The Continent (The Continent #1)(14)
“A sad truth,” says the steward.
We glide above the snowy landscape, taking in the splendor of the wilderness. Great are the wonders of the Continent, vast and beautiful as it is—and this tour is more comprehensive than I dreamed it would be. We head along the southern coast far into the west, where there is nothing but craggy rock and desolation—and two middling Topi settlements, perched near the cliffs at the shore, directly in the center of the Wastes.
“What is this?” Aaden says in surprise, leaning toward the window. “These are Topi camps—what are they doing so far south?”
“Ah,” says the steward, “that is a recent development, sir. Exploring a bit of their own territory, we suspect. They haven’t been there long, and I doubt they are like to stay. Northerners, the Topi are, and the southwest has little to offer.”
“It looks to be quite a large force,” Aaden says. “Fascinating.”
I make a note of the settlements in my book, but otherwise find little to see other than hard ground and rocky terrain.
Before long, the plane is headed north, and we fly over an expansive network of Topi villages. The architecture is different from that of the Aven’ei: cruder, harsher, yet terribly formidable, even in the frozen, icy territory the Topi call home. The little towns, too, are much closer together than Aven’ei villages; I am reminded of an ant colony, with many chambers all connected together, working to support a single purpose. A great lake—shaped like a five-pointed star—lies at the near center of the Topi settlements. There are villagers below, too; they are singularly dark of hair, with beautiful bronzed skin, and look to be very tall—even the women.
“The infrastructure,” Aaden says, “is incredible. Look at the paint! It must be sleet and ice nearly all year round, yet the buildings are bloodred, sunshine yellow—incredible!”
“Looks dreary to me,” says Mrs. Shaw, entirely unimpressed. “All that stone and plaster—and what a terrible, gaudy show. Most distasteful.”
“The Topi are well-known for their use of color,” the steward says, “whether in dress, or war paint, or in the settlements themselves.”
“Gaudy,” says Mrs. Shaw once more, and she sniffs.
“We are heading east now,” says the steward, and the Topi villages become increasingly scarce as we pan toward the center of the Continent. “You will see, on the port side, a number of Aven’ei ruins within the next thirty minutes of travel. Their territory did once extend this far north, though the Topi have reclaimed it, obviously, and chosen not to inhabit these old settlements. Not to their liking, I suppose?” He laughs lightly, though I feel a chill at the notion of abandoned cities—empty buildings gone to ruin, households deserted, so many lives now forgotten.
“From what we can tell,” he continues, “everything has been left just as it was when the villages were overtaken. We’ve even been able to make out dress forms and the like in store windows, still bearing tunics and other Aven’ei garments! There are metal pots in the bakeries, mosaics upon the walls—it is like a civilization frozen in time. We of the Spire do not land, of course, for to do so would be to violate the Treaty—but the Chancellery has a number of phototypes on record of these ancient Aven’ei towns. Storefronts, armorers, residential districts, all abandoned in the aftermath of war. Truly fascinating!”
“Grim,” my father says.
“Too right,” Mr. Shaw agrees.
We fly over the settlements, and grim, I think, is not the right word. Stark…sad…overgrown, perhaps. White brick buildings snaked with ivy, fields encroached by weeds and wildflowers, pillars crumbled to half-height. Children once played in the now-empty yards and meadows, men and women once worked in the buildings of industry. All has gone to rot, has been left to nature, as the Topi push farther west and claim village after village. Only the Narrow Corner—the point in the north at which the Kinsho mountains recede—has kept the Aven’ei from total encroachment. This small access point, north of the Kinsho, the Aven’ei can defend. And it is there that we are headed—but first, the Continent holds one last wonder for me.
The pilot sweeps to the south in a beautiful, graceful arc, and we come upon the thing I have most longed to see. Spreading out before me is a miracle of nature, a deep place carved into stone by water, ice, and time.
“If you’ll just take a look out the window,” the steward says, “you’ll see that we’re directly above the Riverbed—a great natural phenomenon, quite unlike anything in the Spire. Please enjoy this grand and majestic view!”
“Good grief,” Mrs. Shaw says, peering out her window. “It’s as though someone dug out half the earth!”
“It’s incredible,” I say. And it truly is: narrow in some places, impossibly wide in others, far deeper than I imagined. I find myself sketching madly as I observe—my cheeks flushed, my fingertips coated with charcoal as I draw and shade and blend. The peaks and crevasses come to life on the pages of my little book, and it occurs to me after about twenty minutes that I should like to do an extensive map of the Riverbed itself.
When the pilot finally veers away from the valley and directs the plane toward the Topi-Aven’ei border, I feel restless and unsatisfied, like a great work has begun and must be put aside. But the steward comes down the aisle and makes a point of telling me that the pilot will return to the canyon on our way back to Ivanel—even though a second look will take us miles out of the way. I thank him profusely, and he laughs.