We break through the trees all at once, and I gasp.
As Merc’s horse throws its front hooves into a stop, and even Lavante shies back, I can’t take my eyes off the vista that unfolds below.
We’re on the lip of a steep slope that drops down to the ancient ruins of a city made of marble. Set within a crumbled wall of the creamy stone, there are the bare bones of columned temples and buildings, and statuary set on plinthsthat are missing pieces, and obelisks that are laying on the ground, not standing upright in the air. The layout of streets is set at right angles, and everything appears oriented around a tremendous center statue of some kind of goddess. It seems a miracle she’s still vertical on her massive base, as there’s debris everywhere, blocking off whole sections of the—
Abruptly, the aches and pains that have been plaguing me since I fell off Lavante coalesce in between my temples.
“There’s no way around so we must go down there,” Merc says.
I force my tired eyes to focus again. On the far side of the metropolis, there’s another rise, just like the one we’re on the precipice of, but a fog—or maybe it’s low-lying clouds—prevents me from seeing what might be on it.
At least the view to the east is clear, and it takes my breath away—
“Fates,” I breathe. “I’ve never… seen the ocean before.”
It’s the most beautiful thing I ever have set my eyes upon. The vastness, the slight arc where the water meets the sky, the tremendous waves that crest and fall against the shore—so big they’re obvious even from this distance. I can imagine the sun rising, pink and peach rays stretching out overhead and coloring the blue-green expanse with flashes of precious gems.
As I trace back to the ancient city’s grand, decayed entry, my eyes scan a vast plain of vegetation. It’s not hard to envision grazing fields and herding pastures linking the ocean to its walls, and I can almost hear the chatter, the music, the lives being lived in what once was surely a peaceable kingdom.
“We don’t have much light left,” Merc remarks.
He’s right. The jagged peaks of the western mountains are already cutting off the sunshine, and as I measure the claw-like shadows that are thrown across the ruins, I feel like I’m witnessing a death that transpired long, long ago.
“What happened here,” I murmur. “And I suppose it’s been forgotten, cut off by the Crystal Gate and the mountains—”
“We have to keep moving.”
We urge the horses into a zigzag descent that is steep enough to require them to engage their hindquarters and for us to lean far back in the saddle, but not so angled that footing is lost. Though Merc is on the lookout all around, I’m consumed by the metropolis.
And my headache continues to worsen, until my heart starts to skip from the pain.
To distract myself, I focus on the ground—and that’s when I see the footprints. In and among the low ground cover, pressed into the earth, there are lines of markings too numerous to count. That they are like no animal foot I’ve ever seen is no surprise. I haven’t recognized any part of anything in the landscape for a good while now.
“Keep sharp,” Merc says, as if he’s noticed the same thing.
Though we’re still a distance off, trails in and out of the ruins become obvious, the snaky paths through the collapsed marble border trod by many, many crossings, with dirt tracked in. I try to see where whoever or whatever go after they leave the confines of the ancient remains. There’s no way of telling. And inside the abandoned city? I can see no one and nothing moving along any of the lanes or the toppled architecture, some of which seem to be draped in some kind of white cloth.
I’m not reassured in the slightest by anything I’m seeing.
I do start to notice the inscriptions, however. The stone pillars and columns are etched with pictures as well as writing in a form that’s unfamiliar to me. The images are beautiful, even from a distance, and if I squint, I can make out—
“Are you okay, then?” Merc asks.
I come to attention. “I’m sorry? I mean, yes, of course.”
“Thought I heard you groan. Like you were in pain.”
“It’s been a long day.”
As my temples thump, I tell myself it’s because I haven’t eaten enough, and maybe because when I fell off Lavante, I hit my head.
But that’s not it. And I don’t think I want to know what it is.
I feel surrounded by things I can’t explain about myself, and the further into this trip I go, the more that is revealed.
As we approach the bottom of the slope, we cross into the shadows cast by the mountain spires. They’re extending so much farther than they did when we were at the top of the descent, and with the prevailing wind coming off the ocean, the cold goes quickly through my clothes. Tucking into my saddlebags, I retrieve the red felt skirt.
Turns out it can double quite handily as a cape.
