Immortal Blue

By Oscar A McCarthy

IT IS A MAGICAL YET JARRING SIGHT

This is a hard country. Lora ran her fingers over the first line of the tome. Invisible fumes burden the air, that make the body tired and the mind murky. The words were her father’s. His curly handwriting slithered across the pages. Despite the rain that falls on us every day of every month, the land is barren. Despite all attempts, nothing will grow in the copper red mire. The once white paper had long turned gray. This entry could be as old as the settlement itself, Lora thought to herself. The idea bewildered her. She pushed an auburn strand of hair behind her ear and brought her face closer to the page. And so there is nothing here but for the colossal, white trees. They cover the land, as far as the eye can see. Their rugged trunks tower over all living things; their needles so many they hide the skies. When you burn their wood, the fire is blue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oscar A McCarthy
• Release date: Apr 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386844297

Book preview

Chapter 1. Of Songs and Whispers

When you read after midnight,

your voice can be heard by the spirits in heaven. 

This is a hard country . Lora ran her fingers over the first line of the tome. Invisible fumes burden the air, that make the body tired and the mind murky. The words were her father’s. His curly handwriting slithered across the pages. Despite the rain that falls on us every day of every month, the land is barren. Despite all attempts, nothing will grow in the copper red mire. The once white paper had long turned gray. This entry could be as old as the settlement itself, Lora thought to herself. The idea bewildered her. She pushed an auburn strand of hair behind her ear and brought her face closer to the page. And so there is nothing here but for the colossal, white trees. They cover the land, as far as the eye can see. Their rugged trunks tower over all living things; their needles so many they hide the skies. When you burn their wood, the fire is blue.

It is a magical yet jarring sight.

The young woman rested herself back down in the armchair to bring the book closer to the blue light of the fire. The book was delivered to her house earlier in the day by a messenger, together with an alarming letter from her sister-in-law, urging her to come home. She had immediately recognized the thick leather cover. It was her father’s ledger which was also the journal where he regularly wrote accounts of the life of his province. Never before had she seen what he actually wrote in it, however. Her father was always very peculiar about his study, keeping it under lock day and night. She repressed a nostalgic sigh and went back to reading.

This is no land for the wicked or the weak. Since our arrival, my people have been restless and sickly. The children have bags, purple and blue, under their eyes. Their skin is gray, and their gums often bleed. Their brittle teeth sometimes come loose, never to grow back. Of the ten that have been birthed this year, only three live. Still, their spirits are high, and production should only increase in the future.

Lora took a deep breath; her eyes paused on the last words. She remembered when she caught the bone-breaking disease. The very memory made her squirm. Throughout the long months of summer, it ravaged her. The wet heat would boil her blood, giving her shakes, aches, and delusions. The pain almost drove her mad. She lay in bed, clawing at her itchy limbs for hours on end. Without a thought, Lora ran her fingers on her forearm, where a scaly patch of skin remained, that ran from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. It peeled every new season, as if to remind her of those days when she came so close to death.

Still, she survived and went on to bear children of her own. Of the four that had cocooned in her womb so far, two girls lived for now. For every year that they were well, so many others had passed. The suffering that the disease brought was a sepulchral pit. Some of the sick simply lost their minds. The light in their eyes went out, and they sat back, drooling in the mouth. Their families could only watch them starve and die. What high spirits her father spoke of, Lora did not know. The memories of her own time of illness still burnt into her mind; she did what she remembered to be the only recourse: she washed their trembling limbs daily and sang to them until her voice broke.

This is no land for the wicked or the weak.

Whatever possessed a man of wealth and power to make for such baneful lands and start a settlement there, she could not understand. Her father probably did not intend to enlighten her on that particular point by sending her the book, but reading it could still give her some insight. She placed a closed fist under her chin.

Enor riders who come and go on the coastal path look on. Groundless suspicions of their magical abilities quickly spread among the people, although no one has ever truly looked them in the eye. We only see their silver armors shine in the pale light, miles away from us. They watch from afar; whatever could these creatures be doing in our woods, they seem to think. They stare as we struggle and die. Then they ride on.

Lora smirked. A memory had floated up in her mind. After her mother passed, she was rocked to sleep only by the soothing sound of the rain, lightly thrumming on the slate roof of her father’s manor. Sometimes, when she