Fortune & Folly

[DISCOLIQUID 2701]

 

 

The journey could not have been easy. Trekking through rubbery jungles more home to spiders than men, half sinking into mud-drowned roads that claimed their shoes as prizes. Reeds so high and dense they must be cut through, all in the blinding heat of a sinking sun. They trust their skiff into the inky waterways that carve through wetlands, navigating to the south banks of the Holy River Rudr in cool dusk’s dim – the lights of the stars above, the coin-eyed glint of crocodiles below. 

 

Where water must be crossed, a price is always paid. Gold changes hands in the dark and it buys passage for two. A mother and her child, stowed below the main deck, company to rugs, ropes, and runaways in the furtive quiet of a creaking ship. When little Ro flicked her sparklight, it cast shadows & light alike along the murky faces of those smuggled few who were travelling to distant hopes. Mahin set an extinguishing hand over the flame, plunging them back into clandestine anonymity. Only the Holy River spoke, gossiping of better fortune in lands to come as it lapped their unsturdy vessel. 

 

“Mera,” it whispers. “Mera.” Good Fortune. “Mera.” Dawn.

 

Crisp gold sunlight stained bleach-white clouds like yellow gulal on starched linens. The choppy water of Rudr’s estuary broke into the rich ports of the Akritian sea. An inspection of their vessel dragged on into the mid-day, wearing at the stowaways' patience. This week of travel, this dark & confined space, the unknown fates before them – all of these broke Ro’s calm. Hands knotted into hair, teeth clenched, and muttered prayers only exacerbated bilious sea-sickness. The child had never known the rough tilt of the cold, unforgiving sea.

 

It was a miracle that Ro had only puked twice. By the time they set upon the open waters of Eos, bruise purple blotches & skewers of twilight in the sky heralded misery upon the open seas. Ro, afforded the time to breathe upon the top deck of their woefully small cargo-ship, spent the last easy night stargazing with their mother, Mahin. The two laughed, and commiserated, and counted a handful of gold that would assure a steady life in the land to come. Mahin’s hands pointed up to clear-sky constellations, catching Ro’s innocent gaze. 

 

“Mahara,” Mahin traces the shape of merfolk in stars. “The siren. Ill omens, little Ro.”

 

The journey could not have been easy. Over dusty roads and marshes replete with snakes or worse, cramped into dilapidated smuggler's ships, all the way from the Isle of Rhen - up the Holy River, past the Akritian Sea, and through Eos’ accursed waves - to seek reward in Aevos. They clung to their small packs, to their handfuls of gold, to each other. They clung as the Siren’s storm broke their boat, swallowed their crew, and spat them up without mercy. Little Ro and their mother, Mahin, salt-soaked and bruised, awoke at daybreak to find their journey left them with nothing but their clothes, their lives, and a single golden coin. 

 

“Mera,” they pray. “Mera.” Mercy, please. “Mera.” Dawn.

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

The Arcane Zodiac

 

Rhenyari Culture