“Correagal is a city of bridges. One hundred and twenty-seven of them, on most days,…” Learn more about this storytelling project and the people behind it here.
Every Gatehouse was built with one purpose: to impose order on the wild energies that spewed through the empyreal Gate and into the world. Even amid the opulent and unconventional architecture of the Corregal Gatehouse, that sense of order was absolute, apparent in
Uncertainly, he looked around, trying to discern what had made him so suddenly wary. But the terrace was quiet, with only the tinkling of the fountain to interrupt the peaceful…
“There are no people,” he realized. Though two major side streets intersected with the stair-road here, and a number of prosperous looking shops faced the square, there was not a single person in sight – not even a peddler, or a beggar, or a distant passerby. No one.
Calette frowned, looking more confused than worried. Impatient, she pulled on his arm again, but he brushed off her hold and reached for the sword at his hip.
“You should run.”
The river was full of the light. With the sun high overhead and the summer sky nearly white with heat, the luminous current was an ever-changing panorama that Calette sought to memorize. It wasn’t, she realized, something most people paid attention to. The structure of light. The way it moved upon the water – or through the water. Transparent one moment, opaque the next. She wanted to learn it, to remember it, so she could paint it.
As she stared into the river, she kept her eyes open, not even blinking. To close her eyes even for an instant would separate her from the light she sought to know. So she let herself become mesmerized by its movement, let it fill her awareness until she forgot everything but the light. Adrift in shifting patterns of light and dark, she even forgot about her body in its awkward perch on the bridge. Dissolving, she thought. Soon, she herself would be nothing but light…