Lost in the Mannaseh Swamp

By: Kestyn Posted on: October 27, 2011

It was a dark, starless night. What little light there was came from the crescent moon which hung low in the sky, wreathed in gossamer-like strings of cloud. The usually fast-flowing Pachacacha moved sluggishly here, its dark waters making nary a sound as they rolled laboriously downstream.

Bruich the merchant nervously watched the gunwhales of his barge with slitted eyes. The tip of the Rajamala's tail flicked back and forth behind him like an agitated serpent as he gripped the tiller tightly. Whas it but his imagination, or were the sides of the boat lower in the water than they had been when he left his village in the Savannah? He hoped the barge had not sprung a leak; if it got damp, his cargo of fine garments would be all but ruined. Still, there was little he could do about that for now. He'd have to get as far as Jaru before he could make any repairs. At least the water was calm here, where the river passed through the Mannaseh swamp.

As the barge wallowed further downriver, the air grew damper and closer. The cloying moisture penetrated even Bruich's thick cloak, and he shivered. Fog banks rolled in low across the river, and although the moon was no longer visible in the sky, an eerie blue glow seemed to emanate from the fog itself. Bruich's grip slackened and he slouched at the tiller; in spite of the cold a great weariness had come suddenly upon him. Half-seen shapes and lights darted before his drooping eylids, entrancing him.

A sudden vibration through the barge jerked him abruptly back to attention. Bruich's first distracted thoughts as he regained his senses were that an earthquake had struck, but then he remembered he was on his barge; it must have run aground. Jumping to his feet, he picked up the heavy bargepole and plunged it into the water beside the boat with a practised sweep. He strained against the pole, grunting and sweating with the effort.
"Go on girl," he muttered under his breath. "Don't leave us stuck here in this godsforsaken marshland". But it was all to no avail. The barge budged not an inch.

Straightening stiffly from his exertions, Bruich peered out into the fog. His heart sank as he realised what must have happened. In his daydreaming he had allowed his barge to drift off the river and deeper into the swamp. No wonder it had run aground! He sighed helplessly. His provisions were limited and travellers seldom passed even along this stretch of river, let alone into the swamp. He would have to leave the barge. Glancing about him, he noticed that the faintly glowing fog appeared brighter in one direction. That must be where the moon is, he reasoned. And earlier in the night the moon had been downriver. So all he needed to do was follow the brighter glow, and he would eventually arrive in Jaru.

Bruich's ears snapped back flat against his neck as he lowered himself into the fetid, brackish swamp mud. As he slid into the swamp, bubbles of rotten-smelling gas escaped from the quagmire with a gurgling noise. The mud only came up to Burich's knees, but when he tried to wade through it, it grasped and snatched at his fur, conspiring with the reeds growing through it restrain him. Supressing a growl, Burich hunched his shoulders forward and began his treck into the fog, towards the faint source of light.

Bruich did not know how much time had passed. It seemed to him like an age; that he had never known anything but this slow trudge through the languid, stinking waters, every muscle aching as he gazed expectantly into the impenetrable fog, every moment expecting it to clear. But nothing changed. For all he knew he could be wondering in circles, were it not for the light that guided him. Until a dark figure emerged through the fog.

Releif swept through Bruich as he quickened his pace. It was the best of fortunes that would bring another traveller to him here. He offered his thanks to Kastalia that his ordeal would soon be over. But as he neared the figure his hopes left him, to be replaced by feelings of dread. Silhouetted before the strange blue glow was not a traveller, but an eerie statue of a troll. Its left arm missing, the statue seemed to be made from some sort of crystal, though most of its original surface was now obscured by moss. As Bruich approached it, he saw that its right arm pointed downwards, a tarnished old trumpet clutched in the hand. He shivered as an unwelcome thought settled in his mind; the statue was so finely carved it appeared almost lifelike. Yet how could the brass trumpet have been placed in the carved fist of the statue, with its unyielding fingers?

Beyond the statue, Bruich could now see a ruined pair of gates silhouetted against the fog. Marsh slime hung raggedly from their iron joists, and a plug of it dropped into the swamp as he approached. Though his heart pounded in his chest, the obstinate merchant in him refused to turn back. He was not sure he could face the journey back through the swamp, after what it had cost him to get this far. His spirits lifted slightly as he realised there seemed to be a path heading through the gates; the mud was now only a thin layer over firmer ground. Perhaps he could make some real progress now after all.

Bruich's stomach gave a jolt as he recognised a humanoid shape flickering through the fog. He hastened towards it, but when he reached the point where he had seen it there was no sign of anyone. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. Only now did he notice that the light, already muted by the marsh fog, was beginning to wane into dusk. Perhaps there were more ruins nearby he could find shelter in. Bruich continued along the path, forcing his tired eyes to search for any sign of a building. Often now he saw more figures in the fog, but always they were gone when by the time he reached them. Eventually, a domed marble edifice emerged through the haze. Bruich hurried up to it, ducking through a fallen pillar into what might once have been a lavish reception room. The roof was all but collapsed, but islands of cobbled floor rose above the slime of the marsh in places. Bruich took a final look round him before settling down on one, but all thoughts of sleep were instantly banished from his mind as he froze in terror.

All around him, where moments before the hall had been empty, dozens of apparitions moved with a shambling gait through the miasma. Bruich strove to suppress the panic rising in him as he saw that many of the figures were entirely transparent. A moaning echoed out behind him and he spun round to be confronted with the grotesquely contorted features of some kind of mummified troll. Putrid bandages were peeling from around its face to reveal green, suppurative flesh that writhed with maggots. Yellowed tusks protuded from its upper lip and as it leered towards Bruich the stench of it was so vile that he doubled over retching in spite of his horror.

As soon has he had overcome his revulsion, Bruich straightened, but still stood rooted to the spot. He feared to move lest he inadvertantly backed into another of the creatures. While he hesitated, the troll took a step back and brought his hands sharply together. As he did so, he blew into his hands, and a cloud of white dust billowed forth into Bruich's face. In his shock, he could not help but inhale some of it, and as he did so he felt his muscles stiffening spasmodically. Hurriedly, he groped blindly in his rift for the herb that could save him. Though he was impervious to all but this vital task, his frenzied mind was just aware enough to hear a shrill cry that pierced the air;
"Dispair all ye who stay in this doomed city! Flee at once, if you value your lives or your sanity!" The shout subsided into a maniacal cackle which echoed throughout the ruins.

Even as he continued to search, Bruich knew that his rift was empty of bloodroot. He remembered using his last root whilst hunting scorpions in the Mhojave Desert. He only wished now that he'd remembered to restock his herbs too. But his mind was too diverted for these wry reflections now. Below his feet the cobbles rumbled, and his eyes writhed in their sockets as he struggled to look behind him as a rock came crashing down. Powerless to move, waves of consuming terror washed over him as the ground beneath him gave way at last, the mud off the swamp reclaiming what it had so grudgingly acceded. It did not take long before Bruich and the trolls were invisible beneath the mire, and a stillness came over the swamp as only the peaks of the buildings remained. As the last spire sank below the surface, a single bubble rose to the surface and burst in the now flat, featureless swampland.