II

The Twin Statues

The mighty ship made waves that rippled against the anchored mast, as it bobbed idly along the water's surface. Boots marched up and down the plank as travelers boarded and unboarded the vessel with zeal.

Two passengers of considerable size, though hardly the only ones so in this port, made their way off the ship. They minded the smaller creatures shuffling past them in the opposite direction, lest they accidentally send them into the ocean with one misstep. Elves, Dwarves, Satyr, Genasi; none could manage to reach so much as their shoulders.

Amira and Maeve Callaghan, sister Goliaths hailing from the proud island of Gro, stepped off the plank, and planted their heavy fur boots onto the western continent for the first time in their lives. As Amira, the younger by two years, wrestled her nerves, Maeve examined the dirt, and looked on at the dense treeline ahead. The air was dry, considering they were at the sea-line. The sun was nearly overhead, and the whistling wind swirled and sang toward the forest, ushering her into the unknown.

Maeve had been described by friends as a white wolf: her ashy skin popped with black accents and marks that an outsider would mistake for tattoos. She shared her sister's skin, but while Amira's markings were short and jagged, Maeve's were long and curvy, like strokes from a paintbrush. Her black hair was lush and layered, swaying in the breeze like a wolf's coat, just a few heavy strands between her ears serving as wild, unkempt bangs.

Typical of Goliaths, she didn't wear much in the way of clothing. Their skin was resistant to the elements, so leather covering the chest and hips was enough for modesty. Her knee-high boots were for practicality, and the pauldron on her left shoulder was mostly for fashion, though it helped cushion the weight of her greatsword. Her physique was impressive and attractive, but lanky relative to her sibling; the regrettable symptom of an inconsistent balance between adventure and rest.

Amira was the model image of a young Goliath woman- her hair spiked and stretched at messy angles, casting shadows on her wide and energetic smile. Her top, which hugged tightly to her shoulders with the fur mane of an owlbear, covered just down to her chest and nothing of her arms- letting her impressive musculature breathe and bask in the sun. Her asymmetrically torn leather skirt, boots, and wrist guards were the only other things giving her cover. She was an athlete among Goliaths, and a Demi-god among Elves.

"They weren't kiddin'," Maeve scoffed. "S'just trees as soon as ye hit land."

"That's just th' West," Amira said. "Clearbrooke's split down th' middle, remember? East's more what we're used to, I hear."

"Dunno if we should expect any 've what we're used to." Maeve laughed. "Pooree naee duniya. Whole new world, it is."

"Aye, yah sach hai," Amira nodded, as the two sisters walked off the port.

"So, where're we meeting yer friends, again?" Maeve asked. "West, or East?"

Amira confirmed in her head before answering. "East. Town called Lumen. Alikath's got a carriage he'll take me in, but we're groupin' up with someone called Fletch 'fore he gets here."

"Ohhh, he's got a carriage! Gooood… N'I take it yer gonna fit inside this carriage?"

"Bhaad mein jao, ah? They're not Dwarves, I'll be fine." Amira shook her head, and paused. "...I mean, right?"

"Your employer, not mine."

Amira and Maeve continued chatting as they wandered north, up the largest dirt path breaking through the treeline into the forest proper.

Clearbrooke, as Amira noted, was no longer one city, but two separate halves that occupied the sizable region known as Dustlow Forest. The forest was currently the southwesternmost part of the Western Continent, and would be the southwesternmost stretch of what remained of the Land District; were it not for the continued existence of Gro, many miles off of its southern coast.

The forest was first divided many years ago, when conflict arose that stoked flames between the many cultures that called the forest home. While some racial groups like Pixies and Gnomes found themselves delegated to one side of the fighting, the war was more locational than anything; Wood Elves dominated Dustlow Forest no matter what half you were looking at. The conflict itself, and its many poorly-recorded nuances, were rarely discussed outside of the region.

Amira and Maeve would soon see the city that mirrored the dirt they disturbed, but first, they had to trek through the West. The two Goliaths basked in the harmonious sounds of reptiles and chittering birds from bushes and branches. The air was damp; so damp that Maeve once swore she could see the water vapor clump into raindrops in front of her eyes.

Gro was by no means a desert, but it was a volcanic island, much too dry to house a rainforest. Here there was so much life, packed into so little space! In the couple of hours they spent wandering, the sisters must have seen dozens of types of trees, all too different to belong to the same species. Maeve kicked herself for not learning the name of each and every one back home. Amira just named them herself: Wide-neck, Burning Bramble, Webbyleaf, Wider-neck...

They came across three different villages on their trek. It was gossiped that the Western Wood Elves would be less friendly than the East, but they found that totally untrue. Maybe it was because Goliaths were more common here due to the port, but they were met with nothing but smiles and helpful strangers, and the occasional child either excited or afraid to see giants walking through their neighborhood. One overzealous innkeeper harassed the sisters for a quarter mile, boasting about his double-length bedrolls big enough to fit them. Even the animals were uncannily friendly; Amira nearly gave herself a half-dozen heart attacks when they were snuck up on by wolves, giant spiders, and even an owlbear, but none of them attacked. They passed by, took a moment to stare, and wandered on like the sisters were a wholly unremarkable sight. Maeve joked the first couple times that they must be well fed, but even she was at a loss for words when it just kept happening.

The Westerners seemed to favor living in treehouses, though homes on the ground weren't rare either. Trees had to be cut down to make these humble huts, but the sisters didn't happen upon any more than two severed stumps on their entire trip through the West. Buildings were short, and far apart; it seemed they were only built where clearings of nature had already been made, or atop branches that could naturally hold a home's weight. It didn't seem like the Westerners were much for decoration or paint, but when they were surrounded by all of this natural abundance, why would they be?

Maeve held her tongue, but Amira couldn't help laughing over and over at just how tiny their doors were, even next to the people they belonged to. Goliaths on Gro lived alongside Dwarves, but almost everything that was built was tailored to fit them both; which meant large doors with two sets of doorknobs.

After stopping to buy some deer jerky from a rickety butcher stand, the girls continued eastward.

Maeve pulled a shred of cured meat apart with her teeth, and talked while she ate. "So, what're ye most excited to see n'th'main continent?"

Amira pondered the question, and frowned. "Honestly, I don't know much about what's out here."

"Really!?" Maeve laughed. "Moorkh kutiya, then why the hell'd ye sign up t'be an Ambassador? Yer gonna see the whole damned country, Amira."

"Mujhe pata hai ki! Alright, well what about you?"

"Mm, think I'm gonna head north," said Maeve. "Probably stick t’the Western Continent, at first. Hear that's where all the historic bullshit is. Least, the parts that're still around."

"North… like, Faelyon?"

"Oh- gods no, not Faelyon," Maeve laughed. "They'd sever my head. Nah, I'm thinkin' I'll try my luck gettin' into Herrah, maybe? Y'know, I heard there's a Goliath colony living in the Terraque Alps."

"Really? All th' way up there, ah? Reckon we're related?"

"Reckon they're holed up somewhere cold. Probably stuck, given their neighbors, actually. Good to see what they're like."

"Maybe," said Amira. "Maybe they're Barrocks."

"Kya ham sab nahin hain," Maeve chuckled. "Oh hey, isn't that one'a th' safety wagons?"

Maeve pointed to a carriage sitting in wait a few feet forward. Its paint identified it at a glance: A Dustlow Escort Carriage, the only surefire way to pass through the deadlands known as the 'Valley of Wither,' where the blood called upon by the cities' war was spilt in earnest. The carriage's giveaway: the jackalope, a large rabbit with antlers painted along its door. Supposedly, it was a symbol of innocence in Clearbrooke. Now it acted as a guardian for those who seek to travel between warring cities in peace.

Amira and Maeve knocked on the door of the carriage, and peeked at the hooded and heavily armed figure holding the horses' reigns at the driver's seat. A lanky middle-aged Wood Elf opened the door to greet them. His body, and its tapestry of tiny faded scars betrayed his soft and friendly eyes.

"Hi there!" The Elf said, smiling. "Looking to pass over?"

"Mhm," Amira answered.

"It's two silvers per trip," The Elf opened up his coin purse. "Just the two of you?"

"Aye, just us." Maeve paid the Elf and got inside. The carriage groaned beneath her weight, and Maeve gave the Elf a look of concern. He looked away bashfully and pretended not to hear it. Amira got one foot in, but was stopped in her tracks as a metal clink sounded against the doorframe.

Amira sighed, stood back up outside of the carriage, and undid the straps holding in place the weapon stationed against her back.

The Elf's eyes widened as Amira swung around and planted in the dirt the head of the most ridiculously oversized axe he had seen in his two centuries of living. It was even bigger than its wielder; no small feat. This glorified tree's mighty, laminated oak mast was lined with notches and carvings, while the solid steel blade was adorned with engravings of Mountain Tongue.

"I told ye Dane makes a shite travel buddy," said Maeve.

The weapon, Dane Francisca, was an intimidating and rare weapon to come across, even in Gro. And today, it was getting between its master and her carriage ride.

"That thing isn't fitting in here," The Elf guffawed.

Amira glared at her sister as she snickered at her embarrassment. "Is there any way fer me t'get it across?"

"You can't be serious. Umm… you can probably just throw it on top?"

"Just throw it up?" Amira asked. "No rope?"

"Nothing to tie it to," said the Elf. "But there's a lip around the roof's edges. And if that thing falls, we'll hear it."

"We'll feel the tremors, too," Maeve teased. Amira cursed at her, and lobbed the behemoth onto the roof of the carriage before getting inside. The Elf swore he heard the ceiling creak.

The Elf closed the door, and banged against the wall. A few moments later, the carriage shook, and started moving.

The carriage was cramped; the building stiffness in Amira's calves as her heels pressed against the other wall was something she'd have to get used to. The carriage was also remarkably barren on the inside; no cushions, no paint, and most strangely, no windows. Just a dull dark brown, only given texture by the occasional patch of dry rot. Sunlight broke through in beams between boards large enough to illuminate the space, but it was uncomfortably dim.

"Why aren't there any windows?" Amira asked the Elf.

He shrugged, and leaned back. "Safety precaution. Fighters are usually pretty good about leaving us alone, but not always. Besides, it's better like this. There's nothing worth seeing out there."

Maeve looked the Elf up and down. He had an easy smile- but a rehearsed one. One that didn't reach his eyes, which were baggy and tired. "Is this all ye do fer a living?"

"Pretty much. Sometimes I drive, sometimes Letta drives. But we just go back and forth. We try to take a day off once a week, usually Diemor, but sometimes people need us, so…"

"Is it just you two?" Amira chimed in.

"Dioses, no," He shook his head. "We could never get everyone across on our own, there's at least a dozen escort carts out here. Maybe more, by now."

"Is there really that much've a demand?" Asked Amira.

"Sure. Nobody wants to make the walk around the north, and there's really no better way for land dwellers to get in or out of Gro. But I mean- people have families across the wither, y'know? Even now. We'll always have our work cut out for us."

Maeve gloomed and looked at the door, where a window would be. "What’s all this fightin' about, anyway? Why don't the two cities get along?"

The Elf rolled his eyes. "That's all you tourists want to talk about, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," said Maeve. "I just didn't know…"

"It's fine," The Elf sighed. "I've got the whole thing memorized by now. It's kind of a long story, so get comfy."

Amira adjusted herself on the flat plank of wood she was sitting on, and listened.

"So, the East part of the woods is a short ride away from places like Matria and Conscriptus, right?" He began. "Real developed cities. Well, for the Land District.

"Lyveria- namely their merchants- were already running rampant in those cities; and that means they started spreading into the forest. Started making deals with the Wood Elves. Trading goods, sure, but more importantly, they wanted our lumber. Our trees and soil."

"So they made a deal with ye?" Asked Amira. "Makes sense, I'd want t'make some coin off've all this if it were mine."

"Hang on now, you're mistaking the forest for the trees," The Elf's smile dropped. "The forest is sacred- It's not just alive, it's the thing that keeps us alive. The Easterners had every right to turn Lyveria away if they didn't want to respect that. But they didn't. They folded. Started cutting down trees and letting Lyveria erode the land away. Land they shared with the West."

Maeve furrowed her brow. Amira hung on every word, and struggled to categorize each new detail in her head without losing focus on the story.

The Elf went on. "At first, it was just about the Aquatics, and what they wanted to buy. But it didn't stop there. Not a year later, they started cutting down more trees, clearing out whole plots of land, and using the wood to make houses. Entire neighborhoods, side by side. They weren't building their homes in the mold the forest gave them, like we did in the West- like the whole forest did, anymore. After the houses came libraries, and armorers, and hospitals. Their whole culture had flipped from what it used to be; it wasn't sacred anymore. And it reeked of Lyveria. All of it."

"Well- ha- I mean, that's normal, in'nit? Ye can't expect yer communities ta grow if ye don't build walls. I don't blame th' East fer developing, especially if they're seein' it work in other cities. Who wants t' spend their whole life fightin' nature?" Said Amira.

"We spend our lives fighting," Maeve brandished the callouses on her knuckles. "S'a part've home."

"But we don't share our territory with th' wild, Maeve. Tha fightin' we do is controlled, or it's away from th' kids. Our solution fer monsters isn't treehouses, it's neighborhoods."

"That's not how it works in the West," said the Elf. "They don't fight nature, because we are nature. The forest gives us life, and it provides for us. They know we don't need to give up our culture to outsiders, because the forest continues to provide for us.

"Lyverians are charming, but the good ones don't leave home. The merchants that talked sweet to the Easterners weren't doing it to be friendly. They want to make money. The East didn't get that, but the West did. They tried to stop them- tried to keep them from giving up their way of life, and especially from killing the woods they lived in. The Easterners didn't like that, so they started killing the Westerners."

Maeve squinted at the Elf. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," he repeated. "Murdered their own people, because the West didn't approve of what they were doing."

A loud thud hit the side of the carriage. Amira and Maeve jumped, but the Elf just looked at the wall the sound came from, and shook his head. "Well, the West fought back; and even with all their fancy new technology, the East can't do better than force a stalemate. Right down the middle of the woods has been the home for all this carnage for… who knows how many years now."

"...And here we are," Amira mumbled.

"Valley of Wither, we call it. It used to be just as beautiful as what you've been walking through all day, but now… Only things that move here anymore are carriages, branches on dead trees, and soon-to-be dead men."

Amira sunk in her seat. Maeve leaned forward, and rested her arms on her knees.

"Reckon either side'll win anytime soon?" Maeve asked.

The Elf shook his head. "Does a battlefield get this bad when the front lines move? Like I said, the West can still get into Broker's Hold, so they're not trapped or anything. So both sides keep fighting. We keep sending soldiers out as fast as we can birth 'em. The Kenku and Satyr and what-not can keep up just fine, but the Wood Elves… the corpses keep coming back younger and younger."

Amira looked down at the floor. "S'terrible… I can't even imagine hating someone that fiercely."

"Mhm. Count your blessings you and the Dwarves get along so well on that island. Got no idea how you do it."

"And where're you from?" Maeve asked the Elf.

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is helping people."

Not much was said for the rest of the trip. Modest attempts at small talk fizzled out despite the Elf's attempts to keep things jovial. Amira was staring off into space at this point, and Maeve deflected his ice-breakers with little hesitation. Eventually, the carriage stopped, and the Elf sent them off with a wave and an easy smile. After an intensive set of leg and back stretches, the sisters took a short walk down the wide dirt path that would take them to the city.

Maeve basked in the sunlight, not realizing until now just how densely the woods shaded and dimmed the forest dwellers' home. The brilliant light of the sun peeked up from the Eastern horizon, and paved their dirt path forward with a knowing warmth.

"That was a lot," Amira chuckled. "Can ye believe we live so close t'this?"

"Asambhav. I wouldn't worry that much about what 'e said, Amira."

"But I have to, Maeve. Th' forest's a big part'a what I'll have ta protect now that I'm an Ambassador. I can't well just ignore a civil war."

"Reckon protecting it means gettin' involved? Reckon it means decidin' a winner?"

Amira went paler than her already snow white skin was. "I… I don't know."

"Lot ta learn, sounds like," Maeve chuckled. "Let's hope Alikath's a helluva teacher. See 'im get a boulder like you ta learn somethin'!"

"Better teach a boulder than a stuck up huair," Amira teased.

For that, Maeve gave her a swift blow to the jaw. Amira retaliated with a knee to the stomach, and the two wrestled in the middle of the road. A pair of Satyr scurried a safe distance away from them and retreated into the woods. The fight ended quickly, when Maeve swept Amira's leg, and took off for the city. Amira picked herself up from the dirt, snickered, and gave chase to her sister.