It is the nature of man to create monsters, and it is the nature of monsters to destroy their creators.
We, the explorers were the instruments of the bahro war. We released the bahro. We allowed them the choice to hurt, maim and kill. We allowed them to kill Willow Engberg, and their own kind.
Did we have any right? Was the prison I freed them from worse than being forced to fight each other?
I remember when Yeesha came to us in K’veer. The building was so full of explorers, I was afraid of being trampled to death. When she appeared, the sea of explorers made way, gracious enough to give her room. I was pleasantly surprised to note that the entire population of that place gave her such respect.
She talked of the bahro, and how she had no choice but to leave in order to keep them away from us. Then she left. After we had taken her Journey, she left us, alone in K’veer
I’ve always disliked that place. I can’t really explain why. It radiates sadness. It is such a gorgeous space, and yet, so forlorn. Apparently Yeesha’s father, a man named Atrus had spent a great deal of time here. Doing what, I don’t know. Perhaps he used this space as I use my own. To create new Ages to explore.
If I was given the opportunity to explore more of K’veer, I don’t think I would take it. It feels more like a haunted house, filled with the spectres of old memories.
Recently I’ve been hearing strange noises in certain parts of the City.
I wonder if there are others down here with me. I’ve been down here for months and seen nothing. Not even a bahro.
Hmm, I had almost forgotten about the bahro.
I’ve put down the pen for a while. I’ve been spending my days wandering around the City, really giving myself an opportunity to really look at the place. Not just the City either, every other Age in my bookshelf. I’ve been through them so many times, walking, taking Yeesha’s Journey. I never just looked. I never just sat in the rain of Eder Kemo or lay down at the top of Gahreesen and watch the blue sky rotate. I’ve never just enjoyed listening to the strange tree-frog noises in Kadish, or the beating sun of Eder Gira as I waded through the cool waters.
I wish I knew more about these Ages, who wrote them and if the end result measured up to the expectations to the Author. Were these Ages merely medeocre? Were they what the Author had imagined as he put ink on paper?
It is calming, just enjoying the existance of these Ages. Still, I have little direction for my own.
The proof that I can Write is clear. Still mind-boggling, breath-taking and awe-inspiring, but clear. It’s now time to decide what the first Age of many will be. I’ve been so obsessed with actually accomplishing the technical side, I haven’t given myself any time to consider the creative side of the Art. What sort of Age will I create?
I’ve visited many Ages, all so unique, so beautiful in their own separate ways. What will be my own opus? Did the D’ni writers conciously create a world that would reflect their soul? Perhaps in the act of Writing, the Age was instinctively imbued with that sort of personal beauty?
Listen to me, talking about an Age’s “instinct”, as if it were alive, how foolish of me! I can’t allow myself to get swept up to the point where I truly lose grip on reality and accept what I see as magic. I sometimes allow myself to call it magic, true, but I always recognise that there is science behind all of it, even if I cannot comprehend how it functions.
There can be beauty in that too.