Prodigal Hope, a story for Patreon

[aldersprig]

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There had once been Nine Hopes.

They had been more than people and yet somehow less; they had been above the bustle and yet below it; they had been the absolute core of civilization and that which it aspired to above all else.

The first Hope to be lost had died in a long and ragged storm that ravaged the coast and destroyed cities.  With it went the whisper of the peaceful sea god.  With it went the trade treaties that had nearly been signed.  With it went thousands of lives.

The second died slowly, a wasting disease that took out a third of the country’s old and weak – wise and knowledgeable – skilled and clever.  With it went history and solidity.

The third and fourth Hope to go slipped away in the night.  Nobody was quite sure if they’d died or not.  Nobody really wanted to know.  The sunshine was a little less bright, the spring a little less pleasant, the winter a little more frightening.  There were rats in the grain silos and mice in the attics.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.