Hello. It has been nearly a half year since I last published anything, but life had taken a hold of... my life? If you could say that.
A new job, associated complications, timing issues, and the ever dreadful writers block that has plagued my poetry since.
However, that is not to say that I have not been creating. I just haven't been able to finish certain poems - a few of which I've started, including the long overdue final canto to my "Throne of the forest" piece.
I have in that time, taken up drawing as an art form, and been posting what I've made on to my socials, and shared with others online. Its, quite frankly, unmissable.
I have also been writing, and that is what I would like to share with you now. But first, a small introduction.
In my book, there exist a faction, called the Ristvig (Of the storytellers) - created by a figure called Saru. In his old age, he had two great fears: First that his time was drawing to a close, and secondly, that the stories he collected, the sights he had seen, and the events he experienced over the centuries would be lost to the ages, or worse, manipulated by retellings. To help with this, he formed the clan of the storytellers and history keepers - the Ristvig.
So he set out, one last time, knowing that his end was near,
breathing magic into the stones he stepped on, the caves he rested in, and into
the stars that looked down on him from the heavens.
When he had last finished his journey, he, surrounded by the
first clan of the Ristvig, bade his farewell to his original people, and walked
hand in hand with the Death-bonded, to Stade Del (the city of lights).
These places would glow under the starlight on the eve of his passing, for all to see without restriction. They showed his memories, his thoughts, and his writings - sharing the histories of these places without reserve. Be these stories bloody, and without mercy, or the greatest of triumphs, and filled with hope, they would all be visible, and incapable of change, or destruction.
But what is the role of the Ristvig? Along with the physical preservations, called "Saru's Will", the people also formed a verbal history in their stories - that which would be passed down through the clan over the years, preserved over the ages by being verbatim recreations of the original stories and histories.
So that comes to our story today: "The Tower of Hal".
"The Tower of Hal?" Enquired Nova. "How does that tale go?"
Aeon cleared his throat and began. "In the deserts of the north, beyond the great underground cities of Ut and Thar, there is a single outpost made of stone. It stood tall, tall enough that you could stand on the surface of the lands above the cities of Thar, the northernmost city of Lytherine, and see it in the mirage above the sands. A thin line, that seemed to phase in and out of reality as the air around it burned and danced.
"Explorers would venture far, but the tower was always too far away. No matter how early you started your journey at the shores of the great sand-sea, you would never reach it before spending a whole day and night travelling. The tower itself was made of plain stone and remained unadorned and unremarkable. No sigils adorned the walls, and the walls inside were bare. Each layer, or floor, of the tower had simple ledges going around it on the outside, made of a yellow stone, unlike the red stones in the walls of the tower.
"But these were never the reason why many people visited this site, so far out of the way, and deep within the sand-sea of the north.
"Nowhere else in the sand-sea grew any vegetation, but the ground around the tower was always lush. The land would be wet, the trees tall and evergreen, and the wildlife very protective. Even the first explorers saw the great baboons who would scream their welcomes from the tree tops. They never once harmed the visitors, but they would never let you out of their sight. When we," he stopped himself. The way the Ristvig spoke their narrations were verbatim recounts, though allowing for small changes, such as pronouns, in the retellings. "When Saru was there first," he corrected himself, "He stayed there for six full days. He brought with him water, food, books and writing implements. The baboons were excited to see the pack animals, and the group he brought with him was no small size either."
He resumed, "The floor of the towers, like the walls, were bare, but that was never a problem for the travellers, who were prepared for anything. Almost everything, it should be said. The water and food would run shorter because of the heat, and because kindness allowed them to give some shares of their rations to the baboons around them. The baboons would peek in through the windows, looking at the companions, chattering among themselves. At sundown, they would all collectively go to the roof of the tower and look north, sitting there till the sun fully vanished. Saru would stand with them after the third day, once he noticed where they would disappear to.
The kindness of his and his companions bore its own fruit. Once the food had started to dwindle, the baboons would bring in vast horde of fruit for the travellers, and come nightfall, past the third hour of the moon, would habitually steal their water skins to go refil them. No one could find where these gifts came from, however hard they searched, or how high they climbed. The water would always be pure and clean, and the fruits fresh and perfectly ripe." he concluded.
"So where does the name of the tower come from? Did Saru and his companions name it?" enquired Nova.
"When the explorers all reached the seventh and final floor of the tower, they came across an inscription, etched with magic. It would always read in the person's most preferred language, and it was legible and visible in even the darkest night. 'Here was the last place of rest for Hal, who travelled further north. Though we may be lost in this sea, this sanctuary shall provide for those who need it, and only those in need. May neither time, nor sands swallow my pride, or harm those who make it their home.'
"People speculated that this mysterious Hal wandered North, filled with great determination and with great strength, but never returned, which is why the baboons still watch on the rooftops, facing the north, waiting for him."
"Is that what you believe?"
"Generations of baboons all holding out hope to see a single person return from the north? I don't know. Then again, do we know how communities of animals maintain their own histories? I believe that it could have been true initially.
"What I find most interesting is the way the magic interprets the message in its translation. It could have been Hal, or Hala. Hal meaning 'leader' or 'One who escapes a brutal fate', while Hala would mean 'Halo around the moon', or 'One who sees through the night'. For the creator of this tower, all names and titles would be fitting." Aeon thus ended his tale.
Please let me know what you think.
I will be posting more of the stories of the Ristvig, as I write them.
I shall also be returning to poetry when I can, and I am posting my drawing on my socials as when I complete them. :)
Take care.
Have a great week.
