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Waiting

Standing perfectly still, I listened to the patter of the rain, mesmerized by its cadence as it brushed the leaves of the forest. Ahead of me four children from Bathylan, each of them wearing only a pair of short trousers and a ragged old shirt, played a game around the trees. One couldn’t help but smile at the way they endured the rain. Most adults tend to view the rain as a nuisance that soaks our clothes or delays our plans. We seek shelter under arches or loiter in taverns, scowling at the sky. But not these children. For them the rain brought a wonderful new dimension to their day. The sudden deluge delighted them and their faces creased in innocent delight.

Sometimes I long to have such a view of the world again, and wonder what it might take to reclaim that perspective. But in over thirty years of life, a decade of which has been spent as an Officer of the Sun Chamber, the world has long since robbed me of my limitless optimism.

This was a beautiful forest and my time here among the low, damp branches of hazel and ash was pleasant indeed, but I needed to head back to the settlement of Bathylan before the rain gathered momentum and really drenched me.

Leaving the children to their games, I walked back towards the chasm. Standing at this precipice, my breath caught in my throat. Great heights were not an issue for me, but this enormous gap took even my breath away. A scar right through the forests and grasslands on the border of Koton and Detrata, it was a mile long and eight hundred feet wide, and an imposing sight.

The wind began to pick up, offering relief from the humidity, as I strode across one of the four wooden bridges leading to the central village, which stood atop a single island of rock in the centre of the chasm. The bridge shifted this way and that under the pressure of my steps.

Bathylan was a settlement no bigger in size than the largest and most sprawling of villas, but it had developed into an important diplomatic exchange point for trade and information. Situated on the border of Koton and Detrata, it owed allegiance to neither, though both flags could be seen on the rooftops: the black bird in profile on a yellow background for my home nation of Detrata, and the raised red stag on bold blue for Koton. Truth be told Bathylan had become an administrative island of its own, with tiny embassies and aged diplomats looking for a quiet life.

One did not settle in a place like this. It was the sort of settlement that attracted travellers, a handful of well-established traders seeking to avoid tax, or spies, for it was well plugged in to the political scene. It was always easy to tell who the agents were. They always discussed, in a nonchalant manner full of casual hand gestures, that they were travelling on business, ‘researching properties’ or ‘investment opportunities’ on behalf of someone else. Imports and exports; the old trade. I made a point of smiling and revealing my Sun Chamber brooch to them, the flaming sun. It silenced some. Others thought it an opportune moment to pick my brain on various political agendas, showing no shame in their effort to glean information from me. Despite their presence, Bathylan, with its regular thoroughfare, and a gateway to the rest of the continent, was the perfect hub to rest for a few days while waiting for further orders.