Where do the Gods live?

Where do the Gods live?  Is it atop some distant mountain, beyond the peaks, beyond the clouds?  Where do they feast?  Where do they lay their heads?

I’ve run down plenty a dead-end story in my day, and most of them I should have seen coming.  But — every once in a while — one does manage to catch lightning.

See, you got believers and you got skeptics in this world.  I happened to be king of the latter.  But we skeptics really aren’t skeptics, we’re spectators looking for a reason to not be skeptic.  Well, let’s just say, I got a lot less skeptic hooks to be hanging my doubting fedora on these days.

I’ve been a reporter for the Weyean Post/Tribune going on 30 years.  Should have been Editor-in-Chief by now if you ask me.  But did that happen??  Suddenly I’m soft, too comfortable to go for the kill, lost my edge.  Lost my edge…  I’ll show you who’s lost their edge, you GQ, skinny-jeaned wannabes!  Didn’t your mamas teach you about wearing that much cologne?!  Lost my edge…  Maybe its you that are too blind to see!  Ever thought of that?!

There it is: I’ve become the dinosaur swimming with sharks.  Tahh.  Can’t blame them I suppose.  I was a bastard too at that age.  Couldn’t tell me nothin’.  So why not just give up the quill?  Yeah well…  Call me old-fashioned, but I thought we newsmen were supposed to follow stuff to ground.  You start something, you finish it.  You don’t quit.  Plus, you know what they say about old dogs…we don’t let go of our bones unless we’re dying, and even then you’re gonna have to pry them out after rigamortis has set in.

Let me see if I can un-muddy the waters.

A week ago, right behind this desk in fact, and seriously thinking about putting arsenic in my young editor’s subavi — well, I don’t know, I guess you can say this old geezer finally got the gumption to get off his fat ass.  But not in the way you might think.  And don’t worry; I know I have a fat ass.  My mama always said I had a butt you could sit a potted plant on.

See, I have this stack of leads — been collecting dust on my desk for…uhhh…I don’t know, the better part of ten years.  Damn.  Has it really been that long?

What are they?  Interviews really.  Thing is, Pillar sightings are a kind of a personal fascination of mine.  Pillar lore goes back centuries in the Thunderlands.  I mean, no serious reporter ever takes Pillar accounts seriously, but I don’t know, like I said, I’ve always had a soft spot, not to mention the boost it would give my career if I could prove that the stories of the holy mountain are true.  Which is why, about ten years ago, I decided to dip into my 250 hours of use-or-lose and do a bit of traveling — See the world! — Do some soul searching! — Maybe interview an eyewitness or two who can say they’ve actually seen it!  

Well that one or two turned into fifty.  Now, I’ve never been much for balloon boats or going on safaris, but I will say, adventure isn’t much different than taking your first bite of curry — once it gets in your blood your hooked faster than a flailing whiskerhead.  I no more than came back from my one month of sojourning through Olyria and Leonisse and I was already planning my next stint!  People started asking questions.  My freaking editor pulled me into his office wanting to know what medication I was on.  Get the picture??  I was whistling, had a kick in my step — my rat of a secretary even had the gall to say she saw me skipping into the elevator once.  Me, skipping into an elevator.  Can’t deny it though; I was feeling rather spunky from all that Olyrian fresh air.

Didn’t last though.  My next trip through the Sarassii ring of fire was a disaster: weather was bad, had trouble with local bluecoats in three counties, got held-up at gun-point.  Yeah, put a real sour taste into the sauce as it were.  Oh, there were follow-on trips, the jungles of Umbria, across the dunes of Scorch, several more actually — wasn’t going to be rattled that easily.  And with each trip I accrued more stories, a hundred and fifty more to be precise.  But you can only live off of other people’s experiences so long before you tire of the empty feelings.  Well, then disappointment sets in, you lose motivation, and before you know it, years go by before you realize you’re nothing more than a shell of a man.  That’s how a drooping tower of dreams collects dust on the edge of your desk, staring at you as if you have nothing better to do than be pestered by their relentless reminders.

You know what my freaking shrink said, “Maybe you gave up too soon?”  Like no sh@# Sherlock!  And I wasted five grand for that?!

Look, this is what I know.  Sometimes things just are.  Sometimes people see things you don’t because — well — because they’re open.  You see a passing cloud and they see a prancing pony.  You see a shooting star and they see a wish waiting to be made.  You see a flock of geese and they a freaking floating mountain!

So they can call me soft all they want.  I’ve lost too many years whittling my own edge to let one more narrow-minded peabrain influence the way I see the world.  There’s wonder out there.  Real wonder.   And I want my shot at the starry-eyed.  So you know what I’ve decided? — Screw the Weyean Post/Tribune!  I got two hundred reasons in front of me that say its time I see my own break in the clouds.  It’s like I said, we skeptics really aren’t skeptics; we want to believe.  And you know what they say about leaps of faith?  Seek, and you may find what you’re looking for.

Where do the God’s live?  Well if the Pillars of Polaris really are out there…  Who knows, maybe one day you’ll be interviewing me.

Inkling #19:

What is the Seven Thunders:  It is home to the Aegus and home to the Qwee, and to all those that now fear for the life of the great tree.  So look to the skies, if you think your friends and family can spare you.  For to catch a glimpse of the floating mountain is a real treat indeed, and one you just might never want to walk away from.