Duoro Valley, Portugal; photo © sstefan via Google Maps
I watch the waves strike the shore, thinking about the mountainous Deggans. The stone-shapers.
They journeyed from across the sea to build unbreakable keeps, impossible bridges, sinuous temples. Then centuries ago, some ruler–which to blame varies by the teller’s politics–got greedy. He crushed their huge ships, demanding more.
Whoever he was, he’d misjudged the Longing.
Legends say they all stopped, projects unfinished, and lumbered here, to port. The Dedicated attacked (or defended, depending on the story) with lightning. Some Deggans fell on the shore, some in the shallows. The others plodded forth, eventually disappearing beneath the water.
I wonder if any reached home, these builders of whom I am a pale shadow. I study their works, their theories, their lives, but their art eludes me.
Are these rocks truly Deggan remains? I’m not expert enough to tell.
Water transforms even granite, as time transforms the truth.
Word count: 150. Written for this week’s What Pegman Saw flash fiction challenge. Each week, Pegman takes us to a different location around the world, via Google Maps, to inspire us. Click the link above to see what other stories were written based on other views of Duoro, Portugal. And feel free to join in and write one yourself!
Back in July I wrote a humorous story about Deggans (Rocky Understanding) where I played a little fast and loose with my world-building. Today’s story gives a glimpse into the Deggans’ “real” history.