A Correspondence with the New World
Dearest Brother,
I hope that this letter finds you well, and that your journey to the New World was a safe one. I understand that the trip is long, and that the hardships and unpredictability of travel by sail over such a distance can be substantial. Still, it has been nearly three months; surely by now you must have reached your destination. I shall refuse to contemplate any other alternative for my dear brother.
Please write back to me! I so desperately wish to hear tales of that faraway land. I understand that the flora and fauna are remarkable, both in their disparities and similarities to our own. Even more so, I am eager to hear of your sightings of the native savages. Please take care if you should see one, though. I have heard that they can be quite brutal. Susanna has told me many stories of their barbaric attacks with bows and arrows, and of their use of all manner of wicked axes and knives, to the point that I was forced to beg her to stop, lest I burst into tears for your safety.
I would tell you more of events here at home, but little has changed in London in the past season. The flowers are blooming nicely in the garden, and father has begun his horseback riding again, which surely must mean that the ailment which plagued his poor back all winter has passed. It gladdens me greatly to see him enjoying himself outdoors as he used to.
I look forward to your letters with eager anticipation. Please spare no details—I wish to know everything!
P.S. Is it true that the Sun which circles the New World is of a different hue than our own?
Your loving sister,
Eleanor
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Dear Eleanor
I am sorry for the shortness of this letter. I promised you that I would write as soon as I made port, but things have been more harried and distracting than I ever anticipated. I must tell you, first of all, of the wondrous passage to the New World.
Upon leaving port in London we traveled by sail, as is customary. However, after circling Westward and passing the Westernmost shores of Ireland, we proceeded most swiftly across the water, the currents and winds blowing ever more forcefully as we approached the boundary of the Terrestrial Disk. It was with no small amount of terror that I beheld the jagged rocks and crashing surf that marked the Edge of the World. However, the navigator was quite adept and had no trouble at all directing our passage toward a gap in that ancient and colossal wall. Here, we passed out along the flow of water, leaving behind entirely the cradling support of Our World. The waters of the Empyrean Flow do not simply fall after passing beyond the Terminus of the World, as some manner of Natural Force appears to be in effect between Our World and the distant New World, drawing it back and forth in opposing streams.
Before I departed England, you asked me to observe and report back to you about the denizens of the New World, as we see so few imported to Our Own World. You will be pleased to know that there are indeed a great many Natives working, trading, and living right here in the city! It is quite remarkable to observe them in such great profusion. They are widely varied in their appearance as you know, but I am sad to say that they are, for the most part, dressed as any typical servant or dockworker one would find in the poorer parts of London. Your dream of seeing them decked in their dramatic furs and flamboyantly archaic trappings seems to be for naught, at least here in port.
Physically, though, they are most extraordinary. I know that you have seen several of the smaller-statured varieties in London as house servants and dockworkers, and we are all familiar with the beauty of the Host, but there are varieties here that are quite different than those I have seen previously.
I observed one of them lifting an entire stack of loaded crates from the ship when we arrived. He was tremendously tall, at least double my own height, and he possessed an unusual proportion of limbs; elongate and quite sturdy, like the beams of a house. He had great curling Horns upon his head, Eleanor! It was not a headdress, though I took it to be at first glance. They grew out of his thick mane like those of a ram. And his voice was stunningly deep and resonant. It sounded rather like your friend Richard’s bass cello. The ship’s mate Angus informed me that he was an Ogre, though I heard him rumble a word under his breath in response, which sounded more like “howgra.” I understand that the denizens of the New World speak a plethora of languages, and I wonder if perhaps that is what his people call themselves. I shall have to undertake to learn more about them, as all varieties seem to abound in and around the city, both above and below the cliffs of the great waterfall.
I apologize for cutting my letter short—there is so much more to tell!—but I must return to my work. His Lordship’s duties are quite demanding, but the Dweomer will not mine itself (would that it could!) and the Service of the Crown is its own reward, as he so often reminds us.
Love always,
John
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My Dear Jonathan,
I was so enthralled by your description of the Empyrean Passage and that bestial ogre! You simply must find the time to tell me more. I do hope that you wrote the words “his people” in jest. It is important that we do not ascribe to them the qualities of humanity which we alone possess. We must strive to keep them separate in our minds so as not to become confused or fall prey to the clever similarity of their forms. Susanna says that the Natives are not to be trusted no matter how well-behaved they may seem, as they are not endowed with souls and so may act freely as animals in all matters, satisfying the desires of the moment without fear of punishment, as they are without an afterlife. I must confess that while I am eager for more descriptions of the exotic species surrounding you, I also remain fearful for your safety. Do not trust them, Jonathan. Even the very small ones are clever, as a fox is clever in a hen house.
I am also greatly curious to learn more about Lord Langley’s great project to extract Dweomer from the very earth. It is so strange, to think that such a miraculously powerful substance could simply be mined from the stones of the New World. It remains so potent and versatile after so long a journey and any number of years of storage! Even now, I write this letter by its light channeled through my lamp, and the street outside the gate is lit in much the same fashion. How does it appear when it is in the ground? I know that you are not directly involved in the operation of Lord Langley’s mine, but I do not know who better to ask. Is it anything like the vaporous fluid with which we are familiar? And in what manner can it be efficiently mined from the Earth? Is it even proper to refer to the ground of the New World as Earth? Being an entirely different World may require the concoction of new terms and words. “The Atlantean Disk” perhaps? “Xenographia Planus?” I think I am not the one to decide it!
I am sad to say that father is unwell again. His knee is now the culprit, and I suspect that it shall vex him into the Autumn and throughout the Winter. Nevertheless, his back remains sound, and I hold hope that his troublesome knee will not cause him the same degree of unhappiness as his back did last winter. Include him in your prayers, and we may yet see him recover.
Your ever-curious Sister,
Eleanor
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Dear Eleanor
I apologize for the great length of time since last I wrote. I fear that matters in the New World are not at all as we imagined in our youth. My friend Bhanush has counseled me not to become involved, and not to even trouble my family by writing any of this to you. He is wise, and obviously concerned for my safety, as is his nature. The Haugra are not Ogres. They are not fiends as you or your friend Susanna would depict them. Nor are the Ardu, or Vosen, or even the Brakkan. Bhanush has explained much to me, and I feel as if the scales have dropped from my eyes.
Where is the Dweomer going, Eleanor? It does not see much use here. They keep it in small quantities and restrict its use greatly. Nearly all of it is shipped back to the Old World and the Empire. I am glad that you enjoy its safe light. Yet why is it that even here, a portion of the city inhabited mostly by Hovthar, Empisi and lower-class human workers was nearly burned off of the cliffs last week when a fire spread out of control? It was an oil lamp, they tell us, dropped in a barn. Why should we live by oil-light when Dweomer light is so plentiful, near at hand, and burns cool to the touch?
There is a stigma at work here. There are plans and designs of which none of us are informed. They fear the use of the Dweomer by the denizens of this land. I have seen the mines. They will not employ Volkahsi! They are constantly telling us “The Dwarves are born to dig holes!” and “The others get their metals from the Dwarves!” Why then, are they afraid to employ the Volkahsi in Langley’s mine? They know something. They know something that the Volkahsi know, and they fear it. I must learn more!
I fear for the peoples of the New World, sister. They are indeed people, and I use that word knowingly and unabashedly. I speak not from ignorance, nor from foolishness. The sentiment is not uncommon here, where we live and work together with so many of them. But King George’s servants look on the rest of us with a cold eye. There is indeed a stigma at work, but I have yet to fully comprehend it, I think. I fear for these wondrous peoples. They are beautiful, but I think that they may have suffered a great misfortune to meet us. Had we never discovered the Empyrean Passage, I think that we would have spared them much danger. We would be engaged in the tragic harassment of the peaceful inhabitants of some undiscovered island or continent, I am certain. But we would at least have confined our schemes to our own world and people.
I fear that the more I uncover, the less I will be able to tell you. For your own safety, and Father’s as well, you may not hear from me for some time. Remember that I love you both immeasurably. Be careful, and be silent. I do not wish for my moral outrage to endanger my dear family. It would be best if you burn this letter, lest they seek to pry from you answers which you do not possess.
John
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Your Royal Majesty,
I regret to inform you of the interception of the enclosed letters from the Bristol Estate. As has been surmised previously, there is a growing trend of insubordination which I fear may progress into full-fledged insurrection.
I humbly request an Audience with Your Royal Majesty at the earliest possible convenience, to address the problem.
With utmost Loyalty and Devotion to the Crown,
V.S.C.