We made landfall today at Valia’s Watch. The name, or so I’m told, means “the place from which Valia watches the sea.”

  My love, this is the largest city I’ve ever seen. You should be here with me. We ought to be taking in these wonders together. Instead, I’ve arrived alone, chasing the vague promise that there is someone here with the power to retrieve your body.

  And I will retrieve your body. In the meantime, all I can do is make a record of this journey and pray that it satisfies your curiosity when we are together again.

  The city was built along the east coast of a massive island. The land was low and flat on the city’s southern half, but the northern reaches climbed up a tall slope that terminated in dramatic seaside cliffs; atop the highest cliff perched a great castle of gleaming white and green stone.

  From a distance, the city almost looked as though someone had taken great stone cubes of every imaginable color and stacked them on top of each other. It was only when we got closer that I could see these cubes were the city’s dwellings. The buildings in the lowlands were packed in tightly, while on the rise up to the cliffs they were more interspersed: mansions built into the forested slope, connected by broad, winding boulevards.

  Captain Olrick led me down a metal walkway that extended from the deck of the ship to a raised pier. Dozens of other ships lined the long dock. Compared to its peers, Olrick’s ship was perhaps a little smaller than average. The very largest ships were like fortresses floating upon the waves. While a few of the smallest ships were made of wood, the vast majority were made of metal and none of them had sails.

  Ancestors preserve any force that faces the navy of this world.

  The pier itself was made of white stone. I could discern no brickwork or tiling; the whole thing appeared to be carved from a single block. In fact, nearly all of the stonework in Valia’s Watch was fashioned in the same manner, so far as I could tell.

  After the captain left his crew with some orders, we walked through a low stone gatehouse and into the streets. Two wheeled crates containing Olrick’s belongings followed behind us, rolling along under their own power. A crowd pressed in around us: a dizzying swirl of people in shimmering clothes of gold and silver and ruby and sapphire, mops of curly black hair and wispy red hair and pale yellows and shimmering autumns, round eyes of green and blue and brown set in faces the color of pale dawn light and rich dark amber and everything in between.

  A feeling of lightheadedness swept over me. A part of me wanted to drink it all in, to stop where I was and examine every little thing I encountered, but the clash of bright colors and alien shapes overwhelmed the senses.

  Perhaps sensing that I was in something of a daze, Olrick led me to stand in what might be loosely described as a line. (Honestly, it was hard to tell in the press of people going ancestors-know-where.) A bronze carriage rolled up, and Olrick thrust his thumb at it. The gesture, I can only surmise, was an indication that I was meant to climb inside.

  At the front of the carriage sat the coachman, a short woman with golden hair. Her bench was open to the air, and in the place of a horse’s reins she gripped something like a boat’s tiller. The inside of the carriage was well appointed, with comfortable silver cushions set upon two rows of seats that faced each other. Olrick soon joined me, having loaded his luggage in the back.

  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but apparently thought better of it, instead offering me a toothy grin. I gave him a short, awkward bow in return; I was now truly committed to this man’s care, as was any hope I had of seeing you again.

  And with that, we were underway.

  ***

  We climbed the winding roads leading up to the cliffs, though somehow the carriage shifted itself so that we remained level no matter how sharply the slope rose. The walls lining the streets were adorned with eye-catching murals made of rare gemstones and etched metals.

  The lords of this place wouldn’t need a navy to conquer Guntao; with the vast wealth on display along the streets alone, I imagine this Valia could buy every nation in our realm, if they so desired.

  (The thrill of discovery and a cold wash of terror battle within me as I recall the ride up the rise. I must be cautious about what I reveal of our home to these people.)

  We were about halfway up to the palace when the carriage came to a stop before a coral-green gate. The view of the sea was breathtaking from this high up, a blue expanse unmarred by any other landmass as far as I could see. In the sky, the solitary sun was nearly full, marking late morning.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Our carriage pulled into a courtyard. A stone road circled a lone tree, vibrant green leaves adorning its tangled branches. The walls of the small estate featured a blue-and-white pattern that evoked fish jumping through a foaming sea. The house itself was deep sea blue, single story. Part of the house’s front wall was made from the clearest glass I’ve ever seen, revealing a garden of short broad-leafed bushes within. A lone figure stood in front of this garden, awaiting our arrival.

  Olrick burst from the carriage, shouting and waving as he rushed to meet the figure. Uncertain of what was expected of me, I followed behind from a short distance. As I approached, Olrick wrapped the figure—a woman—in a tight embrace, lifting her into the air and spinning her about. I averted my eyes, a touch embarrassed by such a brazen display of intimacy.

  He set her back down and, holding onto her hand, pointed at me. I couldn’t make out most of what he said, though I did pick out “Her name is Why” and “We found her at sea.” Then he took a step towards me and pointed back at the woman. “This is Nadine, my ‘very friend.’ My [wife].” He swept his arm all about as if showing off his mansion. “You will be [living/staying?] here. Please make [a house?].”

  Before I could reply, Nadine interjected something I couldn’t understand in a high, sharp voice. Physically, she was his opposite: deep-set eyes in amber brown skin, a small but high-bridged nose, and thick black hair. (Her hair, at least, was much like yours or mine.) Even though she stood half a head shorter than me, her gaze pierced me with such authority that I immediately felt I was in danger somehow.

  Olrick answered in a tone somewhere between pleading and apologetic. I managed to catch “…where she came from…” and “…needs our help…” He ended his little speech with something about Valia.

  At that, Nadine’s mouth became a thin line on her face.

  “[Absolutely? Definitely?] no.” Her voice was calm, but firm. Olrick turned his eyes downward, studying his boots and wringing his fingers.

  “Please,” I said, offering her a low bow. “I need. And I help you also. I help you, you help I?” I had no idea what I could possibly offer them, but Olrick was my only lead when it came to getting you back. And there is little I wouldn’t do to get you back.

  As her gaze swept over me, Nadine made the face of one who is confronted with a particularly loathsome bug, or perhaps the droppings of a dog. Her eyes lingered on my tattered robe, on my hands, and then on my face—I instinctively looked away, such was the intensity of her stare.

  She turned on her heels, made a terse remark to Olrick, and then strode briskly back into the house.

  “That went [good?],” Olrick said, giving me another of his helpless shrugs. “I’ll [fight? vanquish?] over her.”

  “Um…” How could I ask my next question? It was the most important thing of all, but after the trouble I’d already stirred in his own house, any question felt so much more like an imposition. “When we get husband’s body?”

  He held out his hands in a gesture that I now recognized as an appeal to patience. “Soon. You stay here for many days. Nadine… go to [Lord/Lady/King/Queen?] Valia. Valia gets your husband’s body.” He made a splashing noise with his mouth, again pantomiming plucking something out of the water with his hand. “I promise.”

  ***

  The Seaborne Estate—apparently this is Olrick’s family name, Seaborne—is surprisingly comfortable. I would expect a house made of metal and stone to be a cold, sterile place, but there are many small gardens tucked away into alcoves that grant the space the feeling of being in a forest. I’ve been given a guest room near the rear of the structure, with space enough for a bed, a dresser, a writing desk, and a small dining table with two chairs.

  There are three additional guest rooms, currently vacant; a library lined with metal-bound books, though I’ve not yet been able to examine them; a cozy sitting room with shimmery couches around a central fire pit; a dining room dominated by a long, tall table; a kitchen, where a chef apparently comes from outside to prepare meals; and a bathroom with a single large tub. Near the front of the building, I understand that there’s a master bedroom and Nadine’s personal office, though it’s been made clear that I’m not welcome in either space without express permission.

  A light lunch of pastry and vegetables was left on the table and a change of clothes was laid on the bed while Olrick gave me his tour. It strikes me that a house of this size would likely need servants to help with upkeep, but I have yet to see any—whether the clothes were set out by Nadine or by another of their ingenious machines, I cannot say. I’ve been given the afternoon to rest and bathe, though they did request I join them at dinner. But first, I have a few more observations I’d like to jot down.

  The aether is thinner here in the city. I suppose it stands to reason, given how densely populated the island seems to be—even if the humans of this realm are bereft of magic, as I suspect they are, it seems they still absorb ambient aether just as the people of our realm do. Of course, having spent the last year crossing the aether-starved ice sheet, even this thin amount of aether feels luxuriously comfortable to me. Fortunately, the thinness of the aether isn’t so dire as to interfere with my casting.

  The lighting of the house is also of interest. The bedrooms are lit by a round glass bulb that protrudes from the ceiling, bathing the space in warm light that is brighter than an oil lamp but lacks the flicker of an open flame. By turning a dial set into the wall, a shutter can be made to cover the bulb, blocking the bulb’s light and allowing the room to be darkened.

  The rest of the house is illuminated by an ambient light for which I can determine no source. There are no discernible candles, lanterns, lamps, or bulbs from which the light is emitted; the light simply is. The shadows cast by the furniture and people in the house suggest a light source somewhere near the ceiling, but again, no such source is visible so far as I can tell.

  I’ve just finished my lunch. The pastry was savory and the vegetables (long, thin stalks with green leaves at the end) were slightly bitter. I had best make myself presentable, which I suspect will be a challenge, as I have no idea how I’m meant to wear the clothes I’ve been given.

  I can’t help but think that the impression I make this evening will be somehow important.