July

Issue 34

    The Hermit fought to keep his mount from foundering in the current's sudden rage. Somehow, he made his way forward, until at last the waves closed above the sea-green banner of his lance, and the roiling surface faded into jade fathoms overhead. There, at the edge of the surge, he halted. Where could he go? Where should he seek, in this vast realm that belonged to the gods? In spite of all the Hermit's wisdom, no answer came to him. He could do no more than choose a direction without aim.
    At first, the bed of the sea was like the land--a barren desert bounded by blue, swept by eddies of whirling sand, and dotted with the tunnels of ferocious beasts. The Hermit sought no challenge with these creatures, for though he had fought them all his life, and knew they were dangerous indeed, experience had taught him that no matter how many he could slay, it would do nothing to save his home. They were the gods' creatures, after all, and most, like the Hermit himself, sought only to live in peace in their seclusion. Did they not have as much right to life as he?
    Still, the Hermit was trespassing in their domain. When one beast ventured forth to block his path, the Hermit did not shy from battle, though it bore armor of plates like walls of stone and fought with a dozen clawed limbs, swinging its long tail like an iron rail with stinging barbs. By the time the monster finally fell, the sea gods' banner was torn and stained with gore--but the Hermit held it high, for he could not very well go back for another.