SciFi/Fantasy – May 10

On this date in 1869, the golden spike joining the Union Pacific and the Central Pacific lines was driven at Promontory, Utah, to form America’s first transcontinental railway.

Writing prompt: Write a scene in which your protagonist visits the site of an historic event in the world you’ve created with a friend or relative who thinks the event was and is irrelevant.

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    One Response to “SciFi/Fantasy – May 10”

    1. Chaswick says:

      The Golden Spike towered above them, reflecting the setting sun in an otherworldly way. If there was any doubt as to the site’s significance, the sheer cost of installing such a structure should persuade the cynical of the veracity of the deeds it claimed to commemorate. Rain from the recent thundershower caused the light to glisten off the surface in an even more magical way.
      “You know, the inside is hollow. It looks like several hundred tons of coin, but that there is just an illusion to make it more imposing.”
      “Debts are not just paid with coin, Blaylock. Souls died here, for us, for a better life.” Hancock knelt to the ground, pulling a handful of pea-sized gravel into his palm. The walkways were paved with the stuff. Remnants of the marble the Mausoleum had been constructed of, or so the plaques dotting the site claimed.
      “How do you know? Seems anyone could build a monument like that, place it behind a moat, station it with guards, and spread rumors and whispers throughout the guild houses and taverns for a hundred years. No wonder our Land is filled to the brim with so many crackpot cults and half-witted soothsayers. If that is all it takes to get someone to submit to a belief. In fact, I’d wager that is probably the best way to build a nation. You know, from the tatters of a revolution anyway.”
      This was a common point of disagreement between them. Always had been. Hancock clenched the gravel tightly, watching the grains slowly drip out of his hand, returning to their brothers. “Look, can I just have a moment-”
      “No, I don’t think so. Its times like this, when emotions are hot that we most need to see inside ourselves, follow the logical threads. It all comes down to a matter of trust, that’s all I am sayin’.”
      This line of reasoning wasn’t new either. “I trust the Matriarch-”
      “And I don’t. I don’t trust anyone who hides behind monuments and stories and folk heroes and rhetoric!” Blaylock spat that last word with the venom of a full grown gatorsnake.
      Hancock now held a single grey bead between his thumb and forefinger. He raised it above him, spinning it in his fingers, feeling the sharp edges press into his skin, making the moment more tangible. The light caught something inside the pea for just a moment, and Hancock’s skin crawled with realization.
      “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
      “It always doesn’t matter. Zeist, when is that damned necromancer gonna get here anyway, its getting cold.” Blaylock started hopping up and down, hands jammed in his pockets.
      “I don’t think he wants to talk, Blay-”
      “Oh, now we don’t trust someone eh? Could it be because it was my contacts that led us to him? He’s a stand up guy Hank! Everyone in that last pass-through vouched for him. Anyway, this is a public place, what could he do?”
      “I know, everyone was very helpful. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick flash the Matriarch’s badge.”
      Hancock stood with a whirl and tore his friend’s arm from his coat, slamming the pea of gravel into his palm. “There’s bone mixed into this walkway, friend. Warm bone, ready to be shaped.” Hancock drew his sword from its scabbard, sound of steel sliding free coming as the final sliver of sun rotated below the peaks of the mountains to their West.
      “Damn Hank, I knew it! If a Revolutions not goin’, its comin’ and now you got us stuck right in the middle of it! Zeist, why can’t I be wrong for once!?”

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