Hi! This is a follow up to this other thing I wrote: https://devernaut.medium.com/silver-a53590cf6307
This one can stand on its own, but it’ll make more sense if you read that first!
Roger’s consciousness bubbled to the surface as his body reformed, buoyed by too many memories from too many lives. He sailed through each of them, grasping for them, reexperiencing them in slices, but never enough to satisfy his nostalgia. Right up to the very end.
A short time of peace. Solitude; finally, something approaching contentment.
A flash of violence.
And a long, long time in the deep dark.
In the bright morning light, Maresh was calmer than it had been in decades. There was none of the bustle that had come to characterize the great city: the soldiers running drills in the practice fields to the east, the constant stream of ships arriving and departing in the harbour to the west, the engineers moving about the wall, strengthening it where they could and offering prayers where they couldn’t. All had ceased. Today was a day of celebration, but it was also one of reflection; what was Maresh to be in peacetime?
Ser Alain pressed his weight into the…
“That’s fuckin’ water, mate.” Jack downed the last of his canteen, refilled it, drained it again, and swiped his arm across his mouth, throwing shimmering droplets into the air. “Ahhh. Damn good water, clean and clear as hell, but still just water.”
Liam leaned against the cliff wall, face in hands. “It can’t just be water.”
“Yeah, but it is though.”
“We need to take a sample back to camp.”
“It’s water, buddy. We’ve got gallons of it back at camp.”
“Well, we can’t go back empty-handed.”
“If you think bringing water back is better than coming back empty-handed, then…
Roger, enjoying his morning tea, watched as one of the women from the village across the valley picked her way up to his cabin. He had a hard time recognizing her until she crested the hill, not fifty feet from the comfort of his chair; he wanted to blame that on too much time away from the village, but he had a nagging sense that his eyes were just getting that bad.
He maintained his silence, staring past her into the mountains looming in the distance, turning purple at the sun’s first touches. Breathing heavy, she trudged over to his…
The knock at the door turned Maya’s arm to stone.
She drew it to her side. The squeal of the marker bounced off the wall behind her, amplifying into a blaring alarm, piercing her ears. She stared at the last name she had written, the final letter smudged. Breath held, she tried to wipe it away with her handkerchief, but only made it worse. For several seconds, there was silence. She convinced herself that the knock had been her imagination, her paranoia eating at the edges of her nerves.
The second, more insistent knock helped her find her voice. …