~
"Anchoring to Red Board! Moredea Central, West," Bertrand called out, reaching for the whistle cord. He tugged the cord three times, and held the fourth longer. The Magpie shrilled, slowing down amidst great plumes of steam billowing from her underbelly. Jumping onto the platform, Bertrand held the lantern high to light the way.
Isobel stepped from the train and, as the steam dissipated, the rail station slowly revealed itself.
Overhead, a magnificent stained glass dome ceiling loomed like an jeweled tent, casting rich, dappled hues across the tracks and wide stone platform like brilliant confetti. The Magpie's headlight burned brightly through the last of the steam, and Isobel could see that farther down was another, smaller, junction connecting the rails.
The walls along the platform were tiled in a grand botanical mosaic, and, like the stained glass ceiling, the colors were vivid, even under the grime of ages. Fields of crimson and azure, set atop of verdant hills, the lusciousness of hue immortal so real it threatened to overspill onto the platform.
"The main concourse is six levels up," Eadric said, and turned for a wide, softly arched stairwell. The entrance was tiled green and a brass sign over it, tarnished the same color as the tile, read Central Moredea.
Ash took the lead as they climbed the broad stone steps to the first landing which split into two staircases at the top, continuing to the upper levels.
"Central Moredea station is closed to the general public, has been since the storms. Only the west bound tunnels were cleared to allow our legions access to Landgraevan," he explained.
"What was in Landgraevan for Moredea?"
"Land and resources that Dareas Evander stole. Something we needed. We were not victorious, but, we managed to somehow survive."
Their steps echoed up the stone and tile stairwell, sharp and brittle, like the thin layer of ice covering every surface.
"We use our resources carefully, for the winters are fierce and long. Spring has arrived, though, and the thaw has set in. Every year the sun gets stronger. The hills turn a deeper cast of emerald, the rivers flow blue as the fierce sea, the smells of life get richer, more intense." He glanced at her and lowered his voice as he asked, almost apologetically, "Have you ever seen the sun?"
"No, not clearly," she said, her throat catching with the idea. "Neither have I seen the moon or wished upon a real star."
"There are some beautiful skies visible from Ornsby Lake. It is nearly thawed for the year. In just a few days I'll be launching my boat."
"A boat. I've never known anyone with a boat," she said, impressed.
"My ancestors were whelped of the sea. They were taught to swim like the currents of the riptide before they could walk. They suckled at the breast of the Goddess Nera before their own mother's milk." He laughed. "Forgive me. I get carried away."
"I think it's wonderful to have an ancestry to be proud of, Eadric," she said, and smiled at him. "I hope to be as lucky."
"Your mother was a brilliant warrior, Isobel. That your veins carry her blood is cause for great pride. I hear that she was also very kind, as kind as a warrior of the Septa can be."
"I hear she had many enemies," Isobel said, looking over the balustrade at Beatrice and Admiral Vin below. They were deep in conversation, Admiral Vin gesturing wildly, and their hushed, muffled voices traveled up the cylindrical stairwell, cold and tight and unintelligible.
"Powerful people have enemies," he said, and waited for her to proceed as they reached the last landing, entering into a long hallway.
The black marble floor under their feet was smooth with centuries of use, thick red veins running through each massive slab. Both walls, reaching to a high ceiling, were painted in an expansive mural, depicting a busy port.
Isobel stopped to study the mural. The busy harbor was filled with crowds and animals and ships, billowing clouds floating alongside the elegant vessel's majestic, ivory white sails.
"The harbor is what made Moredea so powerful. As soon as her port thaws, we will regain our power. Perhaps one day we may even overthrow Dareas Evander. That is the Pythean in the background, from where we just came," Eadric said, and pointed to the lavender mountain range stretched along the horizon of the mural.
"This mural looks almost like a map," Isobel said, noticing the longitudinal lines and obvious, exaggerated landmarks. "That's a strange building," she said, pointing to a disproportionately large, domed building to the left of the port.
"That was the ancient observatory. It fell after the storms."
Beatrice and Admiral Vin entered the hallway, their voices traveling lightly in the spacious passage, booted steps clipping the marble, echoing off the walls.
Farther down, at the other end of the passage, a light shone. It was soft yellow and settled over part of the mural, bringing out the rich colors not apparent in the otherwise dim hall. The cusps of gently rolling waves lit up under the creamy glow, soft pink highlights kissing the frothy spray, with aqua and emerald greens rising from the depths of the sea. The sails of ships were crisp white against cobalt skies, and the lavender hills of the Pythean valley were touched with tart green and strewn with crimson, blue, and burnt orange.
Isobel walked toward the light, drawn as if in a dream, emerging into the main concourse lobby of Moredea central station in awe. She paused at the center of the vast space and stared at the light, as pure as it was, streaming in through towering solid glass walls like liquid gold, touching everything aurous. She raised her hand, turned it to and fro, and the deep orange color saturated her skin.
"The sun," she whispered.
The End
Emergent, Book One : Isobel Page 29
