Wanderer of the Worlds: The Crossing, Book Two by Ash Fitzsimmons

Author:Ash Fitzsimmons [Fitzsimmons, Ash]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ash Fitzsimmons
Published: 2023-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

The settlement was larger than I’d assumed from a distance; much of what I’d seen at first was situated on top of a rise, and the rest of the buildings extended down the slope and into the grassy yellow valley. Most of the structures were a story or two high—and even then, the ceilings were better proportioned for Anji—but the trio led us down the stone-paved main street and into the lower part of town, where a four-story building sat in a place of prominence at the heart of a manicured garden. Gnarled trees with spreading golden canopies grew around it, offering shade from the midday sun, while beds of fragrant blossoms lined the pathway to the wide double doors. While the walls were built of unornamented stone, someone had trained yellow-green vines to climb them in complex patterns as living decoration.

We’d had an…interesting walk to get there. As we’d reached the first dwellings, half of those who’d spotted us had run in terror, but those who’d remained had been treated to the cries of our guides, who sang our praises as children of the Great One. Some had seemed unconvinced by the message, but enough had fallen in behind us that when we arrived at our destination, we did so in a jubilant parade.

It was, I thought, entirely possible that these people believed we were some sort of gods. Part of me feared what would happen when they learned the truth, while the wiser part of me told the other to shut up and roll with it.

Just as we reached the first of the lovely flowerbeds, the front doors flew open, and another of the hairless orange creatures appeared on the threshold. This one wore a dark purple robe, which hung unclasped to reveal a bare chest and gray trousers. The drooping around its eyes and mouth suggested age, and a silver pendant in the shape of a swirling sigil hung from its wrinkled neck.

“Rejoice, Your Holiness!” our spokesperson called from the head of the parade. “These children of the Great One have blessed us with their presence!”

The older person—a priest of some sort, presumably—cocked its head and considered our pack. “Have they, now? Be welcome,” the priest said, and beckoned the four of us inside. “I will hear their message and report.”

The crowd outside was still babbling excitedly as the priest closed the doors and lowered a heavy metal bar across the inside to lock them. He—or so I guessed, based on the low timbre of his voice—sighed softly, then turned to us and folded his arms. “Who are you, really?”

“You don’t believe we come from the Great One?” I asked.

“I know what Her children look like. Unfortunately,” he muttered. “You’re rather different. Also, I’ve never seen Her children clothed, armed, and carrying packs, which suggests to me that there has been a…misinterpretation.”

I glanced at the others, who nodded encouragement. “You’re right. I told those folks out there that we’d come from the tunnel, and they assumed. We’re not from around here—”

“That’s evident.

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