Lexington

Lyone

Polar King

Atvatabar

The Sun Beneath the World

Lexington burst onto the deck as millions of birds blackened the Arctic sun.

Ahead, an earthquake split the frozen mountains into a narrow blue gate.

The crew watched slabs fall, knowing the walls could close around the Polar King.

For seventy miles, the ship threaded cliffs that glittered like cold knives.

Open water waited beyond, but the noon sun began sinking in the wrong direction.

A brass compass needle climbed its glass.

Sailors crossed themselves as the sea curved upward behind the stern.

At midnight, the sun still hung overhead.

The Polar King was not reaching the pole.

The Polar Gate

The fall became a long, breathless glide through blue darkness.

Atvatabar's rose-colored sun ignited, revealing oceans and green continents curved overhead.

The Polar King's boilers coughed dead, and a bright reef rushed toward the hull.

Lexington seized the wheel while sailors dragged useless ropes across the tilting deck.

Winged skiffs dropped from the inner sky.

Lyone stood in green silk, one hand raised against a volley.

Lyone answered by casting a golden towline across the water.

Her skiffs turned the Polar King aside as white coral scraped sparks from its hull.

When the reef slid past, Lexington found Lyone waiting beside the silent compass.

The Inner Reef

Below deck, the silent compass rested between two chipped cups of bitter tea.

Lyone tasted hers, hid a grimace, and nudged the sugar closer.

Lexington smiled while punching holes through an empty tin cup.

Touching the worn star chart, Lyone asked, "Does the outer sky lose its sun?"

He covered it with the pierced cup, scattering a private night across the ceiling.

As Lexington named his mother's constellations, starlight trembled across Lyone's lifted face.

Lyone turned the compass sideways, and its needle settled toward Atvatabar's harbor.

Above them, tin stars trembled, and their hands rested close by the dark lamp.

A Private Night

The Sun Beneath the World
By William R. Bradshaw
1982
The Polar Gate
The ice screamed at midnight.
Lexington burst onto the deck as millions of birds blackened the Arctic sun.
Ahead, an earthquake split the frozen mountains into a narrow blue gate.
The crew watched slabs fall, knowing the walls could close around the Polar King.
Lexington ordered the engines forward.
For seventy miles, the ship threaded cliffs that glittered like cold knives.
Open water waited beyond, but the noon sun began sinking in the wrong direction.
A brass compass needle climbed its glass.
Sailors crossed themselves as the sea curved upward behind the stern.
At midnight, the sun still hung overhead.
The Polar King was not reaching the pole.
It was falling inside the Earth.
The Inner Reef
The fall became a long, breathless glide through blue darkness.
Atvatabar's rose-colored sun ignited, revealing oceans and green continents curved overhead.
Their wonder lasted one heartbeat.
The Polar King's boilers coughed dead, and a bright reef rushed toward the hull.
Lexington seized the wheel while sailors dragged useless ropes across the tilting deck.
Winged skiffs dropped from the inner sky.
Lyone stood in green silk, one hand raised against a volley.
Lexington lowered his rifle first.
Lyone answered by casting a golden towline across the water.
The golden line snapped tight.
Her skiffs turned the Polar King aside as white coral scraped sparks from its hull.
When the reef slid past, Lexington found Lyone waiting beside the silent compass.
A Private Night
Below deck, the silent compass rested between two chipped cups of bitter tea.
Lyone tasted hers, hid a grimace, and nudged the sugar closer.
Lexington smiled while punching holes through an empty tin cup.
Touching the worn star chart, Lyone asked, "Does the outer sky lose its sun?"
Lexington nodded and dimmed the lamp.
He covered it with the pierced cup, scattering a private night across the ceiling.
Lyone forgot the untouched tea.
As Lexington named his mother's constellations, starlight trembled across Lyone's lifted face.
Lyone turned the compass sideways, and its needle settled toward Atvatabar's harbor.
Above them, tin stars trembled, and their hands rested close by the dark lamp.

The Goddess of Atvatabar - Story Book

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