Clairomagno’s Footnotes for the Studious Traveller (New World Translated ver.)
“An expression can contain more words in a single second, than what your own breath can do in one day. So hold it, save it, and commit to silence.”
The fire burned brighter as the world sank to dusk, guiding souls in the harsh Deyja desert, its expanse spanning legions of distance and its horizons beyond reach—but in this desert there is life, you just have to try and find it, for there is a distinct and enticing spot in the desert map, with blues in ellipses and long bent lines. The journey is long, and the inexperienced perish under the desert heat, but those who arrive are rewarded. In the Kingdom of Libben travellers came/come looking for a place to stay the night, merchants from parts unknown and long gone selling the most priceless objet d’art, scholars from kingdoms much greater than Libben arrive in their academic pursuits to dissect the faded, crumbling texts of their precursors found throughout the city walls, and for the tired and restless came the languid pubs and the winsome music of the street buskers.
In an inn squeezed between busier edifices, a boy named Lucio was starting to get annoyed with his feet dangling off a bed a foot too small for him, so now he sleeps on the floor to get comfortable. But how he hates silence. He decides against his better judgement to open his pollum stream. He hears everything—the whisperings of mischief by the innkeeper’s children, the light and rhythmic taps of heels and feet of the dancers performing in private gatherings, the offbeat claps and slurred lyrics of the bar’s patrons to the folk songs played by a band of travelling bards, who are all but complete strangers, playing together like decades-old friends. He can feel individual footsteps approaching empty rooms; all rapidly filling in, signifying that the fire was starting to dim, and that the stars were starting to replace them with their light in the sea of dark, marvellous blue. The desert is innocuous during this hour—while cold, the risk of encountering predators, the likes of the Great Dune Sandworm or Scorpia, were low—so travel was preferred at night, but no one stayed in one place for too long, not in Deyja. While Deyja is great, marvellous and tall, Deyja is never truly home. There are more inns than houses, there are more beer glasses than there are people, there is always life but never death—not a single gravestone is present in Deyja, because no one ever stays.
Lucio won’t either.
----------------------------------------
A place built on metal, concrete, and hard stone. The cold, grey interiors of the station had little warmth to offer. Strict lines and unsaturated colors made up the detached, and undoubtedly corporate aesthetic of the station map. Its architecture carried an air of reservation in that regard. There were no paintings, statues, or fancy light fixtures to differentiate it from other stations. However, not all was entirely lost. The shops that littered its corners provided enough comfort for the uninitiated. Smoke puffed out of food stalls, enticing the senses of even the haughtiest passerby, with seafood so fresh that it must’ve just been fished out from the ocean. For those who are expecting a quick departure to their destination, they also served seaweed salad, its smell mild in comparison. For those who long for nature, came flower shops, their fronts a clear capitalization of the romantic countryside, to imagine for a moment that they were in another place where grass instead of marble was beneath their feet, and for those with a keen eye for handcrafted beauty, there were prop shops that sold statuette shaped candles, wax stamps, engraved bullets, and leather bags.
However, not all things in the station are accessible. (I would include some more here about the people being standoffish/distant. If there’s a reason, etc.) If you were to ask a frequent commuter what their favourite part of this station was, they might smirk before providing you with an answer, or in most cases, they won’t provide you with an answer at all. But some are nice, and they will provide you with what you ask, but what can be a vaguer response than the word “secrets”?
Still, there are people who choose to be kind, especially if you’re friendly back, or happen to be a handsome lad or lady. They might tell you, a naive commuter, to tap four times on a gold bell situated at a random wooden console table, which is accompanied by an olive vase and three owl-eye flowers.
They never speak on what will or might happen when you follow these incredibly specific instructions, only to enjoy what the station has to offer, for there isn’t much to enjoy anyway. However, there are occasional slip ups in management that are fun to spectate, for if there’s one thing this station does well, it’s attempting to keep up the face of competency. But big accidents are out of the question, especially underwater where the elements against you only ever grow in size and number.
Ocean Crossing Underwater Station—another train came, fairly beat up but kicking, and instead of entering the train like what one normally did after passing through the ID rails, the girl in a rather large backpack zoomed towards the information booth, grabbing a worn out travel brochure placed at the bottom of the rack and slid it across the table of the clerk, who raised his brow at the girl’s impoliteness, “Um, can I help you miss?”
“Empress, masquerade, pulled by waters, redemption,” she whispered, then pointed at a location name.
He nodded and cracked his neck as he pulled himself back up from his relaxed sitting place. Her leg bobbed up and down as she waited. Clicks from the keyboard filled the silence, then a long pause came. The man’s eyes were unreadable due to the glare on his glasses, but his hands spoke for him as he passed back the brochure, “Sulmasal Port is closed.”
She grabbed his wrist before he could pull it back, “Empress, masquerade, pulled by waters, redemption,” and despite the undeniable coldness of her hands, Alodia felt like they were on fire, “Please, I need passage.”
He tried to pull again but the girl had an iron grip, “Sorry kid, but I can’t do anything about it. Route has been taken over by namuh, none of our trains are going past there until they’ve been dealt with.”
“Are there any other ports in the west?”
“What?”
She sighed, her diction getting clearer with each syllable uttered, “West ports, ports in the west. I need passage.”
He shook his head and stared her down, only for the girl to pull on a strap—a giant sniper rifle that he seemed to miss. But that didn’t seem to be the only thing he missed. The girl was wearing a bullet vest with matching military grade trousers, “You working for the OU? Last I heard, they didn’t employ children.”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
“No, but if that’s what I need to secure passage, you can say I am,” she crossed her arms, “now, are there any west ports, ports in the west.”
“I got it, I got it. I heard you the first time,” he swivelled to another computer, clicking away. When he came back, he held two tickets in his hands, “You can get to Sulmasal by Bouine Port. Ever been to Dige?” she shook her head, “Nevermind that. You’ll need to jump into another train boarded by some OU units, take the back seat, if they question you just say: Bouine Port, initiative five, OCUS—just pray to the goddess that they don’t have an on-field captain on board. That’s as far as our help can go.”
He hands them over to the girl, “Thank you for your patronage to Begonia."
----------------------------------------
The sun threatened to burn their skin off, while the sounds of bamboo shoots accumulating water and hitting stone filled the deafening silence. Two girls rested on a wooden veranda, a few steps away from a pond of koi fish and water lilies, as well as the courtyard’s medicine garden.
The birds occasionally perched above their roof, shaded in leaves, singing indistinct songs before flying away, probably finding somewhere else better to cool off. As for the girls, their feet were soaked in buckets of ice water.
“So... about this whole Lucio debacle...” One of the girls, long and tall and in traditional Eclipsian attire, unclasped the flap of cloth underneath her chest, its hem embellished with gold and symbols near unrecognizable due to age, before hanging it onto its designated post together with a bomber jacket that flaunted a small embroidered emblem of the letter V with wings on its right side. The damn thing served well enough in fair weather, but not today.
The other girl shrugged and heaved a loud sigh before tying her hair up in her usual ponytail style. “I don’t know, Tricia. Whatever he’s saying...sounds completely fictional.” Tricia nodded in agreement as she brushed her bangs behind her ear.
“But then again, Lucio never lies.” The other girl shrugged as she took another sip of iced tea from her cup and grabbed a clean ice cube out of it, dropping it into her bucket. “So, dear Scarlet, do we have a reply for him?” Tricia hid her smirk as she took out the letter from its metal cage, careful with her touch, as it was written on a thin sheet of earth. While she scanned it, running her fingers down the indentions, Scarlet clicked her tongue.
“I don’t know. We can’t leave like normal anymore. Borders are getting sealed up except for the damn fishing ports.” Scarlet stomped in the bucket, which clanked as the water spilled out from the force, “Besides, how are we going to write to him? The man can’t see, and I’m not about to carve out a letter-sized hole in the ground!” Tricia agreed, that would require effort and dexterous hands–which was too much to ask in this harsh weather.
“However, if we were to arrive ourselves—“
“Okay, Tricia. Assuming we choose to go there ourselves, we don’t have any way to access the Dweller’s Continent unless we’re part of the military.” Tricia chuckled at that.
“Yes, yes. I have my doubts that General Vale-Li will allow us entrance to any of the new Eclipsian territories.” Scarlet threw her hand back in agreement, however, it was not, in any way at all, a signal to encourage Tricia to keep speaking, if anything, it was to discourage a continuation of this particular conversation, “Except, didn’t you say that the fishing ports are still open?”
Scarlet furiously supped her iced tea before slamming it down the wooden porch. “Are you crazy!?” The tumbler that she slammed onto the floor did nothing to jolt Tricia, not even a flinch. “I give an inch, and you take a mile?”
Tricia’s gaze returned to the letter. “That’s not how that phrase is used.”
“Whatever. Still, fishing ports aren’t exactly a very covert way of getting out. Are you seriously risking your life, both our lives to help Lucio on something that may or may not be true?” Tricia flashed her usual smile, not one to show her teeth.
“Exactly that,” Scarlet looked at her as if she had just grown two heads, and maybe a devil on her shoulder as well.
“Is summer vacation that boring to you?”
“Boring enough to warrant me going to a forbidden continent and breaking some rules? Yeah. Besides that, he’s my friend and teammate, and you know how that goes.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Some—some rules? Are you hearing yourself? What did Azazel do to you to make you all...” she pointed at Tricia before pointing at her own temple, “and I can’t believe I’m the one saying this—kind of careless?” Tricia chuckled, throwing her head back. She placed the letter back into its metal casing before turning back to Scarlet.
“Say, what do you think about giving a friend or two a call?”
----------------------------------------
Point, ready, shoot. Azazel has done this many times, and she knows she’s good—the best, even, only with the exception of Tricia and Alodia. But that’s completely different. Timing and mastery is where she shines the most. Okay, sure, both Tricia and Alodia have those things down as well, but that’s besides the point. In this very moment, this very day, this very second, she is the best.
However, there is only one problem, one that she didn’t see coming even from a mile away.
“We’re broke,” a voice said behind Azazel. Well, actually, she did see that coming. She just chose to ignore it, and that usually worked perfectly fine for her.
Azazel turned towards the source of the sound with her head low and her hands rubbing together. “Oh, c’mon Cass, just one last time. I swear I can get that phone!” Encased within the plastic case of the arcade machine was an old phone model. This particular game seemed to actually rely on skill rather than luck, and although she’s abundant in both, she seemed to have more points in the latter, “just one more game!”
Cassandra crossed her arms and looked at the arcade’s ceiling, a contemplating look on her face, but it was soon replaced by a look of appreciation. This was definitely one of the better ones, she thought, as the last branch they went to had parts of their walls completely open for the public to see, and if there were naughty kids in the premises, which consisted about 97% of the arcade’s population, then they 100% tried to scooch into the hollow walls, which all inevitably led to the staff room where they stored their tickets. Cassandra was pretty sure she saw a worker just straight up use the open wall as their staff entrance.
She turned back to Azazel who continued to beg for another shot. She sighed and dragged the metal clad girl to the front desk, and a swipe on the card slider later revealed that the arcade card they used contained 2.45 in balance and a single free chance. Azazel was lucky Cassandra owned a Diamond Deluxe arcade card, or else they might actually go bankrupt from how much time Azazel, and on a more minor note, her, spent in borderline gambling arcade machines.
“So, one—“A loud and energetic song interrupted whatever she was about to say, and it definitely did not come from her, nor did it come from one of the many machines and children’s rides, which were all equally loud and equally annoying, so it was definitely not from those things, since this music was at least a hundred decibels higher than the rest. It took her a second to find the source, lying just a few meters away from her. Azazel pressed the greasy buttons with intense concentration, despite, what Cassandra believes, are vibrations strong enough to numb the leg.
Cassandra’s hand reached into Azazel’s pocket, and was not at all surprised to see that it was from Tricia’s number. Without wasting another second of...whatever this song was, she answered on Azazel’s behalf.
Azazel, on the other hand, despite all her efforts, failed, once again, to reach the top of the block stacking game. She turned to Cassandra to announce their departure, maybe eat at Rando’s Diner for lunch or something. However, something in Cassandra’s face was off.
Besides the fact that her phone is currently clutched within Cassandra’s hand, she sees an expression that she hasn’t seen in Cassandra’s face since the battle against that scientist back in Alisa—excitement.