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World Edge

more fic... all mine

I am standing at the northern boundary of World Edge.  I am just north of Ferry Island, to the east is Blood Point, before me is Ferry Marsh.  This area used to be called Fisher Cove, but long ago the name became Worlds Edge.  If you stand here looking into the marsh you would never know that there was a sprawl of suburbs just beyond the marsh.  My realm ends here at the Marsh, I have never gone to the surrounding community, I have never been beyond the borders of Bathory.

            I should explain that humans cannot create anything without giving that creation some sprit.  So when the seven families that first came here as a reaction to the trials in Salem I, slowly, came into being.  I don’t remember much of the early years, but I do remember the fear.  I understand, the realization that you could be killed for the way you were born is a frightening thing.  I also understand why other magical beings came here.  The magic users were safe here, safer than they were anywhere else.  So soon the fledgling city was full of Magic; people that use it and people that are it. As the city grew Guardians came, the Elves, Trolls and Fairies – and, of course, me. 

            My name is Elisabeth Bathory, and I am a sprit.  I am the spirit of the city.  I wasn’t the first one here; before I was born there was a Spirit for this area.  I don’t know why he just didn’t become the Spirit of Bathory.  As the city extended north, his area of influence has become smaller and smaller, and now he has retreated into Ferry Marsh.  I don’t know why, he has never spoken to me.  I have tried to coax him to the boundary of our two kingdoms, and sometimes I will see him, but he never speaks to me.  Once I thought he would, once when the city only consisted of the Old Port and the Seven Sisters areas.  He stood for what felt like hours one the bank of the Fin River and just looked at me.  I didn’t even have a name then. 

            As the years passed and the city grew, the residents gave me a new Name that name is Bathory.  I find that much nicer than my original name “home of the seven sisters”, for the original seven families that founded this city.   I spent time looking for a first name, I found it in the Library.  In fact the Troll of the Library suggested it, warning me that she was considered one of the first female vampires.  He also explained that the city was named for Gyorgy the Prime Minster of Hungary, he never told me why, but there it is – I am a woman, I didn’t want to be called Greg.

            Anyway, in over four hundred years I have not left the boundaries of the city.  Of course the boundaries have changed, but I have never stepped over them.  I don’t know if I can.  So this really is the Worlds Edge to me.  I stand here looking into the marsh, I see him moving around out there in the marsh and I want to know.  He’s the only one that is like me and I want to talk to him.   I try to call him over and he starts towards me and then turns away again.  I can’t let this opportunity slip away.  I step forward out of the City that has been my womb, knowing that it may be the last thing I do.   

            The ground is soft beneath my feet.  It isn’t what I was expecting, but it’s much better than lack of being.  After taking a few minutes to adjust to the difference in the ground, and the thought that I’m not dead, I set of in the direction the other Sprit went.  I follow him until I am ankle deep in water and then stop, my fear of being away from my city making my knees wobbly. 

            I let myself sink down onto a tuft of grass and call out across the marsh, “I want to talk to you!” and then, “I’ve risked everything to talk to you.”

            I am rewarded with silence. 

            At least for a time, and then he rises from the waters before me, “Why do you follow me?” he asks.

            I don’t feel like I can lie to him, so I tell the truth, “I’m lonely.”

            “You have hundreds of thousands of lives that are lived within your boundaries.”

            Normal lives, not like our lives.”

            “And the Guardian sprits?” he asks.

            “The oldest of them is still a child,” well the oldest of them isn’t exactly a child but the Troll of the Docks is only about three hundred years old. 

            “And you look for the company of the one that you displaced?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I need to know why I am.  Why didn’t you just change and become the Sprit of the city?”

            “Because I have no interest in being a city.  I am interested in being wild,” he sits on a tuft near me. 

            “Are you angry that I took your space?”

            “Why should I be?  You didn’t make yourself.  Others made you and they are long dead.”

            “Were you?”

            “At first,” he says with a smile, “But I’ve grown.”

            “You have had time.”

            “You should go back to your city.  You will weaken out here,” he helps me to my feet and leads me back to the Worlds Edge, and then he turns to walk back into the marsh.

            “Will I see you again?  Can I come back?”

            “I will come to you,” he says over his shoulder, “look for me at the edge of the river.  You will know when I am coming.”

He steps into the marsh and disappears before I say, “Thank you.”