Deora, Land of Mists

Deora, Land of Mists

A Chapter by Kuandio



 

            Out of everyone there that night, they chose me to carry the body to the ancestral cemeteries. I cannot say why this charge was set before me. Intuition whispered however, that a knowingness lived beneath the surface of their consciousness; maybe even an empathy, for what could have been. Thus I was given this honor, perhaps as a means to allow us to be together, at least in death's passage - a final farewell in its dark rites.
            Of what I fear they are not aware, is that I am utterly terrified of the task.  As I hold my wine glass, lost in its blood and reflections of funeral candlelight, I know though, that I cannot turn back.  At dawn tomorrow I depart on horse, bearing the embalmed corpse to the distant Hills of Ledsen-dimma, a land where no mortal dwells.  There I must find the ancient sepulcher, and offer the departed soul to the unnamed gods beyond the mists.
            And I must go alone.
            That is their way, and so it must be mine.
            I hang my head low, wondering if I should have ever come to this grey, perpetually drizzling country, and lived among such a solemn people.

 

            Before venturing onward, and for the sake of congruity, I should retrace my path. I hope that returning to the beginning might also serve to clear my clouded mind. A long time has passed since first I arrived in this strange land, or so it seems - it's said time turns slower when one is young. I rode forth from my homeland some years gone, not much older than fourteen. To the north I went, to lands yet shrouded in enigma to so much of the world.  The journey took me far from my country. The further the better, I had thought in those days. Truly, so distant did I roam that sometimes I fear I will not remember how to return, that those paths by which I came have been washed away by wind and rain.

            To the north dwelled the Deorun - a people of the mists - I had heard told, though it was a mystery to me if they truly existed. It was said that on a great peninsula they'd founded their abode in an age forgotten. It is there, to Deora that I set my course, intent on finding some secret, an elixir I could not name, or perhaps simply to lose myself in the obscurity of this reach, at the world's limit. Grey and beautiful is the land I discovered, but hard also. The peninsula juts like a bulky arm, stretching on and on against the iron sea, its fingers dwindling into the forever frozen desolation of the Far North. Amid the girth of this arm, the Deorun country holds to a region of misted hills and a stretch of frigid coasts. Before I found the people, I found the sea. Since that first day I beheld its endless waters, the sea has never been far from me, always beneath my memories; the waves' ceaseless crashing the murmuring of a drowned, sleeping god.

            Though I was a stranger hailing from faraway, the Deorun granted me passage into their realm. I wandered among their lands and villages during a time. For the most part it seemed they only vaguely acknowledged my presence, as if I were part of the ceaseless, roaming mists. There can be no denying, that by the measure of the main-land peoples, Deora is a dreary realm. Not only are the clouds deep, the folk themselves, as if surrendered to their country's fate, wear raiment of dusky, sober make. Nearly all Deorun are dark-haired as well, and more often than not, their countenances of a somber cast.

            One might wonder then, why an outlander such as I would journey to such a place, let alone remain as long as I have. At times I wonder this too. Looking back, I think it was something sincere about the Deorun which drew me; a poignant awareness of life they held, the irrevocable result which was a misted forlornness. Through this veil their smiles are more touching, their friendship a greater triumph. Thus it did not take me long to find affinity with them. Dim as it might be, a warmth endures in the Deorun, made strong in the harsh north.

            I'm now eighteen in years, and so it follows that at the time of this tale, I had been living in Deora - specifically, in the town of Arawn - for roughly four years. Arawn means "place of mists" in their ancestral tongue. True to its name, during the days I've dwelt here, not once can I remember the sun shining true. Silver-grey through thin clouds at times, a few days a solitary gold ray poured over the green fields, but never a day unclouded in full. Perhaps it can be ascribed to a haze of memory? But no, Deora is a sunless country to be sure - nigh perpetually fogged; a land where the nights are long, and weigh heavy on the soul. Though I am a young man yet, I feel so much older at times. Could it be this grey land has cast its twilight-misted spell on me?

            Dark as the watches of night are, and grim the weather, I nevertheless stayed these past years. Now I can confess that I've grown accustomed to such environs. The truth is, I've become as one of them, at least this is what my heart speaks. Aye, a part of me belongs in Deora. Ever drizzling though this remote country is, a true affection has bound me to her people. Nevertheless, this deep bond was not the only thing that kept me here so long.

            I see now, that I would never have remained if not for her, the girl who roamed the highland fields, and whose song was the wind.








© 2016 Kuandio



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Author's Note

Kuandio

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Featured Review

Greatly done. I loved it! You describe very well the terrain, and it appears you are creating a world of your own which very few people have mastered or are even good at. I like the way it is done. It is simple but probably doesn't fit as well when you are writing in first person. It is a personal preferance of mine, while others may disagree with me. I also want you to ask yourself, if you were your character(which I assume you are) "Would I really be thinking this?" when writing. It will help you in the grand scheme of writing, and can also help ground yourself and the reader. "...In an age forgotten" this is after the initial break. This is an example of grounding yourself. There has to be a reason for your character to actually know this information.
But it is still a good piece.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Kuandio

2 Years Ago

Many thanks. After getting enough feedback together, I will see what I can apply to the final revis.. read more



Reviews

Greatly done. I loved it! You describe very well the terrain, and it appears you are creating a world of your own which very few people have mastered or are even good at. I like the way it is done. It is simple but probably doesn't fit as well when you are writing in first person. It is a personal preferance of mine, while others may disagree with me. I also want you to ask yourself, if you were your character(which I assume you are) "Would I really be thinking this?" when writing. It will help you in the grand scheme of writing, and can also help ground yourself and the reader. "...In an age forgotten" this is after the initial break. This is an example of grounding yourself. There has to be a reason for your character to actually know this information.
But it is still a good piece.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Kuandio

2 Years Ago

Many thanks. After getting enough feedback together, I will see what I can apply to the final revis.. read more

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Added on October 25, 2015
Last Updated on February 4, 2016
Tags: horror, dark, dream, love, loss, fantasy, mystery, spiritual, death, twilight, ghosts


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Kuandio
Kuandio

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