At World’s Edge – Chapter 7

Mahofon was much the same. This was what he had seen; a tower rotting in the centre to Tink Ravine. It was the beehive that drew from him an unending torrent of curiosity, however. There was something in the hollow nest hanging from the tree that drew everyone’s curiosity. They all stared at it, shifting from intrigue to fearfulness every few moments that passed. “Yumipon!” The magician hollered, “Aim at the beehive.” More moments passed – every second felt like a minute, and every minute an hour. At the resounding silence, he tried again, starring widely, desperately around the band for the archer. “Yumipon?”

A stammer was the only reply, as he drew his bow and slipped an arrow from is quiver. Yumipon drew a long, wavering breath to steady his nerves, his hands shaking almost violently. His trembling came to a close as he drew the steel tipped arrow down the taut string, and, with a twang of his weapon, the shot flew true. The beehive was struck, with the sound of low drum echoing off distant cliffs hidden by the darkness. It cracked and split into many miniscule pieces after contact, and from its centre immerged a blinding star. It shimmered, banishing the darkness in the surrounding area. Embers of bright white light showered the barren soil, emanating from the being that had been released. The band blinked at the sight; amazement was written on every face. “Dear Almighty,” one whispered, barely audible. “I thought I’d be locked up in that tower forever…” the star spoke. At this revelation, Cescar muttered “Gold Hoshipon!” and shortly collapsed, caught only by Dulkatra.

Mahofon recoiled with questioning fear; was this really the being that had forced his far sight to an abrupt, painful end? Surely not, for its golden rays penetrated the pooling dark, and there wasn’t an ounce of evil in this creature. Mahofon shouted up to the star, “Who blocked one from seeing this tower?.” “Ah, your far sight you are referencing, I presume. Well Mahofon, it definitely wouldn’t have been the likes of me; I want anything but to send you away. It must’ve been my captors forcing you.” Hoshipon sailed above the band as he spoke, several meters high. He remained just too bright to look at directly, and his light painted vast shadows across the landscape. The next question seemed only logical now. “Who were your captors?



As haunted below, I offer my soul, for the skies above once again have left me
to defend on my own.
A cliff above your violent waves to keep me breathless and blue.
I’ve become a haunted memory— a part of you.
Come, ocean tides, sweep me under your
breathless waves of delight.

At World’s Edge – Chapter 6

The basin was home to monolithic stone structures, high towers of rock that grasped at the sky. They were eerily smooth at the base as if a vast river had once pooled around them, or as if a lifetimes worth of sandstorms had peppered them. Atop the structures the odd plant grew around a more uneven, rougher surface. It was as the magician had seen, or at least part of what his far sight had told him. The band weaved between the bare stone forest for what seemed like hours, but as they furthered their journey forward, they became more common. There were several in sight at all times now. The towering rocks became denser in quantity, and as their numbers rose, so did the crackling tension of the group. A weapon could be fumbled and dropped, and the resulting sound would have made all but the steeliest of warriors jump. But they were all shaken, impaired by the scene that Mahofon had made the night before. And most had made the conclusion that these towering piles of stone would be something related. They feared what they could see, yet not understand.

The sun began to fall from its perch in the boundless blue expanse of the sky. It sank to be pierced by another stone monolith, with the sky shifting from orange to blood red. Now the structures casted dark shadows across the landscape. Finally, the sun crawled below the horizon, and the remaining rays of sunlight died out. The warriors soldiered on, although their packs became heavier, they stumbled more often, and the feet bled in their weary boots. Night set in a dark water that flooded the ravine; it pooled just out of reach, seemingly impenetrable, claustrophobic. It was from that darkness the giant’s fingers, stretching for the sky, appeared, their tips forever shrouded, despite the moonlight, by their mystery.

The silence now was unbearable. Yumipon quivered in the cold, and shook to think of what had turned the magician temporarily mad. The air was icy, however, and that was a distraction. For many hours now he had pondered the purpose of these towering blocks of natural stone. How natural were they? He was aware that Cescar would have the best idea, but he felt like he couldn’t ask. Mombulu planned for camp to be set soon, but this wasn’t before another tower grew from the darkness ahead of the band. This one, Yumipon noted, appeared wider at the top than it did at the bottom. For several minutes, Yumipon felt himself trembling before it. He would break eye contact, and then when he looked up it seemed to have lurched closer. After an hour of feeling disconsolate, he was able to make out the structure. It was by no means a simple rock formation, but a Karmen battle tower, fashioned from the twisted rock structure. What filled the archer with dread, however, was the damage the building had sustained. Swords were scattered throughout the wood and stone; arrows and spears also tarnished the surfaces that created it, but they were old, rusted – nothing the Cefiras had used for decades. Atop the tower was crowned some mangled tree, stout and dead. But hung from it was a beehive, as bone grey as the parched wood. Yumipon could hardly redirect his eyes, despite his terror.



Let the emptiness be your guide,

The light does not forsake you.

Grow your wings and rise,

Rise above the clouds of darkness.



“For I have seen,
The ruins of a grand temple,
hidden now amongst groping vines;
Under a canopy thick with green.

“Further North, a basin rests,
With a beast at its heart.
Through the mist, I caught its scream,
As its three spider limbs scrabble in the dark.

“If only I was done, for Mt. Bonochi tires,
Facing an army of clouds, and relentless rain…”
And the story went on; but little did the listeners know,
The temple remained unseen, and the beast in the mist unslain.

Telling the story

Closing this book before it begins would be a tragedy, so we keep re- reading
our lines, repeating what we know is right.
When I’ve fallen close to the ground you keep me floating. How long ‘til you
give in? My heart can’t emerge from below
the ground if you don’t fight for new soil.
Mud dries, pages loosen.
This story starts with you and me.