Sprig's Diary
"Sprig's Diary" is a journal kept by a secondary character in my yet-unpublished novel, The Slipaway Trail. None of these tales are contained within the novel, but his diary does expand upon that world. Sprig, a favorite with my critique group, is a little man about five feet tall with an inquisitive mind and a passion for healing.
Bambu and Rice
I stepped from the land bridge into a world almost unknown on my end of the bridge and camped the night in the fields nearby. This morning I began to explore an entire new world.
Before me rose a forest of tall, black canes with slender daggers of green leaves. The trunks be segmented, some over thirty feet tall. The trunks be quite hard, the leaves delicate, a cane of amazing beauty. They clacked woodenly against each other in the moderate breeze. I cut a leafed section to bear home for cultivation.
In exploring the area, I discovered many similar canes, though all other varieties be green. Size varies from finger-slender to thigh-thick. Some appear to grow from runners under the soil surface, while others do not. I took samples from several.
When I discovered a village, my astonishment grew. The homes appeared to be built from the canes, which they call "bambu." Cooking utensils, furniture, toys all be made from bambu. I saw a spinning top, and some kind of game where children tossed "knuckles" of cane on the dirt.
The wood itself be very strong, the houses sturdy and comfortable. One woman wore an interesting necklace made from polished sections of thinner bambu canes. They even eat the shoots, which I enjoyed with a sauce new to me, somewhat salty and a little sweet, similar perhaps to molasses.
The people be golden-skinned, black-haired, and black-eyed. The hair be smooth and lustrous, bound in long braids from the crown of the head. The eyes tilt, an unusual but appealing appearance that defines them as a separate race. Unfortunately, they do not speak our trade tongue, so I learned little not observed directly. We did trade some words, but most communication be by signs and gestures.
An old man identified himself as Taiwa, the woman beside him, perhaps his wife, as Bali. They be quite fascinated by my appearance, with flesh as white as the grains of "rice" they eat. And with my beard, for they had never seen one before. Taiwa had a few stiff white hairs growing from his chin, but no other facial hair. His hair be white with age, Bali's gray with a few strands near black yet.
As most people I meet in my travels, these be friendly and peaceful. I wanted to know so much more about them and their way of life. Alas, our shared vocabulary be insufficient. I stayed two days, then took my leave.
At our parting, Taiwa and Bali presented me with a beautiful bambu flute, which I will display proudly in my home. Sometimes on my journey I have tried to play it, but I cannot reproduce the mellow sounds I heard in their village.
Playing it makes me thirsty with the desire to find them again and get to know their people better. I will look for someone who knows their language and can teach me, or perhaps accompany me when I return.
Land Bridge
I planned this venture onto the Slipaway Trail to last a week, and it be a good thing that I did, for the Trail confined itself to the Kingdom of the Grasses for days, once opening into a canyon I hope never to see again - the hideout of Slaughter's gang. I crept backward slowly, close to the trees, until I could not be seen, then hightailed it for the other end.
The next opening be more dangerous yet. Almost I stayed within the Trail, yet what I saw be too fascinating to ignore: The land bridge to Malnisia, connecting continents.
It be not what I expected, having spoken to no one with first-hand experience. I had pictured a strip of normal land, narrow compared to continents but miles wide at its narrowest point. Instead, I saw a rocky arch lifting like a rainbow of red and yellow and gray-blue, into the far distance.
The bridge be not steep, but its apex rises a mile above its tall birth-cliffs. It be perhaps a quarter mile wide most of the way. Still, nothing stops a man from falling over the edge, and only its own strength holds it up. Stone could crumble, wind might sweep all over the edge, lightning could strike exposed travelers. Nothing grows, except wisps of pale grass.
I hesitated to step out, already feeling vertigo. So much could go wrong. The thought of living atop the bridge for a week lurched my stomach and sweated my palms. I checked my provisions, as reprovisioning enroute be impossible. Still, I almost turned away.
When would I ever have another chance to cross the land bridge? Would I regret missing such a singular experience? The unknown could become known. Even so, the first step be daunting. Truth to tell, what drew me forward be curiosity, a hungering to know.
The crossing itself be frightening, but also exhilarating. I saw the curve of the earth in every direction. At night the stars be within reach. The sparse grasses grow in the thinnest possible dirt, deposited by travelers and their beasts, nurtured by the dung that also feeds beetles. No firewood be available if not carried, so my meals be cold and my nights colder, although twice I be invited to share a campfire, hot food, and good company.
Far below I saw the deep-blue, peaceful water that divided the continents. I picked up a chunk of bridge rock for my collection and an eagle feather that fell at my feet.
The first time a bird flew below me, I be startled. Then I realized how close to the edge I stood. I could not have seen such a sight otherwise. I closed my eyes to the sun, lifted my face to the breeze, and laughed in delight.
The experience be amazing! Fear left me, and I wondered why it ever existed. I had traveled through my fears, to find that on the other side came acceptance, and freedom, and joy.
Harassment
When I began my wandering years, I cut and shaped a tall staff to carry for protection, knowing I would encounter big people. Some would not be friendly, might even find someone small, with white hair and beard, to be vulnerable to theft and other mischief-making. To my chagrin, some thought it a too-long cane, confirming my frailty!
The jokes and taunts at my expense be not fun, as ye may imagine, but they be only words and I chose to allow them to dissipate in the air, rather than keep them alive by responding. After several months of this, I decided to be more assertive with the next humorless accosters.
Today, as I walked the road between First and BeHome, three youths stepped from the trees and blocked my way. Twisted mouths and angry glares made me hope for taunting, rather than worse. The gangly one seemed to lead, and the others spread out to work their way around me. I retreated, stopped with my back to a sizeable tree but did not yet lift my staff.
"What's this? A child with a beard?" said the gangly one. "Your daddy will beat you when he sees you pretending to be grown up."
"Must be stupid," said the short, squat one. "No room in there for much brain."
"He's only as high off the ground as my crotch!" yelled the wall-eyed youth. When he made lewd suggestions about taking advantage of that, my anger grew, alongside my fear.
I forced calm I did not feel, and a secretive, superior smile. The insults began to slow, for they be not fun when no reaction be incited.
In the first seconds of silence, while they groped for more to say, I smiled brightly at them. "Thank you for your kindness to a stranger, children. The Mother be with you, and your kindness be returned fourfold."
The wall-eyed one, a particularly dull wit, whipped his head wildly, as if expecting to see his own mother watching. The other two be rooted to the spot, surely wondering if I have blessed them or cursed them, for they know that their deeds be no kindness.
I walked between them and proceeded down the road. My back itched, but I heard no footsteps. When I chanced a glance back under pretense of examining a flower, they stood there still, watching after me and muttering. Perhaps at least one, more thoughtful than the others, learned the lesson intended and changed his habits.
I think I will make use of this tactic again.
Archives:
Shadow Sand
Golden Sand
Blood Sand
Rainbow Sands
People of the Blue Sand
Mouse Breath
Magic Trail
Trip Wire
Wolf Winter
The Black Caverns
Magic's Nature
First