The Unknown Book

E va Mahler walked along her street, downhill towards the Westpoint Market, situated at the westernmost point of  Hochmünster Island, facing the direction of the sea, where the Allon River meets ocean, about two miles farther downstream from Eva's peculiar home. It was early summer, and there were flowers in bloom all over the island city, mostly in well-tended flower boxes beneath the windows of the two and three story homes that she passed. It was early, but there were many people on the streets, all walking of course. True, Hochmünster's Shore Road, which encircled most of the island, was wide enough for motorcars, most of the other streets on the island were too narrow and winding and steep for the modern conveyances. Everyone walked. And at just under two miles in length, no place was too far to walk. Eva didn't mind it either. It kept her in shape and she enjoyed the time to think while she walked. And was there ever a lot to think about these days.  Soon the stre...

W elcome to Abhidria, capital of the floating island of Aveera. Home nearly one million inhabitants, Abhidria is the largest city aloft, beating both Asheeri in Rayal and the holy city of Berdaan in Yothara. Founded over six centuries ago by Amon I of the House of Hidra, the city has become the most cultured and innovative settlement in all the lands that float over the World Sea. At the heart of the city lies the port and market district. Daily hundreds of flying vessels come in from all over the world. A quick walk down it's narrow and bustling streets will easily inundate oneself with dozens of languages and the scents of cuisines from near and far. And rising above all the side alleys, warehouses, piers and smaller jetties, are the Grand Market, with room for nearly 1,000 vendors selling their wares, and the Abhidria Central Station, which has mechanized cart trains coming and going at all hours of the day and night, connecting all parts of Aveera to the capital. Passengers dis...

Q ueen Cleopatra looked out across her domain. The sun shone lazily through the white-curtained windows, and embodied her mood. But she couldn't enjoy the lazy sunshine. She'd heard a noise somewhere else in the royal residence, and it bugged her. She must investigate. Her attendant was away for the moment, so she couldn't ask him to do it for her. He was often absent from the residence, much to her chagrin. But finding another one to take his place would be too much hassle, and it would involve her having to uproot her whole court and residence and it was just too much work. Besides, she'd had him since she was a child. She didn't want to have to adjust to someone new now. Better to just stick with the idiosyncrasies she was used to. Since he was out of the house, what could have caused the noise? She hopped off the couch and sauntered from the parlor, with it's great stone fireplace, into the dinning hall (well, for guests. She ate upstairs away from people)...

T he Page glares up at him, white and blank and hungry. It is small but immense, finite but endless. It demands words be written. But he hesitates, fingers poised above they keys. Will this word be the right word? The endless stories that he can see with his mind beg to be set free into the world, to be placed onto this Page. He knows he must share them. But will the true words come? Will the story set out on the correct path once his fingers fly and keys come down and words, sentences, paragraphs fill the Page? He looks again at the Page awaiting on the screen. The Cursor blinks steadily, prepared to reveal the words he types. And yet no words come. He looks up for a minute, trying to find the right word to start this journey, to fill the page and tell his stories. He looks out the nearby window, the world outside visible through the thin white curtains. The street is quite, and no one moves about in the pale light of the late afternoon winter sun. It isn't late yet, but dusk will...