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Lands of Red and Gold #56: What Becomes Of Memory

Lands of Red and Gold #56: What Becomes Of Memory

Lands of Red and Gold has been on hiatus for a while, and the bad news is that it will mostly remain that way for a few more weeks. I'm getting married in a few days, and for some strange reason I think that should take precedence. I'll probably check in briefly over the next couple of days, and after that I'll be offline until after the honeymoon.

The good news is that, in line with the recent suggestion for having shorter but more frequent updates, I do have a series of short posts ready to go. I'll start posting them when I get back, and hopefully that means that I'll be able to keep up fortnightly LoRaG posts after that.

As something of a teaser, here’s the first part of what happens when William Baffin meets Aururia’s premier glass-makers...

* * *

“Yesterday is today’s memory. Tomorrow is today’s dream.”
- Daluming proverb

* * *

First touch of the morning. Eastward the horizon glows crimson and amber as the sky begins its slow transformation from black of the night to blue of the day.

Golden is the light, shining from the first rising of the sun’s disc, reflecting from the fragments of cloud wafting above. Golden too is the water, shining around the Intrepid as if the vessel floats on an ocean of endless wealth.

William Baffin stands at the bow. He watches the land, not the sea. Waves and clouds he has seen many times before, even those with the hue of gold. He cares more for what he may see on the shore of what he calls the Land of Gold.

He is about to be rewarded for his attention.

Westward the shore waits, stretching out in an endless line as the Intrepid passes north, darkness of sand taking on hues golden and white as the first shards of light touch it. Beyond the beach, the shore is merely hints and shadows, glimpses of trees and hills that await the full rising of the sun to be brought into light.

Northward the Intrepid sails, while Baffin keeps vigil. The shore draws closer to the vessel, not from the direction of the ship, but because here the land extends further east. Baffin turns back for a moment, and sees the helmsman is alert and in place at the stern. No further words are needed, so he returns his gaze to the nearing shore.

Or so he tries.

Light shines brilliantly at him, a triangular constellation. A thousand individual flashes, perfectly positioned to reflect the dawning sun back at him in golden splendour. Dazzling, blinding, a myriad of starlets reaching an apex far higher than the masts of the Intrepid.

He lowers his gaze rather than lose his sight.

Baffin snaps orders to bring the ship nearer the shore, and then heave to in preparation for dropping the anchor. More cautiously this time, he raises a hand to shade his eyes and look back at the shore.

Golden light shines back at him still, but the passage of the ship has been far enough that he can take in the spectacle. A thousand mirrors give back the sun’s touch in silent testament. Housed in a fitting edifice, a pyramid of some pale stone that itself takes on the same lustrous golden hue in the morning light.

And so William Baffin, already the first European captain to visit the shores of eastern Aururia, becomes the first Raw Man to gaze upon the largest single monument built in the Third World.

Glass, he quickly realises. The thousand lights must be glass. Nothing else could be found or made in enough abundance to shine like that. Set in a pyramid built in several steps. Ten levels, he counts.

A pyramid. Is this Land of Gold truly not so isolated after all? Did some band of the ancient Egyptians land here ages ago, and built this monument to their arrival?

Impatience grips him. He must find out more about this pyramid. The order to sail close and lower the boats has already been given, so he can do naught but look longer upon this shining construction, and around it for any sign of the people who built it.

He sees a few trees and fields on the shore, but if there is any large town nearby, it must be to the north. An island takes shape just off the coast to the north; it will probably create a sheltered harbour beyond. For now, though, he sees nothing of the makers; he must find what he can from the pyramid itself.

Slower than he likes, the Intrepid anchors near the shore. Baffin is in the first boat, taking a place at oar nearest the bow of the smaller vessel. Eagerness runs through him, enough that he mistimes his oar strokes; he keeps rowing faster than the others.

When the boat runs into the shallows, Baffin leaps out and runs toward the pyramid. Leave others to pull that boat ashore. He hurries to something much more important.

The approach of the boats has brought him nearest to the southern face of the pyramid. Easier to investigate here anyway; the eastern face is still swathed in dawnlight.

The pyramid rises up above him. Up close, he realises just how tall it stands. The first step-level is far above him, well over twenty feet, perhaps thirty.

Now, though, he sees what makes the shining lights. Niches have been set at regular intervals into the top of each step. A sheet of clear – or almost-clear – glass has been set in each one. It is those mirrors, positioned to reflect the light, which so dazzled him on his first glimpse. If the glass niches hold anything, he cannot see it from down here.

Only after a few moments of gazing up in frustration does he look around and realise that there is a way to climb up. A staircase has been cut into the first level of the pyramid, about a third of the way along the southern face. The stairs are very steep, but he runs up them quickly anyhow.

A glass-covered niche is set at the top of each side of the staircase. Looking into them is not easy; the staircase is set deep enough into the first level that he cannot see into them during the climb. Baffin gets onto the first level of the pyramid, lies down on the ground, and carefully pushes his head over the edge for an upside down look into the first niche.

A skull stares back at him.

Surely not!

Baffin rises to his knees and crawls across to look into the next niche.

Another skull grins back at him.

Baffin pulls himself to his feet, feeling numb inside. He runs his gaze across the immense length of the first level, with the regular glass niches, then finds his eyes drawn inexorably upward. To where nine more levels of the pyramid still tower above him, every one of them filled with skull-niches.

Baffin sinks back to his knees, his mouth open but incapable of shaping words, and he cannot tear his eyes away from the monument rising above him.

* * *

Thoughts?