Bulletproof Witch Page 32
We are not the first people to live in these lands. That is a fact known since before the first settler crossed the Wide Sea. What is not known is how these people came to be here, how they lived and, most importantly, why they disappeared.
Although still a subject of much debate, most scholars agree these ancients suffered some great, continent-spanning calamity (a theory first put forward by Edmussen Thane in his seminal work The Ancient Noble Savage). Whatever occurred here in ancient times did so swiftly. The intact structures that remain across Korvana do not show a society in decline, but rather one that was at the height of their understanding of natural physik, perhaps even more advanced than our own in a few rudimentary ways. To see the truth of that, you need only visit the broken water wheel of northern Messanai, or explore the wide, quiet fields of New Haven, where beams of metal pierce the earth like the bones of some unknowable beast.
Yes, much of this ancient civilization lies in unknowable ruin, but what few sites remain offer us a glimpse into a society not too dissimilar from our own. And while we may never know these ancient people, we can at least try to learn from their example, to ensure that whatever fate befell them does not strike our own nation as well.
I myself have visited several of the locations where ruins are still partially intact. Although these remnants are still the subject of ongoing study, I will offer what knowledge on the subject I have been able to gather, either directly or from other scholars.
The first such location is also perhaps the most well-known to Korvana’s general populace: the broken city of Hi’oh’picha, which can be found less than a day’s ride from the border of outer Arkton.
The name for the city was coined by the explorer Bixby Jones, who wrote about the ruins in his memoir My Journey East. Jones was a trapper by profession, not a student of physik, and the name should not be taken as official. We have yet to discover any remnants of ancient writing, and in any case, this is hardly the strangest of claims invented by Jones–as will soon be apparent. But I digress.
Calling Hi’oh’picha a ‘city’ is something of a misnomer. The site in its entirety is less than one standard city block, and only two of the seven buildings found there are still intact. They are larger than our own modern buildings, true, both standing three stories tall, showing that the ancient natives possessed a firm understanding of architecture and the laws of physik that go with it. However, it is the other five buildings, those that remain only in part, that give this site both its fame and make it worthy of mention.
Around the edges of the site the ruins simply . . . cease. I know of no more elegant way to phrase this. They do not fade away into the surrounding forest, nor do they show any sign of having been reclaimed by the dirt. Rather, their edges are sharp, as if sheared away by a butcher’s blade. Outside the almost perfect circle that forms the city, there is no evidence that natives ever dwelled in this area at all. Even the surrounding soil is different in color and texture from that found only a few away.
It is almost as if a piece of the city were plucked from its original location elsewhere and deposited in the middle of the wilderness, forgotten by all for centuries. While such a fanciful idea is popular among poets and other hopeless romantics, a more likely explanation is that the city was subjected to some shift in the landscape, a movement of the ground that separated it from its original location. Or the rest of the city might have been the victim of a volcanic eruption, burying its remains deeper than any excavation has yet to find.
Advances in the newly discovered field of geologik appear to provide confirmation. Apterix scholars have made great strides in recent decades determining the functions of the world beneath our feet, and refer to the entire Madera range as a “subduction zone” (see page 44 of Halias Peshtarck’s Birth of Mountains for further explanation). However, until more evidence is uncovered, either at the city or elsewhere, we cannot know for certain.
The second site of note is unique for its size, if not its content. These ruins can be found along most of the southern coast, stretching from the Sugarfield Territory all the way to the western edges of Messanai. If you have ever taken a train through this area, you likely already know about what I speak.
Yes, I am referring to The Forgotten Sentinels of the Southern Coast.
The Forgotten Sentinels are a string of towers, some sitting within feet of the shoreline, while others are as far as fifty miles inland. All of them share similar characteristics, being between ten and twenty stories, and large enough inside to hold several more modest dwellings.
While their quantity alone makes them worthy of note, it is their placement and frequency that I personally find of greater curiosity. Why do they dot the entire southern coastline, and what purpose did they once serve? Some scholars such as Jones and Hermistan (who mentions them in his book of marine biologik, Forty Years of Tides), dismiss them, saying they are nothing but a system of crude lighthouses, helping to guide fishermen and trading barges back to the shore in stormy weather.
Such an explanation does not consider the varying distances that these structures reside from the shore. What purpose would a fisherman have derived from a lighthouse located fifty miles inland, hidden from the ocean by hills and forests?
Another prevailing theory, laid down by researcher Lisandre Applesmith in her book Sifting the Ruins, is that these were not lighthouses, but signal posts, used for sending messages via flame or smoke. An experiment replicated several decades after her writing proved that a series of linked watchers could transmit a message faster than a man on horseback, so this idea is not without merit.
There is a final alternative laid down by Bixby Jones that I must include, even if the very mention of it makes more level-headed scholars groan. Jones postulates that the ruins were in fact watchtowers, guarding against a threat from across the Southern Ocean. What this threat might be he does not speculate, although the many crackpots and conspiracy peddlers that seem to flock to his works have offered their own hypotheses, including the “theory” (and I shudder to give the weight of such a word to the idea) of a now-submerged continent which they refer to as Anticua.
If such a mythical continent ever existed, no evidence of it remains now, and the Southern Sea remains a dangerous and unexplored ocean, containing little beyond ice and waves that can bring down even the mightiest of vessels.
The last site is a lesser known one, even among most scholars. As no other scholar has yet given it a moniker, the honor falls upon my own humble skills. To that purpose, I have named this particular find The Forgotten Boat.
On top of a small mountain in the Divide (small being relative here, as even the smallest Divide mountains dwarf anything found in the Madera and Silverskies), there are the remnants of what appears to be a large sailing vessel. Much like the bone fields of New Haven, this construct is built around a metal rib-like structure, similar to that of some strange beast. Metal sheeting covers the sides, leaving the interior dry, if still subject to the ravages of time.
Even more surprising, neither the ribs nor the sheeting show any signs of rust or other degradation. Other than damage sustained in some impact, the device is intact.
Unfortunately, anything that once resided inside the vessel either fell prey to scavengers or left with the crew and passengers. So whatever conclusions can be drawn about this ship must be made by the hull alone. We know that it must have taken many oarsmen to propel it forward, as dozens of small windows line each side, barely large enough to pass a paddle through.
Strangely, these holes even cross over two flat sheets that extend away from the vessel, preventing their use for rowing. It is my hypothesis that these “wings” served as ballast to keep the vessel afloat in choppy water, but I am no expert on the subject of sailing, and further research is still required to determine their true purpose.
Beyond the oddity of its shape, the actual location of the vessel is even more curious than that of the Forgotten Sentinels. There are no rivers through the Divide, ma
jor or otherwise, certainly nothing that could have accommodated a ship as long as a mainline merchant craft. Even if there was, how did it come to rest atop a mountain, far from any accessible paths or other access points? While scholars have debated its presence there for over two decades now, the origins of the ancient vessel remain a mystery.
Thus far, we have only discussed the ruins left behind by Korvana’s ancient natives, but what of the natives themselves, and what happened to them? Of the first question I have little to offer in the way of theory or speculation, but of the other there are several possibilities.
First, according to saentonomical records, this land–
*Illegible*
–in part due to the daemon threat. The ancient natives lacked our technology and anything close to a Pistol Warlock–
*Illegible*
–Rumors of a–*Illegible*–found in the mountains–
*Illegible*
–Perhaps if–
Marshal’s Note: Rest of writing is illegible. Text found buried under the porch of a burned-out farmhouse near the town of Oceanside. Locals claim the home belonged to one Martin Blackfire, a known associate of the late James Whiteoak. Mister Blackfire’s current whereabouts, and that of the essay’s author, are unknown, but all evidence points to signs of a daemon attack. The investigation is still ongoing.
Deleted Scenes
“Upyr? What’s an upyr?”
“Dangerous.” William’s whole body shook. “They feed upon men, or turn them into slaves with their power.”
“They eat humans?” Temperance pantomimed spooning up a bowl of soup, then immediately questioned the long series of life choices that led her to settle on that particular motion.
* * *
Behind the ixtl stretched a glistening wet trail, like soap scum left in a hotel washbasin. William stared after the creature. “Is it for eating?”
Temperance, struck by a sudden, foolish impulse, bent over and snatched up a piece of hardened slime. Giving William a wink, she took a big bite of the crystal-like subject, chewed it noisily, then swallowed. “Yep, real fine delicacy, this stuff right here.”
Laughing at the look of disgust and revulsion on the boy’s face, she turned towards the Dunpeals–only to see their own faces awash in terror.
“What? Something wrong?”
“Uh, you do know that’s used for making explosives, right, Miss?” Benjamin swallowed nervously. His words sent a chill down Temperance’s spine.
“Am I going to be alright?”
“Probably?” The farmer mopped at his brow and let out a nervous chuckle. “I mean, it does have to be mixed with some other chemicals to become active. Alcohol, mostly. So unless you drink so much whiskey you’ve got that in your veins instead of blood, you should be fine . . . .”
Benjamin trailed off, the blood draining from his face. William stared in horror as the gunslinger began to shake. He stumbled back. “Scheisse! Scheisse, scheisse, sh–”
His words cut off as the flames consumed them all.
* * *
Temperance stared at the tower. She squinted at something she hadn’t noticed before, hidden among the layers of color running along the wall. About level with her eyes someone had carved the shape of a heart into the stone. Inside of it was an inscription: Buffy and Angel 4 Eva!
What in the Hell? She shook her head and pulled out her knife. Lemme just fix that.
Slowly, she scratched out Buffy’s name and began carving new letters.
S . . . p . . . i . . . .
* * *
“So what else do you have in that magic bag of yours?”
William continued to toss more items from his bag onto the table. “Let us see, we have my special edition Getsukan III: Max Speed, a couple Puri Princess Extremes, and this is a limited set of No Daitsu ni Kami girl action squad. Oh, not to mention my Gatchakan figures with matching Super Express ship!”
Temperance stared at the growing pile. She picked one up and examined it. “Are all of these . . . dolls?”
“Dolls?” William looked offended. Or horrified. Or possibly both. “These are NOT dolls, they are collectibles. I am sure they are worth a fortune back in Isterial by now.”
“Uh huh. And you thought bringing all those was a better idea than, say, a change of clothes?”
William pretended not to hear her. “Ooh, this one here is my favorite, it is from Moe Moe Love Attack! You see, it is about this girl from the moons who can . . . .”
* * *
Temperance froze. With everything else going on, she hadn’t even noticed the heat sliding up her spine. Now she realized what it was.
“Get down!” she screamed. William looked up at her as he extracted his bag from under a broken table. His mouth opened to speak.
The cabin wall next to him burst apart as an enormous figure climbed his way into the room. Temperance stared with horror into the creature’s beady black eyes, while sunlight glinted off the icy-cold glass of his belly.
“Oh yeah!” bellowed the Kool-Aid man.
Acknowledgements
Every book offers a different challenge, and despite what a reader might think writing does not, in fact, get easier with each successive notch on one’s belt. This book in particular was a beast to write, yet also an immeasurable joy to finally bring to life characters that I’ve had in my head since the very first volume. If I had to go back and write it over again I would in a heartbeat, although my poor wife and editor might never forgive me for such an act. Her continuing patience and support keeps me working away at the keyboard, and I doubt any of this would exist if not for her.
Additional thanks to Jin Lee for continuing to provide immeasurably fabulous artwork, and all friends and family for the support and encouragement they offered during my darkest moments.
Of beta readers I continue to be graced with the most amazing people, willing to give their time and energies to this little project of mine: Jamie Morrison, Henry Antenor, and John Bierce.
About the Writer
James is a CPA living in Eastern Washington. He started writing in 2015 after a dream left a story in his head that he couldn’t make go away. He’s been typing at the keyboard furiously ever since, and probably won’t stop until sometime around noon on the day of his funeral.
His current published works include the Bulletproof Witch Series, as well as a short story titled For Want of a Sword in the Roll of the Dice III Anthology.
You can find updates and announcements about his works, additional stories, and a map of Korvana at www.fjblair.com. You can also find him on Reddit at u/fjbwriter.