The Well of Mimir

Today, I came back to myself after two weeks. I don’t know where I was or what I was doing, only realized the vague disquiet that had been whispering its existence into my ear had been truth all along — I had been going through the motions for two weeks.

But how does a man find out where his soul has been for two weeks when he discovers it returning from having gone missing? It is not as though it returns with memories and recollections to add to those of the shell’s empty weeks of shambling through what we term life.

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It happened that long ago the people of Lim Xhe would labor in their bountiful fields beneath the brilliant light of seven suns that soared through the heavens each day, for the gods had created the world with seven suns in the sky that there would be light everywhere. But the people complained for the fields were too hot, as each of the seven suns shone with light and heat upon the bare backs of the men.

But what could they do? For the gods had made seven suns in the sky, and it was not their place to change it. Even if they knew how.

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Ghalek stared out across the red sands and broken orange-brown rocks at the thin white band set across the desert’s breast, and the shining spike rising up into the sky above it, the glittering hues of the god’s shields dancing in the empty, white sky above it. The bloated corpse of the black sun sagged on the rim of the world behind him, painted crimson by the dust hazing the air and throwing long, sharp shadows that stretched towards the distant city like grasping claws.

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I was barely seventeen when I decided to cross the black deserts of the Kai and brave the deadly midnight dunes of Kirrel, said to be full of lying ghosts and hungry, vile beasts.

No longer a child, dressed now in sacred star-patterned robes of blue and white worn by the men of the Kaihk, my parents wept as I left with all I owned upon my back — and little it was. There was nothing more they could do but curse and weep at my foolishness, for I was a man and they could no longer protect me from my dreams.

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Dilbert has a problem.

But it’s one he doesn’t know he has.

Dilbert doesn’t care about science-fiction.

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Thirteenth-Jaguar-Sun did not like the smell that lingered in the air.

It was like the smell of the great temple fires that burned at the foot of the temples to Child-of-the-Bloody-Moons when the winds shifted and blew their black smoke down over the city: it was the charnel smell of flesh taken by flame, the smell of sacrifice, of bodies given over to the eternal fires by the priests.

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The following is a handwritten scrap torn from a journal. It is unattributed.

There are colors dancing in the darkness that no one can percieve. Tonight, only, I saw the deeper blackness drawing all things into it and shied away from depths blacker than space, blacker than the caverns beneath the Earth.

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The red-orange haze of the far horizon as it curved away north and south bled into the pink-and-white of the sky, the sun boiling red and angry hot in the sky above like a drop of shimmering crimson blood on the flesh of the air.

And near the edges of the sky, separated from each other by celestial arcs, hung three small objects: two were pale white and washed out in the brightness of the daytime sky, lumpy and irregular, their shadows the color of the sky. The third was little more than a metallic glimmer in the heavens, though its brightness would grow in intensity as dusk approached. These were the three moons.

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He was a spark of consciousness in the machine, a glimmering pinpoint of brilliant light wrapped in tubes of dark, cold emptiness and lifeless metal. But he was an important spark. He was the heart of the mechanical beast drifting through the black universe.

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In the ancient, forgotten days reduced and twisted over the aeons into fragments of myth and legend, there was once an empire that stretched along the base of the mountains of Sirral, whose tall, beautiful people built incredible temples to the stars.

These lost people were said to be giants, twice the height of men, with fair skin like unblemished marble, marked by strong and pleasing features, and deep eyes like the color of the blue night sky. But their children were nothing of the sort: tall, but stunted, strong, but twisted, with ugly features and evil black eyes, and flawed, jaundiced skin.

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