Blott

PROLOGUE “Did you hear that?” The nomad scrambled along the chalk-white hillside to his wife. She was busy raiding a knotted shrub, her eager fingers working through its dusty leaves to check for berries. A second, almighty tearing sound made her stop. Blocking out the bright sky with her hand, she glanced up at her husband. His greying hair had become wispy over the past few months and now blended in with the sky’s perpetual mist. In the bright light of day, it was unclear where he ended and the clouds began. “Yeah, I heard it. You don’t think it’s a demon, do you?” “No,” he answered after a pause. “It can’t be. We haven’t seen a demon for weeks and I’m sure we won’t see one today. No, this is different.” The air was filled with the peculiar sound. It never stopped, it just simmered down in the breaths between convulsions. The only thing they could compare it to was the slow ripping of cloth torn into short strips. The nomad stuck out a thumb, gesturing to the other side of the steep dune on which they were perched. His other hand clung to the woven mesh of creamy ropes that covered the ground for as far as the eye could see in every direction. “Whatever it is, I think it’s over there. Come on. If we’re quick, we can get away before it sees us.” His wife straightened her caramel-coloured shawl over her mop of dark hair and shot him a familiar glance. “What?” he asked, not liking her expression. “Meat. We haven’t had meat in weeks. We could eat it.” Her eyes filled with excitement. “Yes, or it could eat us.” She paused, then said, “I’m going to look.” “What? No. Wait!” His words came out in a raspy breath, low enough so that the unknown monster wouldn’t hear him. Before he could reach out to grab her, she was already scrambling away. There was no choice but to follow. “I swear,” he said as he scaled the dune, “if we die I’m going to kill you when this is over.” When he reached her, his wife was statuesque, lying flat on the hillside. Only her head poked over the top. Her eyes were wide and unmoving, her thin lips hanging open in awe. Settling beside her, the nomad breathed heavily. He gasped and caught dust in the back of his throat. As he stifled a cough, his wife glanced back at him for the first time. She clamped a hand that smelled like earth over his mouth. “Shh,” she hissed. “You’re not going to believe this. It’s incredible.” “Does it look tasty?” he asked, wriggling out of her grasp. “I hope it’s tasty…” He raised his head. “Woah.” The sight that greeted him was unlike anything he had ever seen. He and his tribe had been travelling the White Plains for as long as he could remember. They had spoken to other travellers, told legends around the campfire, and seen things none of them could explain. Nothing compared to this. On the other side the hill, the land was moving. Not shaking, but actually moving. As if it were alive. The interlaced fibres that made up their world shifted and slid over one another, writhing like thousands of snakes. The phenomenon stretched for miles and gave the impression of fluidity, like the ground had turned to water. The nomad gulped. Now he understood the tearing sound. Near the foot of the hill, the threads bulged with a pulse. Each time they throbbed, the tearing grew louder. It appeared as though something was tunnelling to the surface. “Impossible,” whispered the nomad, wringing his grubby fingers. “The others aren’t going to like this. We should leave.” “Wait. Something’s happening.” His wife’s hand closed around his wrist. Together, they watched as the ground blistered and the surface tore. Spewing from the frayed fibres, a pale body burst into the open air. It was small and humanoid, with gangly arms, covered in a layer of embryonic slime. “It’s a… child!” the nomad’s wife said, keeping her voice low. “Did it just come out of the ground?” “I think it did,” agreed her husband. “We just watched… a birth – right from the Canvas itself!” The couple locked eyes. “You know what this means?” the woman asked. “I do. But the others won’t believe us.” A shrill cry cut their conversation short and the couple focused back on the child. The nomad’s fingers trembled as he considered whether to turn and run or head towards the tiny figure. It looked so helpless, sobbing and shivering in a pool of its own juices. “We have to leave it,” he announced finally. His wife’s voice donned a soft, protective quality. “But it’s a baby.” “We don’t know that for sure. It couldn’t be something… else.” As if to confirm his suspicion, the child screamed louder, causing them both to shudder and duck down. The liquid around the child seeped into the ground and dissipated into the fronds of the canvas, stretching a platter of vivid colours far in all directions. The nomad recoiled, standing as shades of green rushed up the hillside and under him, turning the snowy fibres emerald. “What in Terrak’s name is going on?” he gasped, swearing to the god of land. His wife tapped his arm and pointed forward. “I don’t know,” she said, “but it’s nothing compared to what’s happening over there.” Raising his eyes, the nomad felt his chest tighten. Bile rose into his throat. A rich glow enveloped the couple from the clearing below. It was impossible to see what was happening beneath the raging light at first, but it sounded like the whole world had woken up. The nomad wiped sweat from his forehead. Clearing his throat, he croaked, “This is no ordinary child.”