Prologue: Eden Chapter One
She appeared from seemingly nowhere, her eyes watery from the dust, arms swinging over the edges of Sanctuary. To her left and below a wide canyon reached for miles. Stretched out between canyon walls, rusty pipes were deeply embedded, to help the transport of water and hold the earth apart. Never ending darkness enveloped the eye as the light became thin towards the bottom of the great fissure. Little sunlight touched the river below but beautiful blue lights were lit instead by marketplaces and mines.
The great divide of Sanctuary, Verda’s home.
Beams of steel barred the sky above her, breaking the light in a soft dust that fell, becoming little streaks of playful fuzz that found their way around the structures and people. The dirt road fluctuated in size, covered with dry green shrubbery, people and livestock. Terraces built into the wall and richly colored door frames covered the wall to her right, the small tents of vendors scattered in between. Bright colored patterns covered the tents, richly enhanced by the bright red apples, sensatiating the eye.
Verda knocked on a door in the passing, hitting her hand against each door frame. Above, a symbol was painted in the traditional Horn language, the symbol of each of the professions, Blacksmith, Miner, Soldier and Order; Blacksmiths proudly painted a purple flame, Miners industriously(and somewhat ironically) painted a yellow coin, Soldiers, a mighty green sword and Order, judiciously decorated with a red scroll.
Further down, the roads became wider, soon becoming a masquerade of cultural worship sites, bar keepers, marketplaces and alchemists.
A serpent with the head of a mammal came soaring past her, waving its leathery wings through the dust cloud, as it now led the way. His blue scales called to one another as lovers do in sorrow and broken hearts and became deafening as he passed.
“Woow, so fast!” Verda exclaimed through one of her missing front teeth.
In such a big metropolis, their laughter disappeared and dampened with the hum of the city streets, it got lost between squabbles, haggles and coin purses rattling.
Stepping over a cart filled with berries, her foot crushed the top fruit spilling white cream, their pink and purple skin turning blue. The sweet smell clung to the sheen on the outer layer and now to Verda’s boots. Her feet left the wood beneath and before long she was flying through the air, arms embracing the world and light as a feather. The little musa had his tongue out, leathery wings catching sunlight before making a dive toward the ground, his cheeks filled to the brim with stolen fresh fruit, saliva running down his chin.
His little paws took the lead as he took a sharp turn down a different, smaller road, his body slithering along after.
The atmosphere was richly enhanced by tailoring shops that brought steam up from pipes to soak and dye the clothes, carpets and tunics. Tempist decided to take advantage of this gift of an upward current, he caught the nearby steam cloud and up he went. Rising high above the tents, houses and people, for a moment in absolute bliss. Hearing Verda whistling to him, he swooped back down again to where she now was, barely touching ground before he got caught in a stream of warm water. His paws were the last of his body to fly, getting dragged along behind him, and the jet of water. Verda went to a complete standstill, hands to her cheeks, eyes wide in complete terror.
It did not take long however until she saw the movement of his little paws and ran to where he now was, lying in a bucket, soaking wet, red paint covering his face.
A scream escaped the tent behind him, causing panic in the youths who froze in the direction of the tailor’s tent opening. The workshop stood skew against the back of the canyon walls, overrun in some areas with dry plants and shrubbery. Tattered and stitched together by all manner of different materials, and from within the owner came running, Something heavy in hand. Olive coloured skin and fair hair decorated her face accompanied by a scowl. A large pair of hoop earrings peeked out from underneath a red bandana and graying hair. Head twirled in beautiful cloth, she approached in heavy steps with a piece of the loom machine in hand. Clinging to the piece of metal, shaking fiercely, her hands and attire full of paint and chiseled by years of hard work.
“Get out’o here you little beadle..!″ trembling in rage, she released rivers of spit with every booming word she uttered.
Verda grabbed Tempist’s leg, hastily scurried down the thinning road, dodging obstacles and pedestrians in their path. Tempist shook the paint from his face and shortly found his way to her shoulder. A narrow escape made, rocks falling at her heels. The old Horani woman scowled in their direction. Her hands were still gripping the metal rod in one hand while holding a wet piece of cloth in the other, splattered in red paint. She walked defeated back to her stitched together tent, threw it onto a pile of dirty cloth, kicked a nearby straw basket and went back to work, head shaking, mumbling in frustration.
Tempist clung onto her hair now, entangled and nestled himself inside for safety, his little heart beating against Verda’s neck. Turning down from the road she came, happily strolling along the ever thinning path she did not even seem to take notice that the road had turned into rocky steps, nor the silence that now loomed over them.
Verda took him from her dark hair and looked at him at arm’s length, little pink paws dangling at his side, “You’re going to get me in trouble!”
His beady eyes peered at her in confusion in complete dismissal of her fears.
She felt the tickling of his paws and burst out laughing hysterically, doubled over and shrieked.
A quick cold wind stopped her laugh and dulled their spirits severely. The stench of oil and rust filled the air, the vegetation now filled the canyon before them, along with a small forested area of Gigantic Cone Bards, a thick cone shaped plant painted in desaturated green, and filled with sour water. The saplings closest to Verda, started out small and as they joined the forested area they became enormous, towering higher than buildings and thicker than mountains.
Here and there tall flowers rose and merged with hanging vines of big variegated leaves.
Both Verda and Tempist frowned in confusion as they realized the last bit of sun had disappeared, pupils dilated and finally adjusted to this new darkness. At midday, there was sun in almost all areas of Sanctuary. Her steps became shaky due to the slippery moss now covering the canyon floor, home to all manner of insects, climbing over big leaves and thick roots that climbed over rocks, and teared through the ground. There was another smell, one that Verda faintly inhaled, but recognized instantly.
Verda stood staring at the forest ahead, dead silent, aware that her father had forbidden her playing at this depth of the canyon, she took another step, then started toiling with her hair. She rubbed Tempists head and took one more deep breath to recuperate her bravery.
They were now far below the levels that most people operated on, these parts were walked only by trouble makers, miners and politicians, these three often coincided.
Verda’s father, Garvon Aurora is or has been at some point, an esteemed diplomat, Business owner and fine dresser who was rarely around to spend these afternoons with Verda, he had become a very busy man after Verda’s mother ascended. During her Ascension ceremony, rain had started to pour down. Verda still carried the memory quite vividly, her fathers big hand on one shoulder and her uncle’s on the other. This rain storm had caused one of the biggest floods of the decade, death, decay and other terrible sensations, but it was a smell, that smell, the smell of wet dirt that Verda never forgot, the smell of her mother’s only memory.
She found herself thinking of her mother quite often even as she aged, even though she could no longer really remember her face. In this smell, she carried her last memories of her mothers forgotten smile.
Verda walked up the road and stopped at the darkest part of the forest, her heart was now war drums in her ears, playing its aerie rhythm faster than a bird’s wings. Her head, turning, dizzy with tension, her hands clasping at her stomach as she peered in, past the edges of the forest and further than she had ever explored.
