She tensed her arms and eeked. “Do you have any idea what this will net us?”

“No.” Ted stood.

“No?” Angela blinked off her headnet connection. “Excuse me?”

“We’re not reporting.”

“Like hell! Ted, we’ve searched for this one for years. Sleeping from system to system, finding miners’ paradises and methane duds. Getting barely enough to keep the ship functional. And now we finally find a real haven – a place for settlers? You know how much the corps back home will pay for these coordinates? We’d be set for life!”

Ted placed a hand on Angela’s cheek. “You really think this is worth any money? Look at this. Unspoiled.”

She backed away from his hand. “Yeah. That’s why it’s worth that much.”

“We can’t bring people here. They’d ruin it.”

“If we don’t, someone else –“

“Don’t go there, Ange. Come on.” Ted tucked a smile into the corner of his mouth. “Come on. We could just stay here. Make the most of it. Just the two of us.” He sat on a mossy rock and took off his boots.

“Ted. Ted Bentimere Murphey. Don’t you dare. Don’t you go being romantic. No.”

Ted slipped off his jacket and plucked the shirt over his head. He grinned. “What? The probes say the place is harmless. Can you think of anyplace better to be romantic?”

Angela wrinkled her nose.

Ted shrugged and waded into the lagoon, splashing water as he went. The dolphin-thing finally fled. The cool water came up to his knees. His feet tingled as they touched the sandy bottom. “Man. I think my arthritis is actually loosening up a little!” He stretched his arms.

Angela rolled her eyes and stalked away. Let the adolescent fifty-year-old play around. She was here for a job.

She made her way back to the landing pod. A thin form leaned against it.

A human.

He stood naked and emaciated. Long pale hair fell over his shoulders. A faint grin twitched on his face. “Hey.”

Angela paused twenty paces away. She blinked on the headnet, double-checked flight paths. This entire system was supposed to be untouched by humans. No flight paths. Pirate?

He stumbled away from the pod. “Hey.” He stood, his eyes blinking to connect to something, failing. Her linkup stated that someone tried to connect to their network, but he didn’t have the right operating system installed. It was… his system was old. Incompatible.

He raised up a hand. “Hey. Um.” His eyes wandered away from her, snapped back. “Do you think. Maybe. Isn’t this the best place?” He giggled. “No. It’s awesome. I need to get away.”

Angela took a few steps back from the stranger.

“No. You need to get away. Before it ruins you.” He swallowed, lost focus, looked around. Saw the pod again. “Whoa. That’s right. Can you? Can you just take me out of here? This place is too good. I can’t be here. I’m too happy here.”

Angela eye-twitched a message to Ted. Hopefully his headnet connection was on.

“Look, this place. It’s paradise. And we. We weren’t meant for paradise. We can’t be here. It’s killing me. I’m the last one left. Crash. A few months ago.” The man stumbled again. “I don’t know. Maybe longer?”

“Why haven’t you eaten?” Angela asked, gesturing to his too-visible ribs. Every tree around was laden with fruit.

“Why? I’m never hungry. And I’m never thirsty. This place is too good. I don’t want anything.”

Something came out of the ferns behind Angela. She jumped until she saw it was Ted. He was naked.

Of course he was.

Ted smiled. “Come on, Ange. We can’t leave here. It’s too perfect. Come swim with me.”

Angela ran to the pod. She looked behind her to see Ted shrug and stumble away. The other man lurched toward the pod.

“Take me away. Please. I need somewhere that isn’t perfect. I’m not perfect. I can’t be here.” His eyes pleaded at her.

She hesitated only a moment. “Get in.”

They left Ted behind. He didn’t answer her messages from orbit.

She listed the planet as a blackrock. Ted was right. They couldn’t send people to paradise. It would be the death of them.

This is a fifteen-minute write. I sat down, wrote for fifteen minutes, edited for five. This is what came out. Not sure what I think of this one, but here it is! 

Up from the Graveyard

Jeraeden watched the Walls of the World for a week before he gave up. The people of the Graveyard explored the Gray Islands, flitting from place to place, learning to make the reedships of the people there. The sun burned so many of his people!

Jeraeden manufactured a skiff for himself and set out to the east, following the Wall. Here a constant shower of fine mist and rainbows kept him company. The fall of the water reminded him of the sound of the Graveyard, but the lack of the thudding of hulls against each other deafened him.

He found more islands, sandbars, gulls, and fish. Few of the islands were inhabited. Who wanted to live beside the Edge? Only the desperate, simple, and insane.

Days stretched. His people fell far behind. He didn’t need to talk at all. He relaxed into the quiet. The sun rose. The sun set. The novelty of the light never failed to fill him with awe.

Two weeks later he discovered a long, thin island a mile from the Wall. A few stunted trees grew on the patch of land. More reeds. Two people stood in their shade. Jeraeden turned to speak to these lonely few.

When he saw who they were, he barked a laugh.

Matt and Talon ran into the surf toward him, waving their arms. Talon darted into the water, Matt lagging behind. When Talon saw who approached, he tried to stop and fell face-first onto the waves. Matt slowed.

Jeraeden beached the reedship and stepped onto the white sand. He raised an eyebrow.

Matt crossed his arms. “So. You made it.”

The tall man nodded.

Talon wrinkled his nose. “OK. So, did you kill Alathea?”

Jeraeden’s head lowered, his smile evaporating. He closed his eyes.

“You made her jump?” the young thief pressed.

Jeraeden’s slight nod answered him.

A silence stretched between the three men.

Matt burst into laughter. Talon jumped. Jeraeden twitched. Matt’s raucous outburst bent him double.

He reached over to grab Talon’s shoulder. “Don’t you see?” He wheezed between outbursts. “Alathea was right! We burned the Graveyard. It was enough to lift the rest of the ships, since Silent and Creepy’s here. And it was enough to lift us up, too! All the water started going back up and sucked us up with it, right?”

Talon nodded, his brow creased. “Sure…?”

“And if her God was powerful enough to lift the rest of us, don’t you think he’d protect her?”

“He always did before,” Talon answered.

“And if the lift was strong enough to bring us back to the light…” Matt motioned.

Jeraeden’s smile cracked his grief. “It was enough to bring her back.”

Matt’s enthusiastic nod answered. “It’s just a question of where she came back.”

Jeraeden smiled. “Then let’s find her. Come on, we’ll have to build more reedships for you two. And when we find her…” Jeraeden paused. “When we find her, I’m going to have to ask her forgiveness. I should have trusted her. And maybe. Maybe her God.”

Matt’s laugh filled the sky and bounced off the Wall. Talon soon joined in.

Tomorrow their search began.

Thus concludes The Graveyard at the Bottom of the World.

Restoration

In ages past, the bowl of the earth flooded. The Djarini claim the evil of the ice giants broke the world. The Chattering Women say that it was retribution for the way their children had abandoned them to the forest. The Scarred Pilgrims claim their own evils brought the deluge. All remember the Flood. How could they not? It was the day that shattered the world.

A single boat, or a raft, or a tree, or a serpent (depending whom you ask) held those few righteous who refused guilt the way a kitsune refuses fire. Every other life ended in the cold waters’ embrace. But the walls of the world could not hold the weight of so much guilt, so many waters, so the very walls of the bowl of the world cracked and crumbled. The flood poured over the edge, and ever since the earth has been a disc with no walls to keep its people safe.

Until today.

The Gray Islands saw the change first: wisps rose from the Edge, great tendrils of vapor. A few brave souls set out in their reedships. The boys dared each other to get closer, closer, as they always did. The few men who came with them stayed back. Each had seem someone fall over the edge. They knew. Those who ventured closest saw that the Edge now curved up; instead of falling, the water that came to the Edge plummeted into the sky. The wall of water became thicker and thicker.

And then the first boat from beyond  hauled itself over the edge and floated back into the world.

Men and women so pale that the elders thought them the dead danced and sang. They squinted in the sunlight.

The men on the reedships fled back to the islands. The boys, curious, crept closer.

Mnesthe, oldest boy on the reedships, hailed the boats, his left hand extended in peaceful greeting as his right arm flexed outward to ward off any curses.

A tall, tall man came to the rail of the boat. He raised a single eyebrow.

Mnesthe’s voice cracked as he shouted, “You come to the Gray Islands. Come in peace, and we welcome you.”

The tall, tall man lowered his head into a graceful nod.

Behind him, the deck of the tall boat crowded with people. Some wept. Some laughed. The tall, tall man alone did not express joy.

A shadow rose in the new wall of water. It broke through the rising wave and skidded down, splashing onto the Sweetwater Sea. Shouts of mirth erupted from within it. Soon more boats came from beyond the edge of the world.

The Edge?

No, now it was the Wall of the World, as far as the horizon stretched, a wall of water fifty paces high and rising.

Mnesthe led the reedships to the boats and welcomed them all in peace, warding off any curse that might be uttered. That night, those who had known the Graveyard for many, many years dined on fresh cocoanut and slaughtered pig. The young ones refused to eat the strange fare.

Jeraeden also refused to eat, though he sat in silent approval of the festivities.

He kept glancing to the new wall that encircled the world, waiting, waiting.

Whatever he waited for did not come that night.

The Graveyard at the Bottom of the World nears its conclusion. 

The Creak of the Hull

A ring of fire writhed around the bottom of the world. Jaraeden watched as the horizon lit. Flaming masts pointed burning fingers toward a dark undersky. Hulls broke apart and tumbled in flaming ruins into the abyss. The sound of hissing filled the air as the mists that plummeted from the edge of the world above struck fire and turned to steam.

A shadow approached beside him at the rail. He turned and lifted an eyebrow.

“Everyone we know of made it out. A flotilla of seventeen boats have joined us inside the ring.” The young man bit his lip. Good lad. Controlling himself as he watches the only home he’s known fall apart.

“Everyone?”

“They all saw the flames coming. Everyone got out into the middle, away from everything else.”

Jaraeden gripped the rail before him. He pressed his lips together.

“Sir, everyone we know of. Yeah, we never really explored the other side of the ring too much, but everyone we know of is safe.’

The tall, quiet man straightened and gestured down to the darkness below. He raised his eyebrow again.

“Well, yeah, the paladin died. But she earned it, didn’t she?”

Jaraeden turned away. He paced the deck. More and more hulks fell, tumbling stars in a dark undersky. The population of the graveyard pointed and gasped as their homes burned to ash, one by one by one. Men turned away, fists balled, arms shaking. Women gasped. The sailors busied themselves with whatever tasks they could find.

The hull creaked.

He stopped his pacing, looking at the deck. Several of his sailors raced below to the hold. A few threw rope overboard and rappelled to see what might be making the sound.

The hull moaned.

Jaraeden knelt on the planking and put his ear to the wood. He glanced up, all around.

More moans sounded from the flotilla.

The burning ring flickered. More and more ships fell, their bright comets tapering until nothing was left. It almost looked like the ring itself ascended, leaving behind scattered boats too damaged to rise to the skies.

No.

That’s what it was. The ring actually rose!

Jaraeden lifted his hand. The top cooled in a slight breeze.

His brow creased. Was it true? Could it be?

His heartbeat quickened. He marched to the side and peered over at a sailor there.

The man saw him. “Sir! We’re creaking because. Because! We’re moving!” He shook his head, placing his hand flat against the hull. “She’s rising, sir! There’s nothing wrong with her! She’s rising!” His smile lit his face.

Jaraeden gazed out across to the rest of the flotilla. Yes. They moved at different rates, but they were all floating upward. Toward the light. To the land never forsaken by gods.

Cheers rose from the other boats. His sailors raised fists in joy. Someone produced a fiddle. Dancing broke out across the ascending fleet.

Jaraeden peered into the darkness again.

Alathea…

 So continues The Graveyard at the Bottom of the World.

To Sleep in Flames

“Well, I suppose this is a great way to die,” Matt muttered.

“Shut up. It’s a terrible way to die.” Talon darted around the deck, scanning each of the neighboring ships.

Each boat that surrounded them danced with flames. Timbers tumbled into the endless black below. Somehow they’d found a small island in the heat, a boat that had some space around it. The fires had not leaped across the void to these masts quite yet.

Matt sat down on the deck. “It’s getting hard to breathe.”

Talon nodded. “Yeah. Fires do that.” He sprinted across the deck again, scanning every neighboring vessel. “Come on. The flames can’t have cut us off that quickly.”

“Even if they didn’t, you think the captain kept the ship nearby for us? Really? As soon as she saw the flames coming, she shoved off. She’s going to protect her crew as best she can. And we were never crew; just passengers.”

“Crazy passengers,” the young thief interjected.

“Well, not many people want to sail off the edge of the world. And not many captains are stupid enough to take the money.” matt shrugged.

Talon wiped his forehead with a cloth from his pocket. He pointed. “There. That one. Look, the decking hasn’t caught yet; we could get across.”

Matt half turned. “No. Neither of us could make the jump, and even if we could, the heat would kill us.”

“That one then.”

“Only if you want to die by falling instead of by flames.”

Talon shook his head. “I won’t die by flames.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “They scare you?”

“Not by flames.” Talon considered the mast. “Think we can chop that down? We could use it to shove off another boat. Maybe shove our way through the burners until we find clearer waters.”

“Boy, my blades are strong, but not that strong. These masts are built to hold up on the high seas. We can’t knock them over.”

“Stop knocking down my ideas!”

“Stop trying to kill us.”

“I’m not trying to kill us! I’m trying to live!”

Matt regarded the younger man.

“Why aren’t you scared?” Talon asked.

Matt shrugged. “Maybe Alathea finally got to me.”

“You’re finding religion?”

“When you’re about to die seems the right time.” Matt chuckled. “Her joy? It was a better way to live than my caution. And if what she says is true… well, no flames wait for me.”

Talon viewed the field of flames that surrounded them. “It is getting hard to breathe, isn’t it?”

Matt nodded.

“I guess I don’t have to be afraid of burning to death then.” He wiped his face with the cloth again.

Timbers crackled over the sound of the Graveyard’s clatter. Heat evaporated the falling drops of water.

Talon shook his head. “I can’t steal my way out of this one.”

“And my blades can’t slay fire.”

“You know this is our own stupid fault.”

“Yours maybe. If we’d taken my route back to the boat we’d have gotten there in plenty of time.”

“Like hell!”

They watched the burning Graveyard. Talon lay on the deck first. He closed his eyes. A boat aft of theirs spat sparks. Burning flakes landed on the deck, on Talon’s clothes. Matt patted out the flames before they could catch.

He closed his eyes.

No!

He would’t let Talon burn. No sleep until it was too late for the boy. No sleep!

Their ship trembled as a burning boat tumbled through the void to collide with theirs. The flames leaped the decks.

Matt’s lungs burned. He reached down and tried to pick Talon up. Nope. Matt’s muscles wouldn’t listen to him. He grabbed one of Talon’s arms. He dragged the boy to the edge of the deck.

“You won’t burn, boy,’ he huffed.

They fell into the void.

Thus continues Alathea’s tale, The Graveyard at the Bottom of the World.