Arcadia

by Ryan M. Parr

From two large bodies of water, a once magnificent land is forsaken by the plundering waves and hurricanes, forgotten by time, with life enduring onward by colonizing throughout the heavens.

Sunlight cast a solar flare across the horizon onto terraformed mountain paths, with white foam streaming down its side as it is expelled from the mountain in disarray of existence, secured only in appearance by the surrounding ocean. A structure amidst the sky is connected from tubes, sticking up from jutted mountain cliffs, and a complex rhythm of tethered ropes dangle in discord as it wavers in the wind.

The human race has long lived on this planet, for as long as history can tell. Through the traveling poets and songwriters, legends of a time of prosperity exist as myths, ransacked from their origination to seize to be believed on account of limited proof.

It is a life like no other, consisting of everything needed for survival, in a makeshift product of ingenuity. It is a castaway vessel in the skies termed “Arcadia” for its beauty, floating apart from the aerial subgroup of the “Zeal” continent. Everything is constructed from debris of fallen forest, surfaced to the top of the ocean as lasting remnants to a land beneath the sea.

Bulwarks of triangulated shapes form a midsection of planks to support land, drifted beneath a large silk woven balloon with gas piped up from a fiery hearth centered in the middle of this town, allowing its uniformity within the sky, and an empty ramp for surface-to-surface contact with other landcrafts, leaning off the edge regardless of gravity.

Life itself is codependent on the belief, that in life, we are to exist independently from one another, not so much that other lands are said to exist. At age fourteen, a child by the name of Randle Luckenheim has believed since he was little that other land still existed above the waters depths. With blond hair and blue eyes, Randle conveys a gentle soul fueled with curiosity of the outside world. It is through the inspiring grace of visitors to Arcadia that Randles’ hopes for adventure might live on in pursuit of such famous tales.

Randles’ father owns a flight stable dispatcher, housing a small vessel able to travel with two passengers and a few items, by running off an engine propelled by a hydro-methane combustion fluid, he is able to deliver news and trade goods to distant landcrafts.

It a bright day filled with light shining throughout the heavens, and a clear sky fulfills the promise of an excursion to another landcraft bearing native bamboo. It is on this day that a planned trip to the capital Valhalla would be made in order to exchange for silk supply so that Arcadia’s air balloon could be repaired.

Outside of Randle’s house, his father pulls the air vessel out of its shed and looks at his son squarely in the eyes, asking, “Randle, why must you insist on listening to those songwriters, you do know they’re only beggars wanting people to feel sorry for them?”

“Why didn’t you believe the man?” Randle said, standing up from a sitting position to walk up to the air vessel, as he takes his hand and rubs it over the wooden bearings.

“One day Randle, you will find that the only purpose in life is to live it, for if you spend too much time wandering about like those beggars, than all you will amount to is a beggar,” he says as Randle walks away facing his back towards him, as he continues on with, “You have a perfect opportunity to obtain the most important job you could be handed down. Your grandfather was a dispatcher, and with it, he was the most admired man Arcadia has ever seen.”

“I know. It would only seem that we’re giving up so much for survival when we could just as well have some hope for a better life than this.”

“I want to tell you something Randle. There is no better life than the life of knowing you’ve accomplished something. The life you seek has been created by people, to fool them into believing something is truly out there. Neither have they truly seen it, because their minds have gone away with them, deluded by their own disgracement.”

They both look up towards a sound of rustling wind as a dirigible propelled by mechanically spinning fan blades, crafted from wood, pulls through a thinly clouded sky. A male voice sounds out from view as a figure is displaced against the white backdrop of the balloon, throwing out a rope to Randles’ father, yelling, “Alech grab hold!” as Randle succeeds in fetching the rope in time to pass it over to his father.

“Let it down! Let it down!” Alech says, pulling the craft down as the driver lets some air out of its balloon.

Slowly, the craft lands safely on the green terrain of Arcadia, next to an orchard of fruit trees and ground plants.

“Alech, I have news.” The man says followed by exuberant breaths that elucidate the importance of what he has to speak of. “Zephyr has run out of its main supplies as a route from Sirocco to the east has terminated due to a collapsing gas chamber beneath the ocean. We require at least enough supplies to feed our people for up to several days until connections with other traders can be established.”

“Adam, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry your people are in jeopardy, but we don’t have any reserves on hand, and it will be hard to supply enough for our own people as it is.” Alech pauses in mid-stance as he looks over the man’s saddened face, followed by a relief of his tongue to find the right words to say, “I am in my debt to you because you have benefited Arcadia’s growth greatly with the importance of your supplies. I will leave my carrier here to my son in the case that anything happens to me.” Alech lifts his hand to stop Randle from interrupting him, and continues on with, “I will come with you to find the food supplies Zephyr needs.”

“Alech, I am deeply grateful, and I can only promise you that you will be returned safely to your home.” Adam says, with a hopeful visage in his appearance.

“Randle,” Alech looks back, “Since you are familiar with traveling to Valhalla, I want you to make sure Arcadia is able to fix the hole in the balloon, but if anything happens to this vessel, I want you to know that people’s lives will be in jeopardy. Take care of your mother for me while I am gone.”

It was not long after Alech said goodbye to his wife, and several of the people he was closest to, that he fled into the sky towards the north of Arcadia. The direction he was heading towards appeared like a speck from the distance, and Randle was alone now as he watched his father float away.

It was Randle’s first mission without the help of any other individual. Alech knew that if he entrusted the device to anyone else, no one would know how to operate it, yet alone risk their lives with someone as young as Randle.

In mid-day, Randle mounted the device in front of a long ramp stretching outward in an extent of half a kilometer. The wind was blowing past him from the east in a direction he was headed. Alech was surrounded on both sides with winged mounts for an updraft, structured to alleviate lost balance and propelled it by an engine cooled through a wooden shaft for air secretion. The engine is mounted and structured in a paddle-like design, circling one another in motion, in the shape of a turbine to draw air from in front of the craft and push it out through a rear hole.

Randle remembers rumors surrounding how Arcadia obtained the craft’s motor; Stories that the motor was found long ago. in tact, made up of a mysterious material unlike that found anywhere known in existence. Some would say that it was constructed by a legendary civilization existing before the continent of Zeal was created. Alech had always disproved of such affinity, saying that it was brought from another landcraft, although he admits he doesn’t know where.

The wind is soaring past Randle with nothing but the water beneath him rippling in motion as the wheels rotate upon touching the surface of the water. The water appeared shallow, almost as though he could reach it easily. Randle always dreamt about touching dry ground with his bear feat. Almost tempted to dip the craft slowly into the water, he lifts up from his ascent to prevent any chances he might make to sink the vessel.

He had been flying the craft for a long time. The sun moved slightly over the sky and was beginning to reflect across the ocean. A large, almost foreboding landcraft appeared before Randle in such a way that he had only dreamed about from memory. It was different, like the relation one makes to catch a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. With a fresh experience that had so long ago been forgotten, it was a relaxing sensation to rediscover he could now land the craft just as he had practiced with his father.

The craft lands gently touching against the ramp and slows down using a parachute. A wooden post presses against the wheels of the craft to help slow it down, and the entire vessel catches onto a sling, stopping him like a bird caught onto a trebuchet with a force like it was hurled against a wall.

The aircraft was docked in a stable deck, surrounded by numerous other crafts. Randle pulls a wooden valve from the engine to secure it against theft, and pulls a satchel of bamboo out from a side compartment to be used for trading. The city was magnificent, and is covered by numerous ropes appearing as though to reach up from the divide of mortals and the breach of immortality. Several buildings could be seen, as with the promontory point of the capital, the sepulcher to the saint of Valhalla as the main focus. White plaster gleams off of the sides of the city structure, casting light across the rest of the lower buildings.

A merchant identifies Randle after his last visit five years ago. Having been close to his father, the man was able to offers him a trade for silk on the account of supply Randle needed.

It wasn’t a long time through the town that Randle began seeing numerous songsmiths and poets describing stories about myths and legends of the cities past. Long ago, it is stated that a man wandered from a mysterious land, a land submerged shortly after being witness to destruction. A myth, Randle thought in introspection, would be unexplainable without the proof of existence, “Why else would it be created in the first place?” he thought.

Much of the people walk from business to business, shop to shop, on a familiar routine throughout the day, many times giving off an aura of knowledge that they have known an answer to something all this time, unwilling to share it with the rest of the world. Perhaps they have seen, or they have chosen to believe, their origination from land above the sea, to travel there and never be seen from again.

“Perhaps they had vanished,” Randle overhears from a bard, “or they have merely found the heaven of immortal men.”

After seeing a city founded on self-discovery, it was obvious that it had a past, a future, and a sense of reality. It wouldn’t be long that Randle would return home once again, to forget all he had seen, and to look forward to another day.