combatants had turned to balloons.
No army could cross the Swamp of Bleak Demise. If there was to be a war at all, it had to take place on reasonably solid ground. Thus, more than seven hundred years before, the lords of both domains had chosen the small, agricultural province of Melonius, an island of plenty surrounded by the swamp on every side, for their mutual battleground.
It was no longer known as Melonius, for the folk there had long been driven from their homes. There were no trees there, and no trace of crops of any sort. Now, it was a barren plain of death, where nothing, not even the hardiest weed, dared to grow.
F INN HAD LITTLE DESIRE TO PEER OVER THE SIDE OF the craft, for his stomach was yet to catch up with the rest of himself. And, when he chanced to look below, there was always the sight of tattered balloons that had not made it past the swamp or back. Many, Finn imagined, had rotted and disappeared into the darkness years before.
Toward noon, Bucerius brought out hard bread, a large wedge of odorous cheese, and a jar of stale beer. He offered to share with Finn. Finn was surprised, and grateful as well, for he had forgotten to bring the fatcakes and berry sandwiches Letitia had carefully prepared.
Though the Bullie had scarcely said a word since they'd begun, he seemed more amiable after his belly was full.
“I see you be lookin’ down there,” he said, shoving a whole pickled potato in his mouth. “It don't be a good idea to bother them what's down below.”
“And who would that be?” Finn asked, for he couldn't imagine who the fellow could mean.
“Coldies, what you think? There's seven hunnert years of the dead scattered round down there. Many a soldier's falled to his doom ‘tween here and where we be headed for.”
“I hadn't thought of the dead, though you're right as you can be. I think, though, if I were a Coldie, I wouldn't stay there. I'd get out of the Bleak Demise as quickly as I could. Get to a town, a decent city somewhere.”
Bucerius looked aghast. “You never
been
down there. Isn't no one be findin’ they way outta that. You dyin’ there, you stayin’ there. Even a human person ought to be knowin’ that.”
“I, ah—suppose. Though I've always found the dead like their comforts as well as the living do. And they clearly have plenty of time to search about. They've nothing else to do.”
Bucerius muttered under his breath, clearly not pleased with Finn's opinion on the matter. Finn had to remind himself that Bullies, by nature, found it offensive if others had opinions contrary to their own. Not unlike a great many beings of other races, as far as that was concerned.
When the meal was done, Bucerius tossed a few bites of food over the side, and Finn did the same. If any of the dead were down there, they would surely enjoy the essence, the emanation of these remains.
Finn knew it was likely better to leave things as they were, but there was little to do until they fell to their doom, and death was much upon his mind.
“You think, then, there is such a thing as the afterlife? You think we go somewhere else?”
Bucerius frowned. “What you be meaning? We just talkin’ ‘bout that.”
“I mean after you're a Coldie. After that.”
“Isn't no
after
that. You be dead, that's that.”
“Some say different. There's churches tell you there's a hereafter place to go.”
“Here after what?”
“Somewhere different. Somewhere you go after you're dead for a while. I talked to a Coldie once said it's so. Fellow used to be a barrister, so he might know. Said there's seers tell you if you act right after you're dead for a time, you can do something else.”
“Huh.” Bucerius spat in the wind, narrowly missing Finn.
“That be what seers an’ magician folk is for, you livin’ or you're dead. Get you to
buy
somethin’ from ‘em, get you to spend your last pence on some stupid spell.”
Finn gave the Bullie a curious look. “Your kind don't believe in
No army could cross the Swamp of Bleak Demise. If there was to be a war at all, it had to take place on reasonably solid ground. Thus, more than seven hundred years before, the lords of both domains had chosen the small, agricultural province of Melonius, an island of plenty surrounded by the swamp on every side, for their mutual battleground.
It was no longer known as Melonius, for the folk there had long been driven from their homes. There were no trees there, and no trace of crops of any sort. Now, it was a barren plain of death, where nothing, not even the hardiest weed, dared to grow.
F INN HAD LITTLE DESIRE TO PEER OVER THE SIDE OF the craft, for his stomach was yet to catch up with the rest of himself. And, when he chanced to look below, there was always the sight of tattered balloons that had not made it past the swamp or back. Many, Finn imagined, had rotted and disappeared into the darkness years before.
Toward noon, Bucerius brought out hard bread, a large wedge of odorous cheese, and a jar of stale beer. He offered to share with Finn. Finn was surprised, and grateful as well, for he had forgotten to bring the fatcakes and berry sandwiches Letitia had carefully prepared.
Though the Bullie had scarcely said a word since they'd begun, he seemed more amiable after his belly was full.
“I see you be lookin’ down there,” he said, shoving a whole pickled potato in his mouth. “It don't be a good idea to bother them what's down below.”
“And who would that be?” Finn asked, for he couldn't imagine who the fellow could mean.
“Coldies, what you think? There's seven hunnert years of the dead scattered round down there. Many a soldier's falled to his doom ‘tween here and where we be headed for.”
“I hadn't thought of the dead, though you're right as you can be. I think, though, if I were a Coldie, I wouldn't stay there. I'd get out of the Bleak Demise as quickly as I could. Get to a town, a decent city somewhere.”
Bucerius looked aghast. “You never
been
down there. Isn't no one be findin’ they way outta that. You dyin’ there, you stayin’ there. Even a human person ought to be knowin’ that.”
“I, ah—suppose. Though I've always found the dead like their comforts as well as the living do. And they clearly have plenty of time to search about. They've nothing else to do.”
Bucerius muttered under his breath, clearly not pleased with Finn's opinion on the matter. Finn had to remind himself that Bullies, by nature, found it offensive if others had opinions contrary to their own. Not unlike a great many beings of other races, as far as that was concerned.
When the meal was done, Bucerius tossed a few bites of food over the side, and Finn did the same. If any of the dead were down there, they would surely enjoy the essence, the emanation of these remains.
Finn knew it was likely better to leave things as they were, but there was little to do until they fell to their doom, and death was much upon his mind.
“You think, then, there is such a thing as the afterlife? You think we go somewhere else?”
Bucerius frowned. “What you be meaning? We just talkin’ ‘bout that.”
“I mean after you're a Coldie. After that.”
“Isn't no
after
that. You be dead, that's that.”
“Some say different. There's churches tell you there's a hereafter place to go.”
“Here after what?”
“Somewhere different. Somewhere you go after you're dead for a while. I talked to a Coldie once said it's so. Fellow used to be a barrister, so he might know. Said there's seers tell you if you act right after you're dead for a time, you can do something else.”
“Huh.” Bucerius spat in the wind, narrowly missing Finn.
“That be what seers an’ magician folk is for, you livin’ or you're dead. Get you to
buy
somethin’ from ‘em, get you to spend your last pence on some stupid spell.”
Finn gave the Bullie a curious look. “Your kind don't believe in
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