Loria: On Ancaladis's Hill
(never see Ancaladis working magic - was rest deleted? other file?)
They groped on blindly, stumbling in the dark, afraid of what might be coming next.
Lights began to kindle in the black, one by one, like the soft birth of stars. Some of them -were- stars, or looked to be; they hung high in the air, glimmering brighter and brighter as their host grew. Another was a simulacrum of the moon, a blazing half-moon wreathed in a thin cloud that spun itself out of nothing. It was under this () moonlight that the shape of Ancaladis was revealed again, standing in the centre of the slowly evaporating gloom, her eyes fixed upon the sky as her lips moved.
The blackness underfoot lurched and swirled, melting away to become the quiet surface of a lake. 'Water' rippled softly beneath Ancaladis's bare, white feet, reflecting her wrought moonlight, but she did not look down at it. The words of a world were still steadily streaming through her lips.
Slowly, like an underwater island breaking free of anchorage, like a sea-beast stretching and arching its back in the deep, a dark shape broke the surface of the water and floated there, stony-backed. A deep, heavy sound like the earth's own voice rippled through the lake and resonated in strange vibrations up through the crouching apprentices' legs.
The size of the island - of anything - was impossible to accurately gauge; time and space were bent to the constraints of the hilltop, arched and bent back on itself like a glass globe. It looked at least twenty kilometres across, the lake sixty or seventy, though neither could be true.
"Mara!" Dael whispered, grabbing at her arm. "That's Doveman Lake from up north! And the Wandering Isle! Just wait - I bet it moves!"
"So it is ..." Samara's spellbound eyes did not shift from the still shape of Ancaladis.
"Is that where she's from?" whispered Taramyn.
"I don't know ... I mean, we've always thought of this hill as her place ..."
More vibrations shivered through the ground, compellingly easy to imagine as the island's voice, and just as Dael had anticipated, the island began to drift slowly but visibly around the silverlit lake. More lights began to appear on the island's back - not stars or moons, but glowing fires, lighting the walls of the small stone buildings that were painting themselves into existence. Sheoaks pushed through the soil and grew feathery-leafed heads; peppermint trees and tea-tree bristled up between the grey walls.
Then came the people.
There was no sound and little sight of them; the view of the city on Wandering Isle was still as if viewed far away across the lake. But on the shores of the island, small shapes could be seen moving, attended by strange lights not quite so easy to identify.
Samara's hand grabbed at Dael's fleshy arm and his attention, her fingers tight. When he turned his head to look at her she was staring up at the sky,
They groped on blindly, stumbling in the dark, afraid of what might be coming next.
Lights began to kindle in the black, one by one, like the soft birth of stars. Some of them -were- stars, or looked to be; they hung high in the air, glimmering brighter and brighter as their host grew. Another was a simulacrum of the moon, a blazing half-moon wreathed in a thin cloud that spun itself out of nothing. It was under this () moonlight that the shape of Ancaladis was revealed again, standing in the centre of the slowly evaporating gloom, her eyes fixed upon the sky as her lips moved.
The blackness underfoot lurched and swirled, melting away to become the quiet surface of a lake. 'Water' rippled softly beneath Ancaladis's bare, white feet, reflecting her wrought moonlight, but she did not look down at it. The words of a world were still steadily streaming through her lips.
Slowly, like an underwater island breaking free of anchorage, like a sea-beast stretching and arching its back in the deep, a dark shape broke the surface of the water and floated there, stony-backed. A deep, heavy sound like the earth's own voice rippled through the lake and resonated in strange vibrations up through the crouching apprentices' legs.
The size of the island - of anything - was impossible to accurately gauge; time and space were bent to the constraints of the hilltop, arched and bent back on itself like a glass globe. It looked at least twenty kilometres across, the lake sixty or seventy, though neither could be true.
"Mara!" Dael whispered, grabbing at her arm. "That's Doveman Lake from up north! And the Wandering Isle! Just wait - I bet it moves!"
"So it is ..." Samara's spellbound eyes did not shift from the still shape of Ancaladis.
"Is that where she's from?" whispered Taramyn.
"I don't know ... I mean, we've always thought of this hill as her place ..."
More vibrations shivered through the ground, compellingly easy to imagine as the island's voice, and just as Dael had anticipated, the island began to drift slowly but visibly around the silverlit lake. More lights began to appear on the island's back - not stars or moons, but glowing fires, lighting the walls of the small stone buildings that were painting themselves into existence. Sheoaks pushed through the soil and grew feathery-leafed heads; peppermint trees and tea-tree bristled up between the grey walls.
Then came the people.
There was no sound and little sight of them; the view of the city on Wandering Isle was still as if viewed far away across the lake. But on the shores of the island, small shapes could be seen moving, attended by strange lights not quite so easy to identify.
Samara's hand grabbed at Dael's fleshy arm and his attention, her fingers tight. When he turned his head to look at her she was staring up at the sky,