A Tour of the Veduka River, Part II - The Journal of Anther Strein
The Journal of Anther Strein
Observations from a Travelling Naturalist in a Fantasy World
Written by Lachlan Marnoch
with Illustrations by Nayoung Lee
Previous: A Tour of the Veduka River, Part I
Photo by Anton Darius, via Unsplash
A Tour of the Veduka River, Part II
Pahlaviday 9th of Corper, 787 AoC
Bayou City, The Swamplands
The Wise Proverb has berthed in the city of Bayou, capital of the Swamplands. We arrived early this morning. I came abovedecks to watch the sun rise over the city, and was treated to the sight of a pod of river chireks (Abhainn veduka) dancing up and down in our bow wave. They chased the Proverb right up to Bayou's outer limits1, before scattering in sinuous harmony.
Prentis and I had the day to wander the city while the crew loaded and unloaded their wares. The city straddles a few hundred islands at the River’s broadest point, shored up by tiling and breakwaters and interconnected by a ludicrous network of bridges. The largest of these isles bears the palace of the King2; the second largest, the oldest Febregonic temple on Pendant. The Prophet Orima, the Curator himself, is said to have built it – although how he should have had time for such a task while assembling the Dreams of the First Canon from all over Proesus (a task he is supposed to have dropped dead immediately after completing) is beyond me. The temple, humble compared to the great cathedrals in Forum and Manifold, is now administered by the Order - although it was certainly a site of Febregon’s worship for generations before the Order was established (work of Orima or not).
The hold of the Order is not so homogeneous here as it is in Essiloreth, as attested by the number of non-Order chapels scattered through Bayou. In the Paluchard monarchies, although most worship Febregon3, many do so with differences in dogma or ritual – ranging from subtle to egregious – that distinguish them from my Order. There are a great number of minor denominations, some with barely any organisation to speak of. Many people of Febregon lie outside any formal religion, finding their own path toward His worship. There are those that believe that Febregon has always slept and will always sleepi; there are those, following a tradition that predates the First Canon, that believe in Crypsisii as a benevolent figure, even one that protects children from nightmares. A particularly blasphemous sect holds that the entire world is Febregon’s dreamiii and that it will end upon His Awakening.
In our wanderings throughout Bayou’s bridges and canals, we even noted a chapel of the Church of the Awakening, a once-heretical offshoot of the Order originating in Baaikhan – one which there exceeded the Order in the number of local adherents some time ago; apparently, it has now begun to take root even here, in the birthplace of our religion. I am sure the priests of the Order find this development most troubling.
The Torgien crest, flying as a banner over every island of the city, is a red dragon, which the House firmly asserts was slain by their ancestor. The skull of the purported dragon is mounted over the throne of Torgien Hall. It is reported as much too large for a wyvern or Ridoru, and not to match any other known animal. Although I have not personally examined the skull (and I somehow doubt that a trained naturalist will ever be invited to), my suspicion is that it belonged instead to some unidentified, recently extinct species of essiloth4. Such a species could easily have provided the seed of the dragon myth in the first place.
Upon consideration, I am not entirely certain why I am so settled on the non-existence of dragons, except for the fantastic manner in which they permeate myth, legend and fable. Mightn’t they simply be, or have been, animals with magical properties (many others of whom are known to exist)? The mythical traits attributed to them – eternal life, inability to reproduce, flaming breath, their sheer immense size (especially when combined with their ability to fly) - I find difficult to credit5, but some mix of myth and reality might here be true. Rumours of dragon sightings do occasionally surface, but they generally turn out to have been wyverns, large Ridorun, or simply hot air. Still... the naturalist that presents incontrovertible evidence of a dragon's nest will live in textbooks forever. One can hope.
My sole prior visit to Bayou was on that first journey to Forum. It was, at that time, the most people I had ever seen in a single place. The city has changed since then, its engorged suburbs now sprawling from the islands onto the River’s southern banks. Although certainly larger, in reality, than it was when I first passed through, it seems somehow far smaller than in my memory. The world is vast, and the more I see of it the lesser seems all it contains – especially the works of sapient hands. Beside a great mountain or a vast desert, how can a mere city compare?
Even placed alongside other metropoles, Bayou fares poorly6. Considered relative to the other great canal city of Proesus – Galande, on the eastern shore of the Trapped Sea – Bayou is nothing much to look at, and the water leaving the city conveys a good deal more filth than that entering it7. The canals swarm with mosquitoes, and there are almost no trees to interrupt the haphazard tiling of the narrow walkways. Many old buildings are shored up by new scaffolds, in a desperate but ultimately futile attempt to forestall their gradual subsidence into the marshy substrate. The oldest, on the smaller islands at least, have already sunk – second or third storeys now act as ground floors. Even the King’s palace slumps slightly to one side, despite the work of an army of craftsmen.
Bayou endears itself to me only as the place in which I bade my parents farewell. I stood there, today, at the wharf where I last embraced them, and where they stood waving as my riverboat to Delta City receded. Today I left a letter for them at the nearest post office. I pray that they are well.
1 Where I'm afraid they were likely repulsed by the unholy scent of the city's canals.
2 Although the King abides here on and off, House Torgien itself - which has held the crown for centuries - has its private estates in the jungle to the south, along the Piranha River.
3 Non-Febregonic faiths are to be found here as well, but the immense pressure of Febregonic belief permeating the Rainforest prevents any from expanding beyond tiny minorities.
4 Fossils of great, extinct essiloth are now being found across Proesus, albeit much deeper in the fossil record than House Torgien’s story.
5 The flaming breath and great size are not so outlandish when taken individually - although so large an animal in flight is difficult to conceive - but immortality and lack of reproduction contradict everything I understand of nature's order.
6 In today's exploration, however, I did manage to find a small stationery shop, from which I purchased a new pocket journal - I had nearly exhausted every last blank space in my first, even filling in the margins with a vertical scrawl. It is pleasant to write on fresh paper again, although it did strike dearly into our shrinking budget.
7 Properties to the city’s south-west, on the upstream side, are thus considered more valuable – the river there has yet to acquire the extraordinary aroma bequeathed upon it by the city. Thankfully, the filth becomes dilute north of the city, as the river reconsolidates its various branches and speeds up once more.
i As Anther has here assumed a familiarity with the dogma of the Order of Febregon, some explanation may be necessary for readers who are not. The Order holds the belief that Febregon was once awake, but was cast to sleep, to be awakened again one day.
ii A truly villainous figure in the Book of Dreams, Crypsis' betrayal is believed by the Order of Febregon to be responsible for Febregon’s slumber.
iii As opposed to dreaming merely being the method of Febregon’s creation, as maintained in Order theology.
Fifthday 10th of Corper, 787 AoC
Rivership Wise Proverb, North of Bayou City upon the Veduka River
Word has reached me that the Bloom - one of the truest wonders of the natural world - has begun in the Jaw Sea! I have always longed to see it with my own eyes, ever since reading of its wonders as a child. It has chosen a most inconvenient time to appear, for it will surely have retreated once more by the time my debriefing in Forum is complete. Perhaps in the next cycle... I can only pray. The span of time between Bloom events is irregular and not subject to prediction. The last Bloom was some thirty-four years ago, and there is no guarantee that it will occur again in my lifetime. But maybe. If only I could get south in time.
We had been on the river for only a few hours after leaving Bayou this morning before we ran into trouble with the Wise Proverb’s steering. I gather some important part of it had worn through8, and that the captain had neglected to keep a spare – so he sent a team of crewmen back toward Bayou in a dinghy, to obtain a replacement. By the time they returned it would certainly be dark, so the captain decided to weigh anchor here for the night, in a small lagoon off the river proper. There were several hours of sunlight remaining, and it had been some days since I properly immersed myself in natural observation. This was my last opportunity to examine the wildlife of the Swampland bayou, before the river re-narrows – until it diverges once again into the Great Delta, and there its estuarine inhabitants take on a different character again. Thus, I asked the captain’s permission to take the other dinghy on an excursion to the shore. He shrugged and charged me an entire krona for the privilege, plus three in deposit. Somewhat dear for so brief a rental, but I was happy to pay it.
Prentis agreed to accompany me, seeming only too glad to leave the ship behind – although most sapients find Austium faces hard to read, the reverse is often less true9, and Prentis has no trouble interpreting the frequent glances of disgust shot his way by the crew and other passengers. Besides, he had his eye on some of the flowers that line the riverbanks here for addition to his scent artwork. So we paddled off toward the shore, enjoying the sudden quietude.
Although a huge variety of fish species exist in the rainforest, the best-known are the Veduka piranhas, forming the genus Vorax. The leaping piranha (Vorax gladus) is the largest of these, well-known for its ability to jump clear of the river. It deploys this as a hunting tactic, snatching insects and birds from the air; I have been fortunate enough to witness a particularly large specimen pull a hanging maimou from its vine. The fish poses little serious danger to sapients, aside, perhaps, from low-flying Nuntia - although its jagged teeth can deliver a nasty bite which, if left untreated, is likely to develop an infection from the fetid water of the marshes. While rowing on the Sunken River, Prentis and I occasionally spotted one eyeing our appendages, which we were quick to retract, from below. A close relative, the migratory piranha (Vorax malgeunip), travels far upstream to mate and spawn, utilising its jumping ability to leap up rapids and small waterfalls. The vara (Leomanticae vara), a fierce marsupial predator somewhere between a very large grubdog and a male grændel in size, can at these times be spotted batting the piranhas from the air mid-leap10.
The swarming piranha (Vorax seubji) is of a particularly voracious disposition, renowned for the ability of its schools (often exaggerated, but rooted in truth) to transform a large, healthy gambuk into a bare skeleton inside of minutes. They can indeed do so, but only exhibit this behaviour when either starved or during a storm. Certain Paluchard fortresses stock their moats with swarming piranhas, keeping them well-fed until a war breaks out. Such a frenzied barrier as this produces no small obstacle for the besiegers.
Writing of piranhas, on our leaving Bayou today we passed the joining of the Piranha River to the Veduka. It’s just a name - the concentration of Vorax is no greater there than in any other river of the rainforest. Regardless, it cannot be denied that the Swamplands are a dangerous place to swim, even for a Paluchard, and one would be well-advised to carry a vial of piranha repellent when passing through by boat. This repellent, produced from pheromones extracted from the piranha’s natural predators, will do for an emergency, but beware: the piranha is a curious fish and will soon discover your deception, and when blood is drawn a swarm may well follow.
Besides the piranhas, the Swamplands are home to a variety of aquatic predators. Many are found in specific ranges across Veduka, but all seem to converge within this particular kingdom, generating an environment of fierce competition. There are giant platypodes (Yeoldae geodaehan), Veduka catfish (Megi gipeun), intrusive sharks (Hospes indecorum), river chireks, marsh serpents greater and lesser, and female grændels, all competing at least in part for similar prey (of which piranhas, being so common, form a major component). Even the occasional diacrus (Diacrus moga) has been known to find its way this far up-river, although they are not tolerated long11.
Reflecting this local peak in diversity, several of Veduka’s characteristic species are named for the Swamplands, or else bear it as an alternate moniker - such is the synonymity the two have among naturalists. The swampland (or river) chirek, swampland maimou (Vedukus neupjidae), swampland piranha (Vorax boglachi), swampland parrot (Laertus eumsig), and swampland platypus (also known as the giant platypus or, for those fond of adjectives, the giant swampland platypus) being but a few.
Platypodes are common here, and larger than their continental counterparts. The swampland platypus is of a particularly impressive size, although not so grand as its marine relative. On our way toward shore, one such individual emerged suddenly next to our boat – an event, given that its length neared that of the dinghy, almost as immediately startling as (but far more welcome than) the appearance of a grændel12. It gave our hull a firm tap with its bill before exiting with a scrambling dive, back toward whatever business it had been attending prior to our interruption.
We arrived at a still spot by the shore and stowed our oars, stepping out into the swampy ground. A pair of veduka laughing birds (Ioculator waldorfus) chuckled13 from their perches in the eucalypts, over the chittering of a troop of maimou somewhere away from the river. Another maimou, swinging gently back and forth by his tail, watched us quietly as we put in. A tropical ibis (Ttaogi tropicae) stalked the shallows, and a number of bhel paddled nearby. Grinning butterflies (Popolopois bichuisup) – insects whose wing-patterns display a fair approximation of a smiling Paluchard face14 - danced among the lilies on the water.
The shallows there were populated with lily pads, large and small. I watched a pair of mating dragonflies alight on one, and then take off again. Water lilies are common in the lazier waters of the rainforest; they are well-known for their habit of forming flat, platform-like leaves, known as lily pads, which float on the surface. Chief of these in size is the swampland lily (Ardurlar daingeann), which produces pads sturdy and buoyant enough to support a full-grown Austium. This I now know because Prentis and I had a little wager during our excursion. He was able to stand on a swampland lily pad quite comfortably, for nearly a minute, and as a result my wallet is now lighter by the weight of an Essiloreth half-oltin. I know, from many a childhood venture, that any attempt to imitate him would lead only to a wet Paluchard. Besides, we spotted a greater marsh serpent (Soldeenus rubinus), wrapped upon its own trunklike girth in the shallows, watching us lazily. Though marsh serpents don’t often attack sapients, they will occasionally do so if hungry, and the greater variety is easily powerful enough to drown a Paluchard if given the inclination.
This very large eel species is well-known for its ability to wriggle across land if need be. This usually happens in the dry season, when a specimen might find itself trapped, by the lowered water level, in a pond too small to support its voracity. Like the lesser marsh serpent, its wilier cousin, it has a second pair of jaws within its first, which can be extended to secure food and guide it down the gullet. Occasionally, they use this in conjunction with a launch from the water to ambush their prey. It is unusual to find them in water as clear as this, usually preferring the murky waters of a bog – from which ambush is more achievable. An old legend goes that Paluchard once tamed greater marsh serpents and rode them into battle, a feat that seems quite unfeasible to me – how were we to gain a grip, both rider and steed quite limbless? Some have proposed that we wrapped around the eel’s body, as we do about the post-saddles mounted on ipis and elari, but I find this image quite ludicrous.
At the shore, we watched a group of socobarre (Evgenikos fílos), moderate-sized herbivorous quadrupeds that wander in little herds throughout the forest, taking turns to stoop down and sip from the water while the rest kept watch fore and aft. They do well to maintain vigilance, for the socobarre is a favourite prey of land and river predators alike, not to mention occasionally finding itself carved on a Paluchard dinner-table15. I half-expected our greater marsh serpent to slide off in their direction, and he did appear to spare the animals a glance, but no ambush was forthcoming. He must have eaten already today.
I have enjoyed these last moments of connection with the wildlife of my homeland. I dearly hope that they are not truly my last among them. Only a handful of days until we reach Delta, and with it the end of our time in the Rainforest. I leave only with a heavy heart – to pass so near my old home, and not to visit, took a greater toll than I imagined. I will return, someday.
8 I do not understand the nature of the problem, but from the evasive manner in which the captain went about describing it I suspect it to have involved illicit enchantments, perhaps in enhancement to the rudder mechanism - a problem he would naturally be hesitant to reveal to agents of the Order.
9 Not that Paluchard faces are intrinsically any more readable – I think, rather, Austia are simply more accustomed to putting in the effort.
10 Those attempting escape from a vara occasionally make the mistake of leaping into pools or rivers, believing it repulsed by water. In fact, the vara loves to swim, and its only hesitation in plunging after potential prey will be if it suspects the presence of aquatic predators larger than itself, such as grændel females – in which case, I would prefer my chances with the vara.
11 Heavily-armed vessels of the Swampland Navy have been summoned to deal with them, although not always without casualties.
12 Such also lurk here, but are more common in the quieter tributaries.
13 Although their characteristic call sounds like a mad cackle, as though at a grand joke, this is actually a territorial display – laughing birds in the act of laughing are likely squaring up for a fight.
14 This face, in particular the eyes, probably act to deter predators – most of whom prefer to strike at a turned back, and all of whom prefer not to tangle with Paluchard.
15 Of quite a placid and sociable temperament, they are also not unpopular as pets.