Diary of Cara McBride

[caramcbride]

The Diary of Cara McBride

[It is a slender book, of high quality paper and binding, the pages of which are gilded in an iridescent, red metallic.
The cover is adorned with green and gold, in the manner of Celtic knot design, with a highly detailed inset panel depicting an island split by a river from a height normally only attained by high-flying birds.

The image shows three golden bridges connecting the two sides, each of which has buildings of impossible looking architectural design, dramatic but unadorned roofs, and temples with high domes. The closer one peers, the more detailed the image seems to become, so that one imagines that they can actually make out people and carts moving along the streets, and beasts of burden in the fields.

The inside holds a hand-written note in a strong hand that reads:
=======================================
To my daughter Cara, who is the light that my heart
follows when it is darkest.

Your loving father,
Declan McBride PHB (Professor HY-Brasil)
=======================================

Under this is a bookplate that reads:
=======================================
This Diary belongs to: Cara McBride
Address: Temple of World Knowledge, Medicine and Ethics
Bressal, West Hy-Brasil
=======================================

The first entry begins:]
=======================================
Diary Entry #1

Dear Diary,

I've always loved this gift, given to me by my father on my 21st birthday when I graduated the Hy-Brasil Academy. I've treasured you so much that I dare not sully your pages with the trivialities of my day-to-day life on our much beloved – now mourned and lamented – island home.

However, events weigh on me and I turn to you, finally, for solace and to chronicle what has been lost, what has happened to me, and whatever may yet come.

Hy-Brasil has been lost, cast below the waters off Galway Bay by a literal tear in the bottom of the ocean. Although we citizens were aware of the possibility, nobody wanted to leave our paradise while time permitted; but, in our hubris, we waited too long.

Rather than move to the uncouth, unclean, and dangerous lands that we called Europe, or the similarly backward Island Eire, we stayed and planned how to prevent the disaster right up until it cut us off at the knees.

My father was among those who most feared that our plans would not reach fruition in time to avert the disaster. As an emergency plan, he managed – at no small cost to him – to attain fragments of rare minerals and gems that he used to charge a book that contained what he told me were ‘runes’.

With time, he would have created these books for the two of us and all of his closest colleagues and friends. He had a way with creating books that did more than hold the printed word. His books on medicine and health were legendary for helping would-be healers reach there greatest potential quickly.

Every now and again, some poor ship would run upon our shores, with need for repairs, fresh stocks of water, food, and other supplies. Once when our people scared away such a crew, by telling them that our island was haunted, my father sensed in one of the Island Eire men a potential for a great healing talent, and gave him one of these books with the advice that he should not read it, nor even open it, for seven years, keeping it close the entire time. It is said that the man did follow the instructions and, indeed, become a great physician.

If I had only noticed that my father had me guarding the ‘Rune Book’ for him, year after year, I might have guessed his intent. When our Hy-Brasil began to sink, and it took only minutes to do so, he showed me how to use the book to get to an entirely different world, one that had hopefully reached a greater maturity with more respect for knowledge and personal integrity than the largest part of our world.

Of course, I begged him to use the book for himself, not wanting to be responsible for the loss of his magnificent mind and kindness, and out of my love for him. I was crushed when he told me that I was now the only one to whom the book was attuned. It would work for nobody else.

As I hugged him and begged to stay by his side, he held the book between us, wrapped my arms around it, and activated its power.

Now I find myself alone, separated from all of my family, my friends and classmates, and my people. There is no return rune and, even if others of my kind escaped the island, I have no way to contact them or return. If anyone else had the power to reach this place, I’m entirely ignorant of it.

Such is the way that a parent’s love for the life of their child can be harsher and more horrific than keeping them selfishly close in times of danger. I would have happily died with my father rather than be set so far from all I knew; but, I know my father’s mind and will not betray his memory by failing to survive and carry on what I can of our people’s honor; truth, honesty, and rational, ethical behavior.

My journey and my struggle now begins, for I find myself in a place not much better than if I had been at sea and made my way to Island Eire. Perhaps, somehow, there will come a greater good for my having been spared. The knowledge I retain from my schooling still has value. I’ll face what comes with what courage I can muster.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #2

Dear Diary,

I’m happy that I’ve begun to chronicle my thoughts and experiences following the destruction of my much loved home, Hy-Brasil, and the loss of family, friends, and what was a unique way of life.

I realize that I must have sounded harsh when writing about the other civilizations that we knew. I mark that down to being a bit spoiled because I was brought up in a land of peace, beauty, and science. We had no enemies that could easily reach us, and the coasts were easily defended. With the port gates, at each end of Hy-Brasil’s dividing river, we were proof against any likely attempts to attack our Isle of Truth.

Those other lands were much more violent than ours; and, generally, the people did not wash as much or take as much care in the preparation of their food the way we did, unless they were among the most advantaged and enlightened among them. Still, I cannot hold that against them for they were the products of their environments and their societies. Individually, I don’t have any reason to think that we were inherently superior to any of them.

My father raised me to be self-sufficient. He and I valued independence and the right to establish our own code of morals and ethics that it allows. I chose to take courses in health and body, as well as the normal courses in languages, math, and the sciences. At first, I took them for exercise; but I found the use of blade and bow to be liberating in the feeling of empowerment they gave me, despite the fact that I never expected the need for them.

It is serendipitous that I had, for this land requires me to work far more seriously in my personal upkeep. The blade and bow allow me to safely gather local resources like garlic, blood moss, and the like; and, when I’m forced to defend myself against the myriad of monster-like creatures I’ve run across, I often find skins, and other odds and ends, that local merchants will buy.

The monsters must prey upon the locals because I occasionally find that they have human weapons, jewelry and other things that aren’t fitted for their use. These items I take for my own use or for sale. The locals call it ‘looting’, but it seems more like salvage to me. Looting has such a negative aspect and would be more fitting if it were a human-on-human activity. Fortunately, I’ve not seen anything like that taking place!

My first day here, I managed to come across a few gold ingots. On Hy-Brasil, this was a common substance that we used to create plating for buildings. We had a process for connecting the gold to ground under the island in a way that offered control over the climate in the buildings. Here, however, it seems much more precious, and I’ve begun to save it for buying provisions and such.

For my own use, I keep some of the other naturally occurring resources, especially the black pearls that my father taught me to use in a variety of ways. I admit that I’ve been shocked to the core at the similarities between the local flora and fauna and that I knew back home. Except for the monster-types, I might convince myself that our temples and universities are just on the other side of the next mountain.

I’ve learned, and will continue to use, the local names for these items. This book may one day be my salvation, or at least help me to retain my sanity, if things take an extreme turn for the worse.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #3

Dear Diary,

It has been an interesting dilemma, taking care of oneself in such an active and mandatory way. Here, if one does not work, one does not eat. I’m more amazed than ever with my luck, finding several gold ingots on my first evening here. All I was able to bring with me, from Hy-Brasil to this place called Sosaria, was the backpack that I had been wearing on my hike before my father used his crafts to send me off to safety. It was not close to full and the contents would have been ill-selected for permanent relocation.

My favorite sword and bow were left behind, as were my books and pens, clothes and knickknacks. Other than the clothes I was wearing, and the book that sent me here, all I had were a few leftover hiking snacks and a small paring knife. The most valuable commodity I brought was the wisdom of my father on how to survive if something untoward happened while traveling the mountains of Hy-Brasil.

I was able to find fruits and some vegetables, not all familiar to me. With my small knife, I was able to defend myself against the occasional ‘mongbat’ that became too aggressive. The Empath Abbey monks offered me shelter for a time and told me how to sell things I might find in the North Woods like garlic, ginseng, and nightshade. It took me awhile to realize that even blood moss has a value here.

I did ask where I might use the found cache of gold ingots as currency to at least get a dinner more substantial than scavenging in the forest or the meager fare offered at the Abbey. They told me of a sort of inn called The Knights Rest, in Aegis, explained how I might find it. It looked as clean as any place I’d seen since arriving, and the odor of food cooking was beguiling.

For a good-sized place, it was largely empty. The only two people turned out to be the owner/proprietor/barkeep, Deckard, and a man who, it later turned out, is the Aegis authority, Aedon Durreah. They acted quite friendly; but, once I’d offered the gold ingots, the mood became oppressive. Instead of the barkeep taking the ingots in exchange for food and drink, and offering change of that if the prices were low enough to allow, I was told that everything was free because it was the night of the grand opening. Yet, the constable took my gold ingots.

We, of Hy-Brasil, are known for our honesty and honorable nature, but we also know of the world that used to lie beyond our shores and had learned how dishonesty is practiced there. I noticed that the building and sign outside the inn were hardly new, nor were the furnishings inside the tavern. Did they really expect me to believe that this was a new place?

Despite my protestations, and insistence that I wished simply to purchase a meal, the two seemed to support one another in keeping the gold ingots which, though worth very little in my eyes, seemed to charm the people of this land. I decided to enjoy the broth and ale that I was given, and just write the gold off to my newness to the culture.

I had to fend off multiple advances by the one called Aedon who wished me to follow him, insisting that he had a room for me. Hy-Brasil is known for beautiful women, but I’m not among the most sought even in that land. I was put off by his flippant manner and crude joking, however. There may come a time when I’ll be able to draw two consecutive breaths and consider male companionship; but it would not be this man, and not now. My thoughts were still on consolidating my resources and ensuring my survival.

The more insistent he became, the more defensive was my response. He seemed taken aback when I called him a lothario, whether it was because he did not understand the term, was affronted, or did not like being exposed as one, I could not tell. It was well enough that he chose that moment to leave and I was able to sit down at a table to finally rest.

I’m not sure of the sequence of events, but I did meet a couple of other people, and Aedon did return with what he swore was the rightful rate of exchange for the ingots. I took him at his word because I choose to believe people until the time may come that facts tell me that I should not.

The 5,000g he brought gave me something to work with. I was able to buy some serviceable armor and a decent working sword. I continued to gather saleable items, but also turned my hand to killing monsters of no real threat for the bounty and the goods they might carry. I’ve found jewelry with interesting properties, a bow and some arrows, additional pouches and the like. And, I now have a bank box at the abbey that I can use for personal storage.

Things are looking up, as long as I try not to think of all those who lost their lives when the Isle of Reason was swallowed by the sea.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #4

Dear Diary,

It has been a sorrowful period since I last wrote. I have been dreaming of Hy-Brasil almost nightly; and, during the days, I’m often reminded of my island home by simple, common things like forests, streams, fields, and pools.

The dreams, more nightmares really, invariably include those last moments as my father and I stood in the rapidly sinking tower of our home, and the horrible sounds of people concerned only with their safety and that of those closest to them. It must have hurt him deeply to push me away as he activated the book that brought me to this only vaguely familiar world.

I fervently hope that some Hy-Brasilians escaped that fate. Certainly, we had many watercraft, and even furniture that could keep people afloat in still waters, but the powerful undertow that could be created by a sinking island was well understood.

Whirlpools would have been huge as well. These scenarios had been one of the reasons we had so highly developed our sciences. The only chance we had for our survival, other than abandoning that magical place, was a thorough understanding the forces of nature that may turn against us; and eventually did with a vengeance nearly unbelievable. We never solved the problem that loomed ahead.

Still not in a good mood, I once again visited that establishment where the gold ingots incident took place. My mood was so depressed that I tried very hard to ignore the rudeness of the alleged magistrate, Aedon.

I was so in need of some contact with other people that I chose not to react to his childlike pestering, throwing bits of paper and twigs at the back of my head, trying to get some sort of response, I suppose. Whether it was just plain meanness or desperation, I’m not capable of offering a reasoned guess.

Certainly his mood was one of fun; but, whether or not that fun was for him alone, I could not tell. Was this normal behavior for him? Did he do it to amuse the others that were there, to show off? Do women around here actually respond to that kind of thing?

I did get to meet a couple of other women, none of which stood up for him. Still, each of them appeared amused at his behavior. Others joined in, suggesting that the acerbic conversation that took place sounded like a lover’s quarrel, of all things.

I’m not denigrating the intelligence of those that where there; it’s obviously more of a cultural thing, a learned-response mechanism, that seem to make them respond deferentially to an authority figure acting childishly. He is a strong personality, and could, I suppose, be an effective leader.

I eventually stepped out onto the outside porch to finish my dinner and ale in private. Not satisfied, he stepped out and sat at my table. We had a conversation, the goal of which – according to him – was to convince me that I had been the problem. According to him, I just hadn’t understood the situation that first night. His holding my gold was for my protection, and his offers of a place to sleep were entirely pure, not to be held suspect.

I suppose I was also responsible for the trash assault when I was inside keeping to myself.

I tried and may have been able to explain why I saw what I saw, felt what I felt, and reacted as I did. His explanations fell flat to my ears, so this is where we left it. I know that I’m an outsider. I’m not one of these people, and may never be one.

Whenever a problem occurs, I’ll have to ask myself first if it’s because of something I don’t understand, and give these actual citizens the benefit of the doubt beyond the borders of my personal feelings. I can’t assume that my viewpoint is correct, just because it meets those highest standards of my lost home, even mine is the most honest and ethical position.

This culture sees things differently; and, to survive here, I will be forced to adapt or live the life of a White Tara – a word used in the culture of my world to describe a female monk of virtue.

I’m not well acquainted enough with this world to be sure how to react in their society. I’ve decided to limit my visits to places where they congregate or do business for now. I’m staying at a place in town instead of the Abbey. I’m afraid if I stay with the monks much longer, they will expect me to become an acolyte.

My foraging, at least, has paid off. I’ve amassed a small (very small) savings by the standards of this world, but it has been sufficient for me to stay warm, clothed, housed, and fed. I have improved on my earlier armor, crafted a more capable bow, and collected runes with which I can travel. My sword skills are as sharp as ever (no pun intended), and I’ve taken up the attribute of Chivalry to keep my mind sharp.

Things are definitely looking up, but the bottom of the well in which I sit is so deep that there is little view other than up.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #5

Dear Diary,

Rationally, I know that you are just a book, and that keeping track of events and memories might more suitably fall under the definition of a journal, but I don’t really need a journal so much as I need a friend. I prefer to write here as if to a close confidant.

Still, if I assume that you know everything a close confidant might know, there would be no reason to write any of it down at all. With that in mind, I will clarify a few things that have gone through my mind, beginning with my last letter.

I mentioned the incident with the paper and twigs, and characterized it as the behavior of a child. In reality, I know that this is far from the truth. That activity is known well, on my world, as being one that occurs in adulthood.

There is a continent, far from where Hy-Brasil had been, where adult males do throw twigs and leaves as a demonstration of dominance. They also puff their cheeks and beat their chests to impress their females. The difference is that these adult males are actually adult male apes.

My father’s training does hold strong. The maybe Lothario’s name, I believe I’ve mentioned, was Aedon Durreah. He has become something of an irritation, so much so that it occurred to me to refer to him as “Add-on Diarrhea”; but no Hy-Brasilian would do something so crude, especially when visiting a foreign culture.

Perhaps I’m going to have to treat my life here, at least for the time being, as an anthropological study. I’ll have to learn societal standards, mores, and idioms to understand and get along. Apparently, apologies for offenses are not a social norm, here.

Secondly, I have not been able to maintain the view that any one person I’ve met has actually had malice in their hearts. I met an animal trainer, a man named Spiral, who wanted to show of his skills. The fact that he chose a place, for his demonstration, that had us both seeking healers a couple of times, was more caused by poor planning than evil or incompetence. I don’t believe it was his intent, or he wouldn’t have stayed as long as he did.

Ultimately, Mr. Spiral left me there, suggesting that we meet up again in Luna. By the time I retrieved my belongings, and was able to safely leave, it was late. He was at the Luna Bank, but never seemed to notice me. These people take their banking very seriously.

I also met a white-robed rider at a cave entrance. I hailed him, and actually got a response; but then, nothing but silence. I thought that perhaps I had been trespassing, at first; but whatever the reason he was stopped there, I’m apparently, just uninteresting. All the better, I suppose, as I won’t have to fend off a lot of unwanted advances; although my current plight will not change until I get better at interacting with the people of this world.

I’ve seen that there are plenty of attractive women here. Many of them are every bit as pretty as those of my home, and a lot less particular about the traits of their men.

I need to seek out opportunities, even if I must play an uncharacteristic role – that of mouse-on-the-shelf, listening and learning before leaving that safe place and venturing into the mix.

We have a saying that would not be understood here, “Nobody is Hy-Brasil”. What that means is that, just as Hy-Brasil is a split island, one person cannot live a full, happy life alone, and no man or woman can live as an island cut off from all others. It also speaks to how pairings among people are necessary to create a home, like our island, or a family.

For now, I’m surviving as an island; but my people wouldn’t consider it really living.

With that in mind, I might mention that there is a dinner of some sort coming up. The reason for the congregation is unclear to me, something having to do with a mystery of some sort.

Apparently, many have been invited. I can’t say that I understand way, probably the natural tendency of these people to suspect those that they do not know well, but I have appeared on the list of invitees.

It almost seems like an afterthought, but the occasion is being treated as a dinner and is being hosted by the Magistrate. Apparently, some mysterious happenings began almost the minute I arrived.

So, do I ignore the dinner and miss out on an opportunity to interact with the citizens? Would I bring suspicion on myself if I choose not to attend? Might I even be placing myself in danger?

I’ve heard of mobs that become inflamed with fear and mass paranoia when cattle begin to die, lashing out at anybody odd or new to a village. Might that be the fate of the last White Tara of Hy-Brasil? How I wish that you could lend me counsel instead of just accepting the pouring out of my problems.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #6

Dear Diary,

I don’t really know where to begin, talking about last night’s dinner party. As I mentioned, I dreaded the possibility that I might be accused of some wrongdoing simply because I’m a newcomer to this world. That turned out not to be a real problem, but things just got curiouser and curiouser as the night progressed.

I arrived very early, to minimize the possibility of being caught by a trap or unanticipated personalities. I cannot believe that I’ve had to become so paranoid, that a dinner invitation should generate such foreboding.

The dinner party was hosted by the local Magistrate who seemed rather liked by the twenty or so people – most of them were people – that attended. He must have been surprised to see so many; but, when it became obvious that he hadn’t set up enough chairs, he found and placed benches without asking anyone’s help. That’s normally the sign of an authority who is either benevolent, a controlling personality, or just poorly organized.

I began the evening sitting in the seat closest the door, largely because of my previous fears. When the table got crowded, and I noticed some odd behavior amongst the guests, I offered to make room and stood even closer to the door.

Durreah told those gathered about things that weren’t missing at all, but left by persons unknown. He started to tick off each name and what he decided their role might have been, but apparently ended saying that he had all the information he needed; and, my name hadn’t even come up.

Still, I was careful not to drink or eat, not wanting to chance dulled senses, and kept at the ready by the door; when, suddenly, a strange, robed figure appeared a few paces in front of me, facing the group.

From underneath the hood of the robe, all that could be seen was a rough and longish beard. The figure spoke strangely, and I could not fathom the meaning of his words though he spoke the local tongue.

Someone I had met at the tavern on my first night, James, spoke out that the stranger might be a satyr. With nothing else exposed, I glanced down at the hem of his shroud and noticed that his feet were anything but normal. They were rather hoof-like, and this may be what James had noticed. Nobody else seemed to take notice of James’ outburst.

The stranger part of it was that the guests seemed perfectly comfortable with such a bizarre incident, some of them joking as if they expected the type of weirdness that was causing me such anxiety.

When the figure stopped speaking, after a bit of drink drew more cryptic lines from his mouth, he vanished in a puff of smoke. After only a moment’s hesitation, Durreah called for anyone wishing to help grab a lantern from the chest near the door.

I happened to have a couple of torches, so I lit one and headed out, and south. Others followed, and others took the lead. In a very short time we came upon a even stranger coven. There were several Lammas that congregated in the woods, and they seem intent on visiting with one another. When they started to move off together, I noticed that the bulk of them stayed close to one of their fellows, as if forming a formal guard.

One of the dinner attendees, I’ve heard, tried to engage them in conversation; but I doubt that much could have come of that.

Back around the table, I needed to calm my nerves and accepted an offer of ale and stew. Durreah set my mind at ease when I confessed the reason for my skittish state. He said that I was only invited that he might have an opportunity to improve on my opinion of him; but what a strange sequence of events, and hardly with the desired outcome. True, my opinion of him and his group did improve, and I no longer doubt that he is the local authority figure.

By chance, I did happen to meet Aedon Durreah this morning and asked him about the strange individual. He seemed surprised, and very interested, when I mentioned James’ observation. He thanked me for bringing it to his attention, and said that he needed to immediately seek out James to discuss what he saw.

But what a host is he who is visited by such outlandish beings and odd behaviors.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #7

Dear Diary,

I haven’t heard anything further about the odd events on the night of the dinner. I haven’t wanted to search out any of those who had been in attendance, but no longer because I am concerned about accusations being levied against me. I just don’t know if I want to get to snarled in the strange lives of these people.

Take my mentioning of James’ statement to Aedon. His seemed a fantastic over-reaction for something said in the middle of the company. The slightest things seem to energize and motivate these folks in the strangest and most unpredictable ways.

The only outcome of the happenings of that night that I truly appreciate is that my nightmares have changed to dreams again. In happier times, these dreams might also have been received as nightmares, but I’m grateful not to be haunted by those pained voices of neighbors and friends dying from the fate that I escaped.

My people have tried, over the centuries, to find reliable interpretations of dreams. Some few generalizations have been found to be workable, most of the time, but I never spent much time studying the art, or how to apply it. I could guess at their meanings, but mere guesswork isn’t any better than asking you; is it?

The dreams now start off with me being chased by monsters of the area. I don’t feel that I’m in any real danger, but I don’t stop and fight which upsets me. The monsters begin to change into generic people, largely featureless, and I slow down. The monsters, now people, blend together into one man and, as he approaches I recognize the face of the magistrate, Aedon Durreah.

From what little information I’ve gathered, he does have a fair measure of importance and influence. His acquaintances – I’m not sure which of them are friends of his – receive him as a combination businessman and diplomat. Then there are the snippets of conversations I’ve heard of his being a fighter and military leader in the past. It’s no wonder that I don’t understand the workings of that mind. These concepts are not common in Hy-Brasil.

Anyway, in my dream, I stop running and ask him why he is chasing me. He responds, “I’m not chasing you lass. I’m just trying to find my way, and you seem to know where you’re going.”

I ask if he is lost, and he says, “Not as such. To be lost, there must be somewhere you need to be. If I’m following somebody who is not lost, how can I be lost?”

“Well, there’s the problem, then. I can’t find my way back home, so following me will do you little good.”

“But,” he says, “would you know home if you came across it?”

At this, he sits down and crosses his legs. With elbows on his knees, he wearily lowers his head into his hands.

Durreah slowly reaches into his pack and pulls out some local blood moss and mandrake root placing it on the ground in front of him. Reaching to his right, he plucks a single back pearl from the ground and adds it to the pile. He pulls an old rune from inside his shirt and, holding it over the pile, incants, “Kal Por Ylem!”

The rune now looks new, refreshed, and Aedon says, “Now I can no longer be lost, because I can always find my way back here.” He proceeds to offer the rune to me.

He suddenly looks terribly tired and sad to me. I am moved to step closer, and I go to stroke his hair and ask him what might be troubling him but, just as I touch his hair, I wake.

Each time, the dream leaves me confused and shaking. Perhaps the monsters represent this move far from home. Maybe Aedon represents my father and the sacrifices he made to keep me safe by creating my rune book. I’ve been gathering black pearls on the chance that I can somehow use them to create a path back home as my father had, even though I know Hy-Brasil won’t be there.

The dreams are most as unsettling as the nightmares.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #8

Dear Diary,

The move to Skara Brea has been a fortunate one in many ways. The town makes an opportune place from which to travel, largely because of its convenient moon gate on the north peninsula.

I was able to purchase a rune book for traveling to cities, if I’m too far from a gate, and another for places to hunt to earn gold. Travel has no longer been a problem.

The dreams, however, are another story. They still contain familiar elements, like the fear and being followed. They still have the appearance of the Aegis Magistrate, Aedon Durreah. But now, when he appears, he seems to be between me and the danger. I don’t know if he’s meant to be protecting me, hampering me, or just a casual passerby.

I did eventually get to the part where I go to stroke his hair, and did. He seemed to be suffering some personal loss; and I actually knelt beside him and rested his head on my shoulder as I used to do when my father was suffering some personal fatigue of spirit. However, I could not get any words out and he said nothing.

I was assuming that his appearance was meant as a surrogate for my father, but it felt entirely different. Even stranger, it came after I’d overheard a couple of conversations about the man I once considered ‘that horrid lothario’.

I’m not so proficient at reading people that I can tell who is easily fooled and who sees through emotional masks. On the one hand, those conversations spoke of his good heart and thoughtful deeds; and, on the other hand, others say that he has a wife and child that he hasn’t seen in ages.

Of course, he could be a good person and still be a poor husband or father. He talks a good line, but he has about him that which we used to refer to as blarney. Blarney was coined for a family in the land of Eire, not far from the point of their land closest to Hy-Brasil, who were especially effective at passive resistance when responding to authority.

It is an assault on emotions, designed to bypass a person’s rational thought. It can be quite effective, in the right hands, never giving up anything but rhetoric; and he seems to have it in abundance.

I’ve only casually been in the same area, as Aedon, a couple of times; so I don’t know what to make of the rumors that he seeks to better my opinion of him. Is this the blarney? Or, perhaps, it pains him to be misunderstood after spending a life in service to his community. Perhaps our first meeting was just, for him, on a bad week, though it could hardly have been worse than what I experienced being ripped from my home and sent far from family and friends. Still, he’d not have known that.

Suddenly, I’m thinking that my dreams may be reflecting an inner struggle, that I somehow feel that I’ve treated him unfairly. Then, I remember spending a couple of late evening hours combing bits of twig and paper out of my hair and I don’t feel so generous.

If only to be rid of the dreams, or at least determine whether Durreah is a mere surrogate in them, I’ll try to make peace with him; and, maybe, I could seek out some of the people who seem to know him and ask about his true nature.

That, then, is settled. I’ll seek him out to give him a fair opportunity to set my mind straight on whether he is a clod and a rake, a prince and a savior, or just another man.

If I am to leave, and try to return to my world, it could haunt me if I thought I’d made somebody’s life here any more miserable. In case the dreams are trying to tell me that, I’ll make sure to address the issue. Still, the tenderness of the end pieces of the dream leave me unsettled, myself.

Diary, I do believe I’m making some progress creating that way back of which I spoke. I believe the secret is to identify the coordinates in time and space for the new rune. I don’t know how long my father worked on that aspect.

It may have been his attempting to create different, safe locations for each rune that delayed him so much; although, giving it some thought, I don’t know how many books were created or who might have been given them. Only time will tell.

This place has become less strange, or at least more familiar than I expected, for how short of time I’ve been here. It never would occur to me that it would actually take some thinking to decide whether to go ‘home’. I could get to the spot, but I know the land will not likely be there, but staying here is just so foreign and foreboding that I hesitate to even take the possibility into account.

All I can think of at times like this is my father saying, “If you’re entirely uncertain as to a course of action, time will tell. Time will tell.”

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #9

Dear Diary,

A library! I’ve found a library! What famous luck to find a repository of such knowledge about this strange land!

I was in a place called Magincia where a lot of building has been taking place. I only went to find some verification of the generosity of Magistrate Durreah. I’d heard a story that he performed a selfless deed, exchanging one of these magnificent structures for two lesser buildings only to then turn the two over to a friend who had need of those two particular buildings.

What stood out, in my mind, was that he accepted no compensation for the impressive Magincia plot. Perhaps he did not value it. Perhaps he had won it in a game of chance and did not want to be burdened with it. None of that matters when he gave up something of tremendous value just to make two friends happier.

Anyway, while there, I overheard another conversation. People here do not seem to care if they are overheard, to their credit. Suspicious, closed off people are unnerving in their paranoia. This conversation confirmed the story I had been told, but also brought up the subject of the library.

As wonderful as having the land’s history now at my fingertips is, it has raised additional questions for me. Many families were mentioned of which I’ve not seen any sign.

The Durreah family was also covered well, including warriors and kings, smiths and scribes, adventurers and homebodies. There must have been several Aedon’s, according to the books. One man could not possibly have been involved in so many campaigns, had so many wives and children, and still be so immature as the one I’ve met. Even his visage is of a man younger than the stories would indicate. He appears little older than I.

There is mention of a John McDermott who worked for the Durreah family as his father did before him. Then, the young John dies in battle, only to be mentioned again up until about the time that the younger Aedon appears in the chronicles of this land.

Most curious, indeed. I can’t imagine the locals not protesting if a replacement John then supplanted a missing Aedon!? Certainly, identification has to be more important to these people than just changing ink on paper. Family names, from where I came, are held in much greater esteem than that.

I really don’t know why I should even care. I’m not of this place and not necessarily destined to stay here. Still, mysteries and puzzles have always intrigued me. Perhaps I’ll sink my teeth into this one and determine just what the truth may be, just for the mental exercise of it!

Meanwhile, life goes on here without family or friends, class or study, sport or work. There is only the hunting that brings me food, shelter, and armor; and, all this merely provides the means to hunt some more. No wonder I assign myself these little projects like how I might return to my home, no longer there, or busy myself with minor mysteries such as Aedon Durreah.

I could learn everything there is to know about the Durreah clan or some other family, marry into it and spend a lifetime there, and still not feel any closure about having lost Hy-Brasil. What good is any of it if I’m always to be a grounded bird, trudging along in a land where I am such an alien?

I’ve yet to truly decide whether my father’s heartfelt effort to protect my life has been a blessing, punishment, or something between. He foresaw so much that I simply choose to believe that something good is meant to come of it, that there will come a time when I bless him for his sacrifice because of that good. What it might be, I cannot imagine. I persevere because I must. It’s either that or seek the solace of eternal night and lifeless sleep.

If only you could offer some counsel, dear diary. Any word of encouragement or support could go a long way to lighten my mood at times like this, when the evening hour grows so long and ultimately dark. I argue with myself over the use of a candle versus just going to bed. The soul aches for more than the body has to give.

I should set myself a goal, or several of them – things to keep me focused. As soon as I come up with anything worthwhile, I’ll record them here. At least then when I ask you for advice on which way to go, you can at least offer them back up to me as alternatives.

But, for now, I will end my entry. Perhaps my first goal will be to regiment my entries somewhat, rather than come to you so randomly. We’ll see.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #10

Dear Diary,

My first recorded goal will be to find a way to shake off my deplorable and selfish doldrums. I don’t expect to ever get over my personal losses, forget my family, or stop yearning for the life I left behind, but it also does no good to deny my current situation and live so entirely in the past.

I shall try visiting a tavern once again. Small talk with Skara Brae residents is fine, of course, but there’s not a lot of joy or excitement in it.

If visiting the tavern doesn’t do the trick, I can always immerse my self in the local dungeons, practicing my skills with weapons as the major part of my fitness routine, and making some income as well. It is great for burning off frustrations.

Or, I could buy some tailoring tools and make come clothing for myself. That might even provide some calm to my days.

I could even continue to immerse myself in the libraries, trying to find a solution to my dilemma, a way home; but that is so very likely fruitless that it may only steer me right into depression.

I may have to study under a mage to see if this land has the skills to help me at all.

Until I shake either my doubts about getting home, or decide my purpose in this land, there is not much more in the way of goals that makes any sense.

One can’t plan things like family, homes, children, or even business when they are so one-foot-in one-foot-out of a situation.

What would my father propose? What would I do if I got back and there was no sign of Hy-Brasil? Whatever shall I do if I am forced to stay, or decide to stay? And, why have the dreams stopped?

They were annoying, but were also some company at least.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #11

Dear Diary,

Much has transpired since last I wrote here. I've been to several events and spent a couple of evenings in taverns. It has certainly meant interesting people and conversations, some of which I'm still pondering.

It continues to surprise me when something familiar comes along. I suppose that it shouldn’t considering that the language spoken here is so much like my own tongue, but it’s not just the nouns and verbs. Even some products, named in long-dead languages, seem astoundingly similar.

I met Aedon at Que’s Tavern and tried a beverage that the bartender, James, called something like ‘akvavit’. I had met James at least twice before; at the Knight’s Rest in Yew and at Aedon’s dinner party.

He was surprised when I suggested that the libation sounded so much like our own aqua vitae, and it tasted much like brandy. The Irish called it uisce beatha. Perhaps, somewhere on my home world there is a land that calls these distilled wines akvavit.

The evening went just fine. Aedon of Yew happened to be there. We sat and chatted along with a woman of Aedon’s acquaintance. She introduced herself as Alicia. She was among the most immediately friendly people I’d yet met. A very charming and attractive redhead, much prettier than myself, and very interested in welcoming me to the area, by all appearances.

It appears that she and Aedon have a past of some sort, for the friendly and joking barbs and japes flew around my head like swarm of bees.

She excused herself for quite some time, during which we finished our evening and Aedon saw me back to Skara Brae. Whether he was just playing the gentleman, or had a real concern over my sobriety and my ability to make it safely home, I cannot say. But, it was very nice to have company.

We did finally get together for the tea he had offered. I’ll have to return the favor. It was very pleasant having someone to talk to with whom I was comfortable. He talks very well, as one might expect of a magistrate.

We spoke largely of family, his and mine but mostly his. I brought up the books I’d found in the library on the subject of his heritage, and he spoke of a series of tomes that were on his mind that described his family’s background.

There was not much to tell of mine. My mother died when I was very, very young. I had an older brother that just seemed to disappear from my life before I was seven. His name was Kell. I always referred to him in a possessive sense, like ‘my own personal Kell’. Strange, how long it has been since I thought of Kell.

Father was different. He was the one steady rock in my life, always at hand, always steady and supportive. If I wasn’t his princess, he treated me every bit as if I had been one.

At the time, I did not realize that this was strange. Looking back, I very much wish I had asked more questions about my mother and brother. There just always seemed to be time ahead in which to do that. We don’t expect our families, neighbors, and friends to be so quickly and unexpectedly ripped from us.

Aedon has no such problem with his ancestry. His problem seems to be not remembering it. I’m not sure he’s any better off, mentally; but he does have the ability to re-assimilate the knowledge that has somehow been lost from his mind. It is a long and honorable heritage, he bears, though severely disjointed in places as if the calendars and years were arbitrarily changed at odd intervals.

Perhaps the kings and dictators change the calendar each time one takes control? Perhaps everyone here keeps their own personal calendar? I can’t explain some of what I’ve read and been told any other way. The people of the area seem completely content with their time measurement system, but it would drive those on Hy-Brasil mad.

Aedon’s life story is disjointed enough, but the name Figol must have been quite in vogue over the last couple of centuries. There’s no other way to explain how that name keeps cropping up throughout the records. And, even stranger, he is often described so similarly that he would have to be a magician or an immortal to be just one man! How indescribably impossible is that?!

Aedon was kind enough to spend considerable time with me, and showed me quite a bit of reachable areas. He offered me a rune book that contained many local sites for earning a livelihood, mostly dungeons(!), and places to shop as my needs change.

Now that we seem to have earned a measure of trust from one another, I look forward to the relationship deepening, in friendship or whatever other form it takes.

I am only slightly concerned that all we talked about was the past and family. Neither of us divulged much about ourselves. Still, I don’t feel we’re yet at the point where discussing hopes, dreams, and the future are appropriate.

Better we just learn more about each other, for now, and let fate guide the intercourse as it happens. One of use will know if and when it’s time to delve deeper.

[caramcbride]

Diary Entry #12

Dear Diary,

I’ve had much to be grateful for, considering how much it hurts being denied forever my home. The weather has been temperate enough, despite the occasional, refreshing rain. My need for caution has diminished as I become more and more aware of the personalities around me. And, although I’m financially secure, I suspect that I could now depend on those around me to care enough should I find myself in dire need.

It’s a far cry from where I was just months ago. Months, those time elements that make up the years, what does that term even mean anymore? What does it mean here?

I had a strangely disturbing conversation at the tavern called Que’s. I was asked about Hy-Brasil by a couple of persons who claimed to have been to my now-destroyed home. “What year”, they wanted to know, “was it when I left?” How do I begin to answer that…, and should I?

I spoke the truth, that there were many active calendars used by the nations of my world at any given time. I could have spoken of the Gregorian, I suppose; but Hy-Brasil does not use that one. If I gave them the year according to Hy-Brasil, it would be merely a number, signifying nothing to them.

It’s actually much more serious, though, than an esoteric matching of timelines. I don’t know if I should let them know the level of technologies known to mankind, the recognition of the true size of the world and travel there, and the advances known to none but the scholars of my home.

Such information nearly always causes strife. Let someone know about engines of war, and someone will use the information to create them. Tell them of how primitive societies have been enslaved by the more advanced ones and somebody may take it upon themselves to strive for world domination, even if only on one ‘shard’. Teach them more about medicine than that which they are ready and abuse of that knowledge may transpire!

If I could be certain that they were wrong about being there, I wouldn’t have to worry. It’s their certainty that makes me hesitate to even voice the Christian year 1841 AD as the year that Hy-Brasil was swallowed up by the sea.

Out of context, it’s just a number; but, if it raises too much curiosity, I could become as a plague carrier, causing more and nastier destruction than the majiks and monsters of their legends and lore.

I’m only now beginning to feel some safety, and shared honesty, with folks like Aedon. I don’t want to outright lie, in part because I’ve never learned the knack. Yet, can I tell much in good conscience?

It has been helpful that Aedon has been so welcoming. I can stay with him for many hours without him tiring of my company – as far as I can tell – or making advances. He does get me talking about some rather advanced concepts and handles his end of the conversation extraordinarily well.

I’ve found that I don’t have hold back in the complexity of the subject matter. He has his strengths and weaknesses, but he is not lacking in intelligence. I know it sounds condescending and smug, but I sometimes forget that he did not attend University on Hy-Brasil. It’s just that it is so hard to imagine such intelligence with the opportunities for scholarly pursuit which I’ve seen in evidence.

As long as it’s the two of us, I can feel entirely free to be myself. Unfortunately, I have to be much more guarded when others are about. Still, I cannot expect him to have me lean on him for company all the time. Whatever his level of patience, it must be wearing thin!

I do find enjoyment in his company, and the occasions where he has had to take my hand to lead me around because of the forest or the dark. The advantages of physical contact between humans, was well understood at home. Humans need that sort of interaction to create personal bonds, and the sensation is often pleasant as well.

I do get the feeling that he understands and needs a physical connection, as well. If I somehow ruin this relationship, I’ll be hard-pressed to find this level of comfort again soon.

For now, I’ll concentrate on the subject of the equivalency of years between Hy-Brasil and Sosaria, and between myself and Aedon Durreah. Still, I often study the stars above Skara Brea and wonder if I’ll ever again feel that I have really and truly found a home?