From Ashtan to Shallam - A Journey of Stars

By: Duunrah Posted on: August 19, 2004

From Ashtan to Shallam A Journey of Stars

Not so much a serpent, the Prelatorian,
nor that of a river, really—
more a constellation lying in the rustling green,
points of fire anchored by the vast in-between.

I leave the city, the rain like a cage of water.
Iron spires converge above, pointing to the dark clouds
in indication; brief lighting frees the armored bird of Ashtan,
his shackles breaking, endlessly.

Miles further, I walk on dust far older than I; the weight of time beneath me—
the way maintained for the Gods by the interminable selfless,
my mortal shell perhaps more grateful than they.
The Sangre Plains a golden companion, bobs far off in the pulsing air.
How many eyes has it dazzled before?
How many countless visions of greatness has been heaped on those
gleaming shoulders? I add my own to the heap and move on.

And then, not far off, rising and proud,
the Shunai—how the sun must have weighed on the
broad backs of the dwarves that built her. I glance at the
frothing mouth of the Urubamba below and ponder the many
she must have swallowed like ants when they fought to span her
with their alien architecture, the white skulls of forgotten heroes
coughed out far, far down stream in the quiet hours.

Off of my right shoulder, the weight of the Aureliana
draws my gaze; a dust of life fans above it, the winged creatures
moving as a cloud, fleeing, feeding, mating—
not unlike our own slow plodding through the muds of Sapience.
Some red leaves snap against my boots and I am reminded
that the journey ahead is long, and the road is impatient.

To the south another star links the moments, a sapphire of waves—
Lake Vundamere. Small veins cut through the grass to the azure heart,
it provides the traveller the bare necessities—water and rest pumped
endlessly to those that wish it.
Some fishermen stand on the shore reeling in sunlight
with their taught lines.

I leave them to their fortune and come across
the ivy covered archway which provides a
vast mystery of time.
Adventurers, like the golden spray of countless butterflies,
Emerge from Minia eager to travel the spine of the great constellation,
eager, as am I, for the stars of Achaea to light their way.

Further along the weighted lines of the in-between
the Great Ithmian, lends its particular light.
The honeycombed shadows shift in the breeze,
an unconscious language of mystery.
Deep in the air I feel the hypnotic gravity of its
ancient secrets, but forcibly bend to the path ahead;
perhaps another time dear forest,
perhaps during the sweet summer months
when your bounty is rich and full,
perhaps then I will introduce myself.

Night stalks in, bringing with her a cloud of perfumes
on her velvet dress.
Her gems sparkle in the dark, distant reminders
of the jewels of Sapience.
Maybe the invisible lines of the in-between are
indeed lit after all, by the countless souls that traverse them;
perhaps only the lofty vantages of the Gods allow for such perspective—
the intricacies of Achaea a reflection from above.
Or, maybe they are the countless travelers and we the Gods—no matter.

I move onward with the rising sun,
through the churning grasses,
the Prelatorian dry and rough and winding.
The stalks part in the distance, briefly,
and then return to swaying with the whole
to an invisible and sluggish tune.

My travels bring me to a milky green star,
an emerald in the rich firmament—the Green Lake,
flashing dully in the sun.
Algae, deep, coarse, covers the Lake's surface
like a royal cloak of jade. As I walk, her highness
fades into the distance followed by an entourage
of birds and insects tending to her whims.

Heavy, thick, the Bridge of Delos
marches up and greets me with deep voices
of wood and stone.
Marble columns rise on either side, golden eyes
carved into their faces;
what those eyes must have seen;
what feeble changes of man they must have witnessed
in their ancient tenure.
Below the ancient Zaphar winds along, a weird
in complacent servitude to the surrounding lands.

Then, a changing of the guard:
The Prelatorian for the Raphaelan—
a great linkage in the constellation of the continent.
Not unlike the Prelatorian, this guard is sure and strong,
a testament to his duty to the Gods.
He becomes a silent traveling companion, sure and protective, ushering
the thousands safely home or abroad.
I bend to the ground and touch the dust in silent gratitude.

For the first time I feel the cool breath of the Siroccians on my fur.
Squatting giants, surveying the pitifully swift desires of man
as countless pass their gaze.
Unmoving, ancient secrets they guard, as massive
and impenetrable as their stone skin.
I make a note to pay a visit to these Titans
and learn what I can from their subtle rumblings.

I march off following the wind—
after a time I find myself grinning at the Pash Valley.
Here the Putoran hills, persistent, give way to other notable stars—
off in the distance the twinkling of the Gem of Gems,
Star of Stars, the Grand City of Shallam, Jewel of the East, is set
into the growing land beyond.
My pace quickens, my feet eager to touch the magnificent
city of the east.

Finally I feel the marbled walls,
mere facets of the sparkling city,
and walk through the bright golden gates.
I note the unmoving swan carved into the stone,
and mirrored in the gates themselves—
forever a gentle greeting to the delights of the land.

I find a remote corner against the stone and sit,
pulling my legs into the cool shade.
I look at the noble djinn guards, forever vigilant,
guarding the treasures that lie within, treasures that soon I
will savor for myself.
The great Golden Dome calls in the distance,
a bright humming to the eye as the sun
runs her hands over the smooth surface.

I smile to myself and take a long drink
from my waterskin, washing the road from
my throat; the water moves the grit,
but the moments, so woven into the constellation,
cannot be so easily dislodged.
I close my eyes happy to be at roads end,
and happy for the return journey,
when the time comes.