2: Aunt Taller

When I awoke, my first thought was for the manuscript. I reached for it and touched only skin. I started. I was naked. Though my embarrassment lessened when I realized that I was covered by a blanket.

I was warm and dry. I lay on the floor of a small room. A fire crackled in a nearby hearth. My robe hung drying on a nearby bench. I breathed a sigh of relief. The manuscript lay beside my garments, a couple of stones weighing the ends down to keep it open.

A shadow obscured my view and I looked up. And up and up. A giantess towered over me. I cowered and almost buried my head beneath the blanket. But I noticed the rope coiled around one of the massive arms and realized that this was my rescuer. Her face was homely but radiated compassion. She smiled down at me.

“Don’t be afraid,” her voice rumbled in the closed space. “It does my heart good to see that you are well.” She handed me my robe and while I dressed beneath the blanket, she continued. “The Glenn is only the latest deluge to flow from Big Tree. My sisters and I have kept watch over the Bridge for centuries to protect it and those who must cross when the flood rises.”

“I am Aunt Griselda Taller. My sisters, Dorcas and Clementine, are away,” A faraway look came into her eyes. “Perhaps you will meet them on your journey . . .”

She reached for the manuscript and handed it to me. Suddenly there was a whirring of wings and a dark shape flew down from the shadows of the rafters. Griselda snatched at the air with a mammoth hand, but the creature swerved and quickly sped through the window, its squawks echoing in the night.

Griselda turned back to me with a somber expression. “Now it is known, or will be soon, what you carry.”

“What was that thing?” I asked. “A raven?”

“That was a Gem Crow,” Griselda responded. “They are the spies for those that serve the Big Tree. It must have snuck in here and was reading the manuscript from the rafters.” She gazed out the window. “It goes to share its discovery.”

I shivered.

Griselda saw my discomfort and smiled to reassure me. “All is not lost,” she said. “At least we know that it is known. The spy at least gave us that much. We can plan accordingly.”

As I rolled the manuscript back up and placed it within my robe, Griselda set about preparing a supper of warm gruel and bread. After the excitement of the river and the crow, I figured I would stay wide awake.

The last thing I remembered was my warm belly and the spoon halfway to my mouth.

1: Crossing Glenn Rill

The clue in the manuscript that I read in the patron hut wasn’t much but there was a hint that the obvious was not all there was. I could not return it yet and hoping the parchment would serve as a reference on my journey, I placed it within my cloak. Then taking my leave of a rather anxious Gofer, I set out on the main road towards the nearest village. I hoped to get there before dusk, find a meal and bed down for the night. In order to do so I must first cross Glenn Rill.

Glenn Rill is a stream with an interesting beginning. Its headwaters spring from an enormous ancient oak that is simply called Big Tree. A brief passage in the manuscript I found at Yore stated that long ago the Tree was used for secret executions, but any other history has been lost and is not remembered by the majority of the population. Washing Town, a small village that gets its name from the white washing services provided by its residents, rests a few miles downstream from Big Tree. Glen Rill races past the town in a series of sharp bends and falls that provide substantial current that has been harnessed to power the village industries. The excess is returned to the stream so that it changes to a consistency resembling dirty milk.

At Monarch Point a peninsula juts out into the river where the great Maerdevahi Bridge, constructed of pure onyx, is the sole method for the traveler to cross over. Upon reaching the Point, I noticed that Glenn Rill was at flood stage and the peninsula was being severely eroded. The waters were lapping at the bottom of the bridge and had washed over in some places.

As dusk was approaching, I was in a hurry and so ignored the risk. Halfway over, I slipped on the blackstones and fell, sliding towards the edge and a horrible death by asphyxiation in the raging torrent.

Suddenly, I felt something settle over my head and under my arms. It was a rope.

“Grab hold!” came a shout barely heard above the roar.

I did and not a moment too soon. My momentum carried me over the edge and I plunged down toward the river. As the pale waters closed over me, I knew no more.

0: Welcome Traveler

This is the story of a journey. Though all stories are journeys in one way or another. And I do not go alone. I hope to have you with me, dear Reader, for most if not all of my sojourn. Perhaps you will be a silent partner. Perhaps you will make your thoughts tangible. Either way I welcome your presence. Follow along carefully, dear Reader. You may recognize the places visited and the characters met.