Voyage
"We are not going in circles, are we?" Asks the passenger with whom Kian shares the compartment. The youth has clearly never boarded a cloudship before, his worry has been palpable since the take off and only gotten worse after the attendant informed them that they had to change their course greatly due to some dangerous disturbance over the seas. In truth Kian himself has only traveled by air a handful of times, and he has never had to travel this far, for this long. But his discomfort is nothing compared to that of his companion. The attendant reassures them both, trying to conceal annoyance. "This is Ch'angagriel, the Bakshevan wasteland," he explains, as if to very slow children, "it's just that large."
"Do we have to cross the whole desert?" The youngster demands, "What sort of storm does not quiet down for so long, or stretches this far?"
The attendant presses his lips in a thin line, "The word is that foul magic is involved. We may have to fly all the way to the port Altaban before we turn back", he says irritably. It's obvious the man is not any happier for the course of events than the passengers. Small wonder. Not only is it an obstacle that delays them and causes discomfort, but the magical nature of the threat they are trying to escape through the wasteland is an insult to injury.
Kian knows the story of this place, most people do. The fall of the mighty Empire of Baksheva, a disaster of such magnitude, that its waves reached across the ocean all the way to his home. He moves to the small window to get a look at the barren landscape. Dry riverbeds run like long dead serpents below their vessel, the earth is dark and empty, devoid of any signs of life currently present. There are structures sprinkled around which might have been great castles and temples once, not much remains of them other than foundations and fallen walls protruding from earth and dust. It's all ruins and lifeless land. Only far ahead he can see a small patch of green, oases, a reminder of what once was. He ponders at it, having nothing else to do as their cloudship creaks forward. Bakshevan Empire was at the height of its power in its last years. After several successful conquests, plunders, gaining dominion over trade routes, reforms… it unexpectedly collapsed. Their enemies had a pleasant surprise, for certain. But nobody could tell what had caused the disaster. Some said it was a mere drought. The most popular tale in the Azadi Empire was that the Parech had become so impudent, he'd gone to the central temple of the Goddess in Gorimon and asked, no, demanded of her to give him a bride, a bride born in her likeness, so no woman could ever rival her and no man could ever boast a wife so perfect. The Goddess had then spoken to the emperor through the mouth of a girl that served in the temple and warned him he was crossing the line, that it was not a mortal's place to reach for the sun. The emperor was enraged and threatened to put the temple, as well as all the other temples of the Goddess to waste if he did not get his wish. The mouth of the Goddess answered that the flame he was trying to grab in his foolishness would burn him. Fuming, the emperor grabbed a spear from one of his soldiers and threw it at the serving girl, shattering her chest and striking her dead in an instant. He stalked out and ordered the temple leveled to the ground. His men were fearful of the wrath of the Goddess, but in their weakness they were more fearful of their savage emperor, so they did as told. The building was brought down and those who served there died within. But as soon as the last wall was toppled over, the earth shook and the might of the Goddess was unleashed on them. Rain started. Such rain that no one had seen before. It burned whatever it touched, trees and grass were on fire, the men and beast alike screamed in agony as their skin was covered in boils and burns. They tried to take shelters in stone buildings, but the rain grew into a storm. Black clouds stretched across the sky, covering all of Bakshevan lands, blinding flashes of lightning pierced every roof, every wall behind which the heathens tried to hide. For three days it lasted. After that the storm clouds scattered, rain stopped and the sun illuminated a very different picture. The empire lay in waste, all people dead, not even carrion birds would come from the lands abroad to feast upon their flesh. Time and elements took care of the passed, and this lifeless desert stretched for many miles ahead of him.
He does not know how much truth there is in this story. It's not considered canonical by the priestesses. Mostly because there was no proof that the people in this land ever served the Goddess - a fact rarely mentioned by those who tell it. And privately, Kian finds it hard to believe that the Goddess would allow the innocents of this empire to pay the price for their Parech's wrongdoings. And Master Garmon has professed to knowing a few very different versions of the story, one of them filled with heretic beliefs of the Northern savages. He's silent and thoughtful as he looks over the wasteland. A glint on the ground catches his eye. It's too far below to be discerned properly, but it seems to be a dome of some kind, whatever it covers is long collapsed, or buried under sands. He can't help but wonder as they pass over it, his eyes involuntarily lingering, if this could be the remains of that temple.
It takes tediously long for them to finally turn, readjusting the course. Still longer before he sees the end of the wasteland and the start of the sea, and yet another lifetime to cross the sky over islands small and large and for the city of Marcuria to appear at the distant horizon. The whole time they distance themselves from the South, nearing the Northlands, the temperature drops. Not too far from the port city he finally realizes that the chill outside must be stronger than any he's experienced in his life. The window glass is slowly being covered with what can only be frost. He watches in awe how the patterns appear at the edges and the raindrops the cloudship rushes past are no raindrops anymore. They slam on the glass and leave no wet trace as water is bound to. He's seeing snow for the first time. It's the most peculiar thing he has ever seen. As he pulls warmer clothes on he cannot help but feel that entering the Northern winter is akin to stepping into a different world.